#really getting into the physics of the soul

[count-on-mi]

Mommy's little boy (Momo)

Momo has a mature female body that makes me mouth-watering, her big round breasts, firm buttocks and plump thighs all make my heart flutter.

As soon as I saw Momo, my young rod became hard as a rock. When I got home, I couldn't help but masturbate to Momo's body many times to quench my thirst.

During my youth, Momo became the object of my most obsessive masturbation. Her physical charms were like an aphrodisiac that I couldn't resist. I knew every detail of her body by heart, and I could even visualize her naked body according to my fantasies.

Her pink labia and the tips of her breasts must be very colorful, there must be a place of ecstasy between her legs, and the aroma of her whole body is enough to make people go crazy for her ... These thoughts often make my blood boil and keep me up at night.

My infatuation with Momo is growing, but it's getting deeper and deeper. Whenever Heechul calls and invites me to his house, I will be there as soon as possible.

Today I came to Momo's house again, but unfortunately, Heechul happened to be out of town and Momo was the only one home.

“It's a shame, but since you're here, why don't you stay for dinner?” Momo warmly invited me.

I was delighted, this was just what I wanted. It would be my dream to have dinner alone with Momo. "Really? That would be great! Thank you for the invitation." I said hurriedly, unable to hide my joy.

Momo took me to the dining table and started to make dinner. She was wearing loose loungewear, and her breasts stood up high, with two pink protrusions peeking out. I looked at her breasts greedily, my eyes lingering on those two pink spots.

The table was filled with colorful and delicious food, but I didn't know what to eat, all I could think of was how to get Momo into my arms to kiss and lick her.

After dinner, Momo offered to clean the kitchen, and I volunteered to help with the dishes. We stood at the sink, Momo bending over the faucet to rinse the dishes, her soft loungewear clinging to her body, emphasizing the curves of her figure.

I couldn't help but breathe heavily, and the part in my pants was stirring. If I could push Momo down in front of the kitchen cabinet right now, spread her legs and penetrate her hard… Just imagining that image made me so excited that I could hardly contain myself.

I couldn't hold back any longer, so I hurriedly washed the dishes and ran straight to the restroom with the excuse. The moment I closed the door, I couldn't wait to free my lower body.

At a glance, the laundry basket contained Momo's freshly removed clothes, the most prominent of which was the black lace bra and panties that she had worn. My heart was pounding so hard that I could hardly breathe, this was the treasure I had been longing for!

Carefully picking up Momo's underwear, I pressed my nose close and inhaled the rich fragrance. Oh my god, is this the smell of Momo's private parts? Such a strong scent, it made me feel like I was melting inside.

Then I turned to Momo's bra and rubbed one of the thin pieces of fabric over the tip of my nose. I could still feel Momo's soft and creamy skin through the thin material, and I was so turned on that my soul was trembling.

Back to the black panties that I craved the most, imprinted with traces of Momo's bodily fluids, emitted a faintly fishy-sweet scent. I hooked my finger onto the small piece of fabric and licked it gently on my tongue, the flavor made my rod swell to the extreme, bouncing up and down uncontrollably.

After tasting Momo's lingerie, I began to frantically stroke my swollen cock. With my right hand, I stroked the root of my dick, and with my left hand, I cupped and stroked the sensitive crown of my dick. Momo's naked body was all I could think about, and I was fantasizing about her riding on top of me.

"Momo... I want to penetrate... I want to fuck you... I'm going to penetrate your pussy with my cock..." I murmured, as if that would satisfy my desire.

Momo's pussy must have been hot and wet, wrapped tightly around my cock. She'd keep wiggling her ass to satisfy me, and she'd even let out a tantalizing gasp, asking me to fuck her even harder. This sight brought me closer and closer to orgasm, and my movements became faster and harder.

Finally, after a series of intense strokes, I shot my thick semen onto Momo's panties, the sticky white cum instantly soaked through the black fabric, glistening lustfully in the light. I was so immersed in this intense sexual pleasure that I almost lost consciousness ...... Until Momo's voice came from outside the door. “What are you doing in there, why don't you come out for so long?”

Hearing Momo calling me from outside, I realized how bold and unhinged my behavior was. I hurriedly grabbed the black panties that were covered with my turbidity and tried to put them back into the laundry basket. But my action was too big and Momo heard the sound of clothes rubbing together and she opened the door to check the situation.

She opened the door to see what was going on. I was at a loss for words, throwing Momo's panties back into the hamper in a frenzy, fearing that she might notice something strange. “Why are you taking so long to wash your hands?"

I was trying to find an excuse, "Nothing... My stomach just not feeling so well. Auntie Momo, what do you want to see me about?"

"It's raining outside, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until the rain stops before you can go home, right? Do you want to stay over?" Momo said with concern.

Anticipation rose in my heart, but I was worried that Momo would find out what was going on. I could only pretend to be embarrassed, and declined, "But that's not a good idea... What if it disturbs your rest?"

"It's okay, my husband is away on a business trip anyway and Heechul just texted me he is not coming back today, so I'm the only one at home. Don't worry, you can stay and sleep here." Momo smiled and patted me on the shoulder, signaling me not to worry anymore.

Now I was really relieved, Momo said that I should stay and sleep here, does that mean that I will have the whole night to be alone with her? My mind was already thinking about what I would do to her on the bed.

Momo insisted that I stay the night, and I was happy to do so, though I put on a grudging face. After we cleaned up the house together, Momo suggested that we go to the couch and watch some TV to relax.

“Yeah, I was just about to come over and talk to you.” I said as I followed Momo into the living room and sat down next to her.

Momo was only wearing a flimsy loungewear, the two snowy peaks in front of her chest were slightly undulating with her breathing, and the shape of her pink nipples could be seen vaguely. I couldn't take my eyes off her breasts, and my mind began to fantasize about those erotic scenes again.

Momo noticed my gaze and a hint of embarrassment flashed across her face, but she quickly adjusted and continued to chat with me as if nothing had happened. Even so, I was so captured by the seductive scent of her body that I couldn't concentrate on what she was saying.

My attention was focused on Momo's bouncing peaks, and I wanted to reach out and knead them, to feel their softness and elasticity; or to kiss them, to suck the red spots into my mouth. I was on the verge of losing my mind, and I couldn't hold back the urge to jump on Momo and kiss and caress her.

Luckily Momo didn't notice my perverted thoughts, we just chatted casually while I just admired her charming and sexy body. Soon I realized that I was already hard and had to adjust my sitting position frequently to try to hide it. The feeling of repression was just too much.

Momo and I chatted on the sofa for a long time before she finally got up and suggested going back to her room to rest. This was the moment I was waiting for. I nodded my head in agreement, eager to find a place to continue my "activities".

“Then I'll go back to the bedroom and take a shower first, you can organize your things and get ready for bed.” Momo said as she walked towards the stairs, her plump hips swaying from side to side as she walked, it was extremely seductive.

As I watched Momo's silhouette disappear on the second floor, I immediately ran to the kitchen and took out Momo's freshly washed underwear, intending to go to the restroom to give vent to my desire once more. However, just as I was about to take action, Momo's voice called out to me from downstairs:

"Wait a minute! Which room are you going to sleep in? Do you want to sleep with Auntie Momo?"

I didn't react at first and asked, "Isn't you sleeping by yourself? Why do you want me to share the room with you?"

“Haha, because there might be thunder at night, Auntie Momo is afraid of the dark and thunder, so I want you to stay with Auntie Momo and chat with me.” Momo said with a smile.

My brain stopped running for a few seconds. Oh my god! That's an invitation to go to her room and do whatever she wants! My heart started to pound, and I blushed. But on the surface, I had to put on a difficult face and say no: "It's... It's not good, is it? "

"No, you can sleep with Auntie Momo at ease." Momo said as she walked over to me and took my hand, and without a second thought, she took me to her bedroom .......

Momo pulled me into her bedroom, the room was filled with a faint aroma of lavender, and the quilt on the bed had already been lifted up to a corner waiting for me to fall asleep. I sat on the edge of the bed, not knowing how to look, on the one hand, I was overjoyed to be able to spend the night with Momo, but on the other hand, I was nervous that I would be discovered.

Momo seems to see my hesitation, smiled and comforted me: "Do not be too formal, just like usual at home. I'm going to take a shower and change my clothes first."

After she said that, she turned around and left the bedroom, leaving behind a room full of scents that made me think about it. After about twenty minutes, Momo came in, wrapped in a pink silk robe. This robe was much more revealing than the two pieces of loungewear she wore before - the V-neck of the upper body was almost open to the waist, exposing a large area of smooth and tender skin, Momo's pair of rounded and full peaks were also outlined in a particularly attractive way; while the lower half of the body's high-cut was directly to the root of the thighs, and as long as the slightest movement could be seen inside the panties and the snow-white legs. The lower half of the body was even high-cut directly to the base of the thighs, and if she moved a little, I could see the underwear inside and the snow-white curves of the legs.

Seeing Momo dressed like this, my lower body immediately reacted physiologically and quickly became engorged with blood and stood up. I hurriedly turned my back to Momo, trying to cover up the embarrassment. But just sniffing the fragrance of Momo's body and imagining her half-naked body, my rod was already so excited that it hurts. I can't control my strong desire to possess her.

Momo seemed to notice the abnormality in my body and laughed softly, "What's wrong with you? Are you not feeling well?"

I was so shocked that I almost jumped up. It turned out to be Momo who walked behind me, gently wrapped her hands around my waist, and pressed a pair of plump and elastic breasts tightly against my back.

"Aunt Momo, why are you...? I'm fine, I'm just a bit hot..." I was stunned by the sudden embrace, and for a moment I didn't know what to say.

"Really? But you look so flushed." Momo's voice was soft and sweet as she breathed in my ear, her flirtatious tone making my heart pound.

I felt Momo's body getting closer and closer, and those two soft and elastic objects were rubbing my back gently with her breath, stimulating my whole body to be tingling. I couldn't help but let out a low gasp, and my rod became even harder.

"Aunt Momo, I... I didn't mean that... I, I just..." I didn't know how to explain the current situation, so I had to stammer.

"It's okay, I just want to know if you don't mind Auntie Momo holding you to sleep? You look like comfortable~" Momo deliberately slowed down her speech and smiled warmly. One of her hands was still rubbing my abdomen, occasionally skimming over my crotch, causing me to shiver.

This demon! This is clearly deliberately provoking me, to see if I can lose control so easily.  I couldn't help but grit my teeth, but I didn't dare to show it, for fear of being found out what I was really up to. I could only maintain a calm expression, trying to resist the urge to grab and rub Momo's breasts.

I gradually could not restrain my inner impulses, slowly turned around to face Momo, hands also smoothly surrounded her slender waist, Momo sensed my change, then increased the force to hold me tightly into the embrace.

Her breasts were pressed against my body through the thin fabric, undulating and rubbing against me as she breathed. The feeling was so erotic that my heart rate shot up and my body temperature rose. I looked down at Momo, only a few centimeters between us, and the sound of each other's breathing was clearly audible. Momo's black hair fell on my shoulders, and the fire burning in the bottom of her eyes seemed to be about to set me on fire as well.

My sanity is gradually collapsing, the fire of desire inside my body is burning. I stretched my neck and tentatively put my lips on Momo's, feeling the heat of her lips and the seduction of her slightly open lips. Surprisingly, Momo didn't stop me but instead cooperated by probing her soft tongue into my mouth and entwining it fiercely with mine.

"Mmm... Aunt Momo..."

“Don't talk...” Momo gasped and stopped my next words, deepening the kiss. Her arms wrapped around me a little tighter, and my whole body was locked around her as if she was trying to devour me. We are letting each other's juices flow in exchange.

Our tongues were intertwined like two greedy vipers, twisting and biting each other. I greedily sucked the sweet juices from Momo's mouth, wanting to swallow them whole. We kissed louder and louder, saliva spilling out of the corners of our mouths and wetting the messy marks on our faces. My body was trembling with passion, and my penis was throbbing with excitement as it was pressed against her soft belly.

Momo suddenly let go of my lips and looked up at me. Then she leaned down and kissed me again while her long fingers peeled off her thin robe. I saw two pink and rounded buds suddenly exposed in the air, they were like two cherry blossoms in full bloom, delicately colored. I couldn't help but move forward and took a bite of one of the stamen-like buds, sucking greedily.

“Ah...” Momo let out a delicate sigh, and then twisted her waist, so that her lower body and my erect penis rubbed more closely together. At the same time, she crossed her legs on both sides of me, preventing me from escaping her control. I felt that my desire was about to be aroused to the limit by her, and my penis involuntarily twitched a few times, and a hot stream of water dripped out along the column ......

"Aunt Momo... I, I can't help it..." I murmured in her ear, but Momo just accelerated the swaying of her body, leaving me to struggle underneath her.

After hearing my words, Momo did change her position. She gently pushed me away from her and lay down on her side, and I followed suit, crouching on one side of her shoulders and neck. As I continued to lick the red cherry that was already covered in saliva, I watched her start to undo my pants. Soon, my pants were off, and my hot cock popped out, Momo's hand wrapped around it and stroked it up and down.

“Hiss...” I couldn't help but suck in a breath, it was too good. Her technique was skillful and gentle, from time to time, she used her fingertips to gently scrape across the coronary groove, giving me a tingling and unbearable stimulation. Soon there was a stream of cloudy white mucus overflowing from the tips, and when she saw it, she was even more excited, she increased her speed and vigorously stroked it.

I couldn't stand this extreme pleasure and hurriedly grabbed her wrist to stop. However, this action made her even more excited, and she even held my palm and clasped her fingers together, not giving me a chance to get out of her control. I had no choice but to let her set fire to all parts of my sensitive body, feeling like I was about to lose control and surrender at any moment.

Just as I was on the verge of collapse, Momo suddenly let go of my hand, raised one of her thighs across my belly, and then held my sinewy member, letting it fall into her body little by little.

I was already on the verge of orgasm, and with the hot, wet squeeze of Momo's pussy, I finally reached my peak the moment she entered. I gripped the bed sheet tightly and ejaculated stream after stream of thick cum against her depths.

"Uhh... Ah... Why did you cum so fast..." Momo lets out a sigh of satisfaction, but also in a slightly surprised tone. She slowly withdrew from me, looking at my glans hung with freshly gushed goo and what seemed to be more ready seed.

“You're still a virgin, aren't you?” Momo asked. I froze for a moment, not knowing how to answer. Her expression became very complicated, like she was a little distressed but with a hint of amusement." I knew it... You just did that with my underwear in the bathroom... What a perverted child... "

She paused, a feminine smile on her face, "My husband hasn't touched me in a long time either... It's a good idea to grab a young boy like you to take care of my needs," she said, crawling back underneath me, swallowing my parting in one bite, and starting a new round of teasing.

"Whoo.... ...Aunt Momo... Wait..." I was surprised by her sudden attack, and I almost lost my sanity, "What do you mean by that...? What do you mean..."

Before I could get an answer to my question, Momo had already used her extraordinary lip and tongue skills again. Her flexible and soft tongue licked around my erection, and occasionally she went deeper into my mouth and kissed the mouth of the bell. I could only feel the urges in my lower body getting stronger and stronger, and soon I was back in the groove.

"Auntie Momo... I want you..." I eagerly begged for pleasure, and Momo willingly lay down on the bed, spreading her legs, presenting her wet and pink petals in front of my eyes.

My breath caught in my throat, and my reasoning collapsed as I gripped my pestle and mortar tightly in both hands and leaned in towards Momo's private parts. The head of my cock rubbed against her swollen, sensitive clitoris, eliciting convulsions and low gasps.

"But... I don't have a condom..." I knew I should have pulled back before it was too late, but my body's desire had already won out over my reasoning.

"It's okay... You can cum in... Auntie Momo won't get pregnant here...I am safe today." Momo called out softly, cupping my face in her hands and staring at me with longing eyes. I couldn't resist this invitation, and slowly inserted my rod into Momo's already muddy pussy...

"Ah... ...Aunt Momo... I'm cumming..." I gritted my teeth and pushed in deeply, only to feel the warmth and tightness inside, wrapping my shaft layer by layer. Momo's whole body was trembling, and her mouth also let out a joyful and delicate chant.

“Uh...” I hummed out softly, Aunt Momo's pussy wasn't as tight as it should have been, but the abundance of water made me feel incredibly warm and melted. I couldn't help but speed up my pumping, and with each stroke I could clearly feel the head of my tortoise tracing the folds of her body, bringing unspeakable tingling and pleasure.

"So big... So hard... You're so powerful for such a small boy... It's even bigger than my husband's..." Momo gasped softly, her hips twisting to meet my thrusts. Her words made me feel a tinge of pride and made the connection between our war even tighter. I grabbed Momo's slim waist and thrust harder, Momo let out intermittent, soft moans that were like an aphrodisiac in my ears.

I moved my hands to Momo's long thighs, spreading them even wider, and then leaned down and pressed Momo's torso. The sensation of our skin sent shivers down my spine, and at the same time I rammed into Momo's deepest parts with increased force. The sound of clashing flesh was especially loud in the quiet night, Momo was gradually captured by my attack, her eyes were misty as she intertwined her fingers with mine.

My lips were roaming on one side of Momo's breasts, greedily savoring the light milky scent she gave off. Momo, on the other hand, always turned her head sideways and let out a heavy breathing sound, my double attack seemed to bring her great pleasure. The sheet under my crotch was already wet with Momo's continuous flow of nectar, and my rod would always be wrapped in a ripple of tidal waves as it traveled through it.

"Hmm... Y/N... Faster... Mmmm..." Momo couldn't stop urging me on, while her legs were wide open to meet my more intense thrusts. Her breasts are also bouncing up and down under my violent movements, and the two red cherries are rolling on my chest, bringing some tingling." Got it..." I sped up the frequency of my thrusts and felt Momo's body jerk at one point, a few short gasps following. She seemed to be a little disoriented by the top of my movements, frowning and biting her lower lip, even her toes curled up tightly.

I quickly stopped my movements and looked at Momo with concern, fearing that I might hurt her, but she quickly shook her head, a satisfied look on her face, "No... Y/N... You go on... Auntie Momo likes it..." As she said that, Momo opened her arms and took me into her arms, letting me lie between her breasts as if I were a child. Encouraged, I immediately went into another round of attack, filling the room with the sounds of pounding flesh and my proud Momo's moans. ......

Just as I increased my thrusts, Momo's expression suddenly became painful. Immediately afterward, her lower body clamped and a warm stream of water gushed out from the depths, drowning my entire penis in it. I immediately raised my body and pulled out my penis, and at the same time, a transparent jet of water shot out from Momo's honey pot, not only wetting my lower body, but even landing a few drops on my body." This... Is this... An orgasm...?" I watched in confusion as this happened, only to feel Auntie Momo's lower body spewing nectar like an open faucet. Momo's body didn't relax until more than ten seconds later, and her two soft breasts were swaying slightly with her trembling breath. Momo's cheeks were flushed, and she looked like she was enjoying the extreme pleasure she had just experienced.

After a while, Momo slowly stood up, pressed me down on the bed, and then gently stroked my already swollen part a few times. She then lowered herself to the ground, opened her red lips and swallowed the entire shaft, Momo's face was extremely charming, like an obsessed woman trying to please her lover. As the warm, moist walls of her mouth rubbed against the penis, there was a watery sound, and a stream of clear mucus overflowed from the tip of the penis, connecting it to Momo's red lips. Moving from my pussy to Momo's mouth, two very different sensations intertwined, causing me approaching orgasm, and I had to grit my teeth and restrain myself." Auntie Momo... I'm going to..." I mumbled, and Momo took hold of my cock, then left my wet tip and leaned in for a deep kiss. We were like a couple in love, kissing each other like crazy.

At this time Momo held my penis and rubbed it outside her petals a few times, then slowly sank down until the whole rod disappeared all the way into her tight private parts.

"Good... So big..." Another praise escaped from her mouth, Momo's walls seemed to have become even tighter due to the intense orgasm she had just had, almost completely wrapping up my penis without leaving a single gap.

"Me too... It's very comfortable, Auntie Momo..." Momo's face was still flushed. Then she started to push her waist, moving her lower body back and forth on my cock. My rod was stirring back and forth inside her hot and wet honey tunnel, rubbing against her sensitive inner walls.

Momo shook her long hair in delight, the sensation of being filled with a cock was too good to be true. I could not help but get even more excited as I looked at her happy face from my supine position. It was unbelievable to be able to fuck such a gorgeous wife and have her voluntarily gallivanting on top of me. I grabbed Momo's huge peaks with both hands and kneaded them, her gasps became more and more ragged, and her private tunnel was tightening without her realizing it. A kind of magical attraction was constantly reaching my penis from inside her body.

After about five minutes of this position, Momo suddenly lay on top of me, her long legs changed to a kneeling position, and she tightly wrapped them around my waist.

Momo then pressed her red lips onto mine, her soft and slippery tongue sliding in and out of my mouth. At the same time, she began to thrust vigorously, each time pressing the center of her womb hard against my cock.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh was loud and clear, Momo had no intention of slowing down at all, like a pile driver she was thrusting fiercely in and out, and my prick gradually developed a tingling sensation.

"Auntie Momo... I'm about to cum..." I couldn't help but beg for mercy, but Momo didn't budge, instead she sped up the frequency. Each heavy drop brought a sharp shock of pleasure to my penis, bringing me to the brink of an explosion.

"Auntie Momo... ...Auntie Momo... I want to...!" After a few minutes of rapid strokes, I finally reached the ultimate moment when my penis exploded with thick essence. At the same time, Momo's womb bites down on my tip, pouring down warm cum. Momo locked me in the deepest part of the canal, the hot liquid instantly filled the entire canal, the sensitive walls of the flesh felt an unprecedented burning pleasure . Momo was panting on top of me, her huge breasts squeezing my chest and trembling, and the only sound left in the room was the breathing of the two of us.

Momo stood up, straightened her appearance and left the room slowly. She went in the direction of the restroom and didn't come back for a long time. I got tired of waiting, so I rolled out of bed and went to the restroom to look for her. The lights in the hall were dim, and only the bathroom light was on. I cautiously walked over.

I saw Momo standing in front of the mirror with her head down washing her face. I followed her figure and noticed that Momo's private part between her legs was slightly red and swollen, with some white mucus coming out of it.

I think that should be the marks left by me before, I smiled in understanding. Momo was shocked and looked up at me through the mirror.

"Y/N? Do you want to go to the toilet too?" Momo asked. "Yes... I want to go to the...' toilet'." As I said that, I had already taken hold of my dick and slowly pushed it into Momo's vagina.

"Hmm... So quick... Again... Mmm..." Through the reflection of the mirror, I could see Momo's blush quickly creeping up on her cheeks again, and her pair of full breasts trembled slightly as she breathed.

I gripped Momo's hips with both hands and moved them forward and backward in time with Momo's rhythm, and Momo immediately lifted her ass up to make it easier for me to pump.

The sound of my body hitting Momo’s became louder and louder. The sight of my cock entering Momo's pussy was too exciting, plus the love juices that Momo's lower body was constantly secreting made my cock become slippery and shiny.

"Y/N... Hmm... Auntie Momo still has to work tomorrow... Uh..." Momo spoke intermittently, and from the mirror, I could see that her expression was already immersed in lust, making it difficult for her to extricate herself, her eyes were streaming, her cheeks were crimson, and her ample breasts were undulating restlessly. All of this was firmly controlled by my penis.

“I'll pick up the pace then, Auntie Momo...” As I said that, I sank my fingers deep into Momo’s ass cheeks and began to thrust with all my might. There was a lot of intense “popping” sounds, and a few of them even reached the womb opening, causing Momo to gasp a few times. Accompanied by the “plopping” sound of water, there are constantly spilling out from the place of coitus  " No... I can't make that sound again..." Momo hurriedly covered her mouth, desperately trying to restrain the winks that were spilling out from her throat.

The standing doggy position brought a very different feeling from the previous position, while looking at Momo's desperate expression in the mirror and her breasts swaying back and forth, at the same time, feeling my cock expanding a bit more. "Uhh... Ah... It's too deep... Y/N..." Momo's body trembled a few times, she knew that I had broken through the cervix and entered the deepest part, she couldn't help but gasp out. In the mirror, she seemed to see the same sight, and more ecstasy and longing welled up under her eyes. "Mmm... Y/N's cock is too powerful... Auntie Momo can't stand it anymore..." Momo twisted her waist impatiently, trying to get more pleasure. But my fingers had already clamped down on her waistline, preventing any possibility of escape. Momo's belly bulged slightly, as if she was harboring a tiny life. I couldn't help but increase my pressure, each stroke was a powerful one, pushing the head of the turtle to its deepest point, Momo's mind was almost on the verge of losing control, her nails were embedded in her palms, tears were coming out of her eyes, but she couldn't stop her mouth from letting out petulant whimpers and gasps.

As my cock moved in and out of Momo's vagina, a stream of tingling electricity gradually accumulated in my mind. I pinched Momo's waist and used all my strength to send my penis to the deepest part. “Aunt Momo!” After a roar, my tips burst into the uterus, countless hot white cum shot into Momo's most private place. Momo's body lightly trembled for a moment, then gasped violently.

After about a minute, I reluctantly withdrew my cock. After three good sex sessions, Momo's lower body had already been filled with my essence, so even at this point I couldn't stop ejaculating, and a large amount of milky white color still flowed out from Momo's open pussy, I rubbed my rod on Momo's ass a few times to clean up the remaining cum on my tips.

Momo was lying on her stomach by the sink, her legs trembling, her rounded buttocks high in the air, a picture that rekindled the desire in my body. My penis, which had not yet softened, immediately rose up again and was ready to go.

“Aunt Momo, I want you again...” Without waiting for Momo's response, I leaned over and fell on top of her, wrapping my hands around her armpits and kneading the soft flesh of her breasts. At the same time, my rod once again broke through the door and pounded into Momo's body. "Hmm... Not so fast... We should take a break... Ah..." Momo tried to protest, but her words were soon replaced by a series of gasps. I accelerated the speed of my thrusts, going deeper and deeper, soon pushing Momo's sanity into a bottomless abyss.

Since that day, Momo and I have been in an instant relationship. Whenever I came to my best friend's house after school, we would always have sex in the bathroom, then step out of the shower together, smile at each other, kiss and hug, and then go into the bedroom and close the door to continue our “workout”. I believe that even the closest friends could never have imagined that one day his best friend would be with their mom, right? After all, who could have imagined such a scene - a young handsome high school student kneeling in front of his best friend's mother, licking her stamen; or this mature and colorful middle-aged woman sitting on her son's best friend's lap, writhing her voluptuous body

[gojoest]

you always do your skincare routine with satoru.

what started as a simple morning-and-night habit has turned into a ritual — your little moment of peace before the chaos of the day (or bedtime mischief).

at least it’s supposed to be peaceful.

but with satoru? skincare becomes an exercise in patience. because the sheet masks mean one terrifying thing: no kisses for twenty whole minutes. a personal tragedy for your husband.

you’re gently trying to smooth the mask over his face, but he keeps scrunching his nose like a toddler.

“satoru”, you scold, biting back a smile. “hold still or it’s going to wrinkle”

“but it’s cold”, he whines, leaning back like the mask physically offended him. “why is it always cold? isn’t skincare supposed to feel loving?”

you chuckle as you place your own mask on, then sit beside him. now you both look like two hydrated ghosts.

a quiet moment passes.

your eyes meet.

and of course, you can see the mischief brewing behind his lashes.

“don’t”, you warn, but it’s too late.

he leans in, lips pressing softly against yours — slow, delicate, like any movement might make the masks slip.

“i’m not moving”, he insists in a whisper, lips still pressed against yours. “this is a technical kiss. totally mask-safe. dermatologist-approved”

you snort. there’s really no winning against him when he’s like this.

but honestly, you don’t want to. he’s adorable.

you stay like that for a moment — frozen in a very delicate, very silly standoff.

then he whispers again. “how much longer? i want to kiss you properly”

you check your phone. “nine more minutes”

“nine?!”, he groans dramatically and flops back like he’s been shot, muttering about being kiss deprived and emotionally undernourished. “i might not make it”

“you’ll live”, you chuckle.

“will i? will i really? because i can feel my soul leaving my body”

you pat his hair. “if you survive, i’ll kiss you all day”

that gets him. he peeks up with a smirk.

“now that sounds like the miraculous recovery that stuns the entire medical staff”

[jesuistrestriste]

i absolutely adore your pastor’s son art but..hear me out…pastors son patrick 😈 but unlike art he is lowkey sacrilegious and not as hard to drag into sin like art

-🍰

♱ pastor’s son!patrick zweig x reader

cw (18+) : switch!patrick, switch!reader, mild corruption kink, mutual masturbation, giving each other a hand, general filth and dirty talk

patrick’s a good boy.

a true believer; he’s someone who idolizes his father, the only pastor in his small town, and does everything he can to remain physically and emotionally devout. doing bible studies alone in his bedroom, attending every service that’s held, upholding the religious teachings that have been woven into his very soul from a young age.

but.. that’s not to say that temptation is easy for him to push down and pray away.

temptation is more like a toxic friend that mumbles dirty little nothings into his ear when all he wants to do is avoid the draw of engaging in sin. it thumbs the waistband of his underwear when it’s late at night and he can’t stop thinking about the curves of people’s bodies. it licks warmly at his lower stomach when he catches you sparing him a glance on your way out the tall church doors. and god, your lips.. oh, your lips..

temptation is more like a sick, twisted, toothy monster that clings to his back and digs its claws into his flesh. bleeds him out from the puncture wounds, letting the filth leave his body and become realized. it’s impossible to ignore. it gets him into trouble.

you’re mostly to blame though. this time, at least.

you had chatted him up after a particularly stirring sermon, when everyone had already left, and then relished in the flush of his cheeks that had been so deep in color it almost hid his freckles completely. you’d touched his arm and smiled all sweet, your poison seeping into his frame from your fingertips. he tried to resist, he really did.

if temptation was a monster trying to fuse to his spine, it was certainly your henchman.

now you’re sitting beside him in an empty pew in the empty building. heads turned toward one another as shared, heavy, stuttered breathing echoes out into the spacious church. despite it being a peaceful place, it’s beginning to smell of nothing but sticky immorality. it’s easy to pick up on the scent of sweat from warm bodies and faint musk from the fluids involuntarily spilling forth.

his hand is shoved down into his unzipped jeans and past the elastic of his boxers, pumping himself shakily as he watches you play with yourself at the same time. your fingers rub quickly at the sensitive spot that makes you feel hot all over. patrick spares half a glance to your hand’s movements as you shift it underneath the shielding fabric, and lets out a soft, strangled sort of sound at the sight.

“does that feel good?” he breathes out, his voice breaking around a moan as he accidentally thumbs his tip. it’s already covered in his fluids. slimy and lewd.

you nod quickly, your brow pinched up and your legs trembling.

“y-yeah, feels really nice,” you murmur, “how does your cock feel?”

immediately, his legs kick out in front of him and he sinks a little in his seat—his stomach flipping pleasantly at the sound of that vile word slipping from your mouth. cock. he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard to stop himself from saying something stupid like “please, say that again”.

this is the first time he’s ever seen someone else touching their body this way, let alone with him. this is all so new and thrilling and terrifying, but he can’t help but enjoy it—it’s ironically the closest he’s felt to salvation in a very long time. his hips feel floaty, his head is spinning, and his toes are curling in his shoes. he doesn’t quite remember how he let you talk him into this.

“.. aah, oh— it’s so good..” he shakes.

you swallow thickly and arch your pelvis into your circling fingers. you hump your touch, trying to get more friction. thrumming bursts of heat begin to burst in your lower stomach like fireworks..

patrick suddenly keens and cries out, pulling his wet palm from his bottoms in half of a second, like he just burned himself on a scorching stovetop. he pants raggedly and then looks to you with lidded, watercolor eyes. loose brown curls hang in front of his forehead as he parts his lips.

“i almost—..” he can’t finish the sentence, reaching his digits up to tug at his damp collar. it’s like god is actively punishing him by cooking him alive. he’s never felt quite so overheated. and he does feel guilty, more than he’s willing to admit to himself, but you’re all he can see right now. there’s no way he’s going to give this up. not a chance in hell.

he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he’s doing it. his clean hand reaching for your occupied wrist, guiding you out of your underwear and then down into his own. he gives you a pleading look, a desperate one, and then his jaw slacks when he feels you instantly wrap your touch around his throbbing length. how is it that you know exactly what to do? have you done this before? with who?

he tries not to get jealous. he’s in absolutely no position to feel that way.

all thoughts melt away anyways when you begin to stroke him. up, down, up, down, up, down; the squelching of your tightening hold on him only further igniting his forbidden arousal. it’s hypnotic, and holy fuck, it’s so much better than doing it himself.

everything feels so sensitive.

“please, just touch me,” he shudders out, looking deep into your eyes as he instinctively reaches out to find your body. his fingers inch down past the waistband of your panties to brush over the swollen bud hidden beneath. just the feeling of your soft, squishy flesh sends him careening towards the edge. he’s losing it quickly. almost embarrassingly so.

your knee knocks into his as you whine, spreading your legs farther apart to give him more access. your own release only a handful of agonizing moments away.

you’re both filling the place with sounds filthy enough to shatter the stained glass. the fragments that would come down in the wreckage to slice at your bodies would be less painful than this act of teetering on the precipice of something so primal and grotesque.

he swipes his fingers awkwardly from side to side over your parts as he fumbles with the angle of his touch and his lack of experience. but despite all of that, it feels incredible. your legs clamp around him and your back arches up from the wooden pew. your fist glides over his frenulum as you jolt.

he leans in closer, almost close enough to kiss you, and chokes on a whimper.

“im think i’m about to— im ’bout to—..!”

his voice shakes the earth.

the waves of overwhelming sensation in your body start to flare; your muscles pulling taut as patrick’s do the same.

“i think im really gonna come.. i-is it okay if i come—?” he whispers, whiny and urgent.

like a plea. a prayer.

“yeah, yeah, yeah.. me too..” it tumbles from your chest and stills the air around you.

everything stops for just a moment.

him gasping and squeezing his eyes shut. you gripping the edge of the wood below you with your free hand, nearly squealing as his thumb flicks messily over your bead of nerves. he jerks forward in his seat before seizing up at the sound of your strained little noise—toppling over the edge with a jarring finality that seals him in his shame and blinding pleasure. he all but wails.

wet warmth meets your skin and you touch him through the waves of orgasm that have him promising to repent. your own climax rips moans from your throat and forces you to gush into your clothing. patrick doesn’t even know what to think, not that he can, brain much too melted to salvage any coherency. the sound of bells and doves and the choir fills his head. ringing out deafeningly, like a sick joke. he can’t seem to come down from the high.

he trembles as he pushes down softly on your slick bud, then collapses afterwards into a heap of jelly-like limbs. you follow not a second later. you're both a mess of slick parts and damp faces.

he wipes at his upper lip and then his cheek.

“oh my-..” he trails off, knowing he probably shouldn’t finish the sentiment. he’s already on bad terms. no need to make it worse for him later in the confessional. he sighs, still feeling your hand resting around his softening dick. he tries not to think about the fact that he covered your fingers in his depravity, but the thought comes and goes without his permission anyway. his flesh twitches. he stifles a groan.

“yeah.. woah..” you smirk lazily,

he gets the urge to drop to his knees and pull you down with him. to press his lips to yours before bowing his head and asking for forgiveness. that would probably be the proper thing to do. the better thing. his dad always says that the harder something is to do, the more likely that it’s the right thing to do. he doesn’t know if that’s true, but.. holding himself back from kissing you while also grappling with the remorse has him struggling to maintain composure.

patrick vows right then to never repeat this sort of thing in the future, to refuse the clutches of temptation whenever it pricks his skin again, but the vow begins to crack the moment he feels your index finger lazily rub at the vein bulging from his shaft. he inhales sharply through gritted teeth at the sensitivity, and then turns his head to look to your expression. eyes glazing over with reigniting desire.

he can deny it no longer. oh, you are temptation in human form, flesh and bone.

you’re inescapable.

[cbeargyu]

Hi. Would you write for Jeno fucking the lights out of somebody who's a little older (like maybe the girl isn't being sexually satisfied by her boyfriend or husband). They always say that it's the last time they fuck, but the sexual chemistry's just too strong. Jeno strikes me as having really good sexual stamina. 🥵

no better than this

summary: after your marriage crumbles under the weight of scandal, you find yourself drawn back to the one person who makes you feel something real: jeno. a dangerous attraction, powerful enough to break every rule, pulls you both deeper into a world of lust, deceit, and undeniable chemistry.

pairing: bartender!jeno x model fem!reader

genre: strangers to lovers, smut, angst, drama, forbidden love, cheating, infidelity, age-gap.

warnings: explicit sexual content, dirty talk, dominance/submission, infidelity, emotional manipulation, betrayal, power dynamics, slight public humiliation, toxic relationships, heavy angst, strong language, alcohol, verbal and physical violence (slight), age-gap (jeno is 26, reader 32)

wc: 16,6k

notes: i loved writing this fic, like, seriously. just imagining jeno washing dishes, serving drinks at the bar… omg, it was the best visual ever🫦

the city was cruel at night.

the neon lights, the endless swarm of tired bodies pretending they weren't tired, the polluted air swirling with ambition and failure alike. jeno lee, 26 years old, stood behind the bar of a dingy little place tucked between the shadows of hongdae, polishing glasses that would only get stained with cheap liquor in a matter of minutes.

he smelled of detergent and old grease from his morning job washing dishes at one of seoul’s "top" three-star restaurants. a place he didn’t belong to, a place that made sure he remembered it every day by the way customers looked through him like he was invisible, or worse, like he was furniture.

he was exhausted — not just physically, but soul-deep. it was the kind of exhaustion that settled into your bones when you knew you were never getting out of this life. he had buried any dreams he once had in the same grave as his father, when he was twelve and too young to know that poverty wasn't a phase you could grow out of.

and yet, he smiled sometimes. when his brothers texted him that they got a good grade. when his mother called to tell him she baked sweet bread again and saved him a piece. it was enough. it had to be enough.

jeno had made peace with being a ghost in his own life.

until now.

it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

jeno had spent the last three hours hunched over a mountain of dishes, the warm stink of soap and seafood lingering thick in the air, when he heard the shouting. a woman’s voice, sharp and high, slicing through the low hum of the restaurant. he froze with his hands wrist-deep in sudsy water, heart picking up in that animal way, because chaos meant someone was going to get hurt, someone was going to get fired, and if he was lucky, it wouldn't be him.

he wiped his hands hastily on his apron, trailing after the others who rushed toward the front of the house, curiosity outweighing caution. the floor was a mess of half-eaten plates, knocked-over chairs, and stunned patrons frozen mid-bite. at the center of it all, like a storm dressed in luxury, was you.

you wore a red satin dress that clung to your body like a second skin, a thin gold belt cinched tight at your waist, the hem daringly high against your thighs. a designer bag dangled from your manicured hand, oversized sunglasses pushed up into your glossy hair even though it was past sunset. everything about you screamed money, glamour, and a certain kind of rage that only came from living too long in a world that bowed at your feet — until it didn’t.

hayoon, the shy server from the kitchen, stood shaking in front of you, eyes wide with tears. you were pointing at her, your voice blistering with insults that jeno didn’t even want to believe someone could spit out at another human being. the reason? a splash of soup on your dress — a barely-there stain that wouldn't even have been visible if you hadn't made such a scene.

jeno felt a hot coil of anger twist in his gut. he hated this. hated the way people with power treated people like hayoon, like they were disposable. he moved forward on instinct, but a hand clamped down on his arm — the captain of the kitchen, shaking his head. "let it go," he muttered. "the manager will handle it."

but jeno couldn’t just stand there. he watched as the manager came out, bending over backward to apologize, offering free meals, free services, free anything just to get you to stop screaming. but you were already halfway out the door, your heels clicking sharply against the floor, your manager scrambling after you, bowing and apologizing to anyone within earshot.

jeno lingered for a moment, staring at the door where you’d disappeared. you were beautiful, yes — blindingly so, in the way celebrities looked in magazine spreads. but there was something broken about you too. something mean and brittle that leaked out in every word you spat.

he didn't know your name, and honestly, he didn't want to.

you didn’t plan to end up here.

the night had started in a penthouse high above the city, where the air smelled like money and lies, and everything was sterile enough to make you feel like a ghost in your own life. he had come home drunk again — your husband, the man whose last name you bore like a brand on your skin — laughing too loud, talking too close, a storm brewing in his blood. there were always storms with him lately. sometimes it was words, sometimes it was fists, sometimes it was just silence so thick it felt like drowning.

every day felt like trudging through quicksand, sinking deeper with every desperate, failing breath. no matter how brightly you smiled on camera, how gracefully you moved under the hot gaze of the world, inside you were rotting, crumbling, losing yourself piece by piece.

you drank to keep yourself together. to forget for a few blessed hours that you hated everything about what you’d become.

you had slipped away while he was in the shower, the sound of water crashing against marble covering your frantic steps. you turned off your phone, tucked it into the deepest drawer of your dresser, buried under silk panties and bras that no longer made you feel like a woman but like a doll on display. the dress you wore wasn’t meant for running away — a stupid, glittering thing you had bought months ago, back when you still cared about being seen, about being beautiful for him. it clung to you now like a second skin, tight over your ribs, the sequins catching every shard of light like tiny knives.

you dressed yourself with reckless hands — black stiletto heels that made you feel powerful and dangerous even as they promised blisters. over it, you threw a heavy blue faux-fur coat, the color electric and defiant, sliding over your shoulders like armor. finally, you hid your face behind oversized black sunglasses, thinking foolishly, maybe no one would recognize you if you wore your sadness like a costume.

you found a bar at the end of a long, forgotten street, tucked between a closed-down laundromat and a yawning alley that smelled like rain and regret. from the outside, it looked abandoned, silent. inside, it was alive with low pulsing music, bodies pressed together in the semi-darkness, a haze of sweat and cigarette smoke blurring the edges of the room.

you walked in, shoulders squared, pretending you belonged there.

you didn’t.

you crossed the room, the click of your heels drowned out by the bass, and perched yourself at the bar, ordering something light — a stupid move, really, because you knew you wouldn’t stop at one.

you sipped your drink slowly, the whiskey burning a hole straight through you, your fingers trembling around the glass. you muttered nonsense at first — complaints, bitchy little comments, the kind of mask you wore so often it had fused to your skin. you could see it in the bartender’s face — boredom, mild disdain. just another rich girl slumming it for the night.

he was there.

jeno.

young, good-looking in a way that was almost boring, except for the way his eyes stayed sharp and careful, like he didn’t trust the world one bit. his black t-shirt stretched over strong arms, veins prominent in his forearms as he wiped down the bar with a casual, detached air. the kind of man who'd seen too much shit to be impressed by drunk girls in sequin dresses.

he barely glanced at you when he took your order, just another blurred face in the river of broken people who washed up here.

but you — you were electric.

you wanted to be invisible. instead, you shone.

jeno’s eyebrows lifted the tiniest bit as he poured your drink, not because he recognized you, but because you stood out like a bleeding wound in a sea of bruises. the coat, the dress, the glasses — it all screamed look at me even as you tried to hide.

but you couldn’t stop yourself.

the words spilled out in a slurred, bitter mess, your voice thick with a sadness you couldn’t cage anymore.

"my life’s a fucking joke," you said, half-laughing, half-sobbing, voice too loud in your own ears. "i used to be someone, you know? i used to be bright. i used to be... more."

the bartender didn’t answer. just watched you, his face unreadable. you went on anyway, drunk on the relief of being heard even if he didn’t care.

"now i’m... this," you said, gesturing vaguely at yourself — at the too-short dress, the scraped knees from running in heels, the mascara smudged under your sunglasses. "married to a monster who treats me like a pet he forgot he owned. locked up in a golden cage."

you nursed your drink carefully, trying to keep your hands from trembling. said stupid, disconnected things just to hear your own voice over the roar in your head.

jeno answered with mechanical politeness, the same way a man answers someone he’s already learned not to care about.

until you started to crack.

"i don’t even know who i am anymore."

the silence stretched between you, heavy and uncomfortable.

you fumbled for your whiskey, took another long sip, your throat working around the burn.

until the alcohol loosened the ties holding you together and you began to spill pieces of yourself across the sticky bar — how you used to dream bigger, how you thought love was supposed to be saving and beautiful and now it was a cage, how nothing felt real anymore except the way the whiskey burned your throat.

and for a moment — just a moment — he looked at you differently.

he didn’t lean in. he didn’t touch you. he didn’t offer pretty lies or cheap kindness.

but he listened.

he listened like it hurt him to hear you. like maybe he knew something about living with broken dreams too.

you felt it, that flicker of attention, and you clung to it like a starving animal.

and then, needing something, anything, you turned toward him, tipping your head slightly, your voice softening into something almost childlike

"do you think i'm pretty?" you asked, your voice cracking halfway through the question, barely more than a whisper under the pounding beat of the music.

jeno froze, the rag still in his hand, his mouth parting slightly as if caught off guard.

he wasn’t used to this — not from you, not from anyone. pretty girls didn’t ask if they were pretty. they already knew.

you watched him struggle, his brow furrowed, his lips pressing together.

he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to lie to you or not. maybe he thought it was safer to lie. maybe he thought you were too fragile to survive the truth.

after a second too long, he nodded.

"yeah," he said, voice low, awkward, a little raw. "you're... pretty."

you laughed. not the sharp, cruel laugh you usually gave to the world — something softer, something sadder. you felt it down to your marrow: he didn’t know if he meant it. he said it because you needed him to say it.

and for tonight, that was enough.

even if tomorrow you would hate yourself for it.

even if tomorrow he would forget you.

you closed your eyes, letting the music swallow you, letting the lie settle over your bruised heart like a bandage too thin to hold.

jeno looked away first, back to his glasses and bottles, pretending like nothing had just happened.

you reached up with trembling fingers and pulled your sunglasses off.

you didn’t do it gently. you ripped them off, like shedding a skin. exposing yourself under the cheap neon lights, letting him see every cracked, broken piece of you.

your eyes were swollen from crying, your makeup a wreck. but more than that, it was the vulnerability that made you ugly — the way your gaze clung to his, desperate and ashamed all at once.

jeno looked at you.

at first, there was nothing — just the bored, impassive glance he gave everyone.

and then his brows pulled together. recognition sparking in his eyes like a slow, dangerous fire.

then his mouth twisted into something cruel, careless.

"you’re..." he started, his voice low, rough.

you watched him realize it.

"you’re the fucking bitch from the restaurant," he said, blunt as a slap.

no hesitation. no mercy.

the words hung in the air, thick and ugly. people nearby glanced over, but you didn’t care. couldn’t.

you just stared at him, your heart collapsing inside your chest like a dying star.

and then — the most surprising thing. you didn’t scream. you didn’t throw your drink in his face. you didn’t insult him back, like you would have earlier tonight, or a thousand other nights before.

your shoulders slumped.

your eyes dropped to the sticky floor.

and you nodded.

because he was right.

because they were all right.

you were a bitch. a trophy. a ghost. a prisoner.

maybe they were right.

you mumbled something under your breath — a pathetic excuse, something about how it wasn’t what it looked like, how life sometimes cornered you until you had no choice but to bite and snarl to survive.

jeno didn’t respond.

he looked away, wiping a glass clean with mechanical efficiency, his jaw tight. you didn’t need him to say anything. you already knew how he saw you now.

the drinks kept coming after that.

you ordered another.

and another.

and another.

your legs grew numb. your mind fuzzed out into static. the world tilted on its axis until you couldn't tell whether you were laughing or crying anymore.

jeno served you silently, reluctantly, with the grim understanding of a man who knew he was enabling something ugly but didn’t have the heart to stop you.

by the time the clock behind the bar hit three a.m., the place was emptying out. the music was a low murmur, the lights dimmer, the air thick with the smell of sweat, alcohol, and regret.

you barely noticed the two security guys approaching.

"hey, jeno," one of them said, nudging his shoulder roughly, "this one's out. get her the fuck outta here before she pukes on the floor."

jeno glanced at you, his lips tightening.

"she's too drunk," he said. "she shouldn’t—"

"not our problem," the guard snapped, already moving toward you.

you tried to push yourself off the stool, but the ground tilted sickeningly under your heels. you reached instinctively for something — for your phone, for a bag, for anything to anchor you — but your fingers only brushed the edge of your small wallet tucked against your side. no phone. no one to call.

you were alone.

hands grabbed your arms roughly. you struggled weakly, mumbling protests that didn’t even make sense to yourself.

jeno swore under his breath, trying to step between you and the guards, but there were two of them and one of him, and they didn’t give a shit about some drunk girl dressed like a fallen angel.

you were dragged outside.

the cold night air slapped you in the face, snapping you into a sharper, more painful awareness of how absolutely pathetic you were right now.

the sidewalk was cracked and wet, the streetlights buzzing overhead like dying stars.

you stumbled, falling hard on your knees, scraping the tender skin through the thin fabric of your stockings.

jeno followed a few steps behind, breathless and furious but helpless too, his fists clenched at his sides.

he finished his shift fifteen minutes later, tossing his apron onto the counter with a bitter, disgusted motion.

he told himself he didn’t owe you anything.

that he should just go home.

you weren't his responsibility.

you weren’t even someone he liked.

but when he walked out onto the street and saw you still there — slumped against the cold wall, legs sprawled, head hanging low, your stupid fucking coat slipping off your shoulders like a wilted flower — something inside him cracked.

you looked so small.

so goddamn breakable.

he muttered a curse under his breath, crossing the street in three long strides.

you barely noticed him until he was crouching in front of you, his hand hovering awkwardly near your arm.

"come on," he said, voice rougher than he intended. "you can't stay here."

your eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

"hello?" you slurred, a sad, broken kind of hope in your voice.

he didn’t answer. he just pulled you up, wrapping one strong arm around your waist to keep you from collapsing again.

you were deadweight against him, boneless, trusting him in the dumb, dangerous way that only truly broken people trusted strangers.

he had no idea why the fuck he was doing this.

maybe because he saw too much of himself in you.

maybe because leaving you here felt like leaving a wounded animal to die.

he didn't think about it too hard.

he just walked, dragging you along, toward the shitty apartment he called home, knowing that in the morning, everything would be even messier than it already was.

but for tonight, he would be the idiot who caught the falling star before it shattered completely.

jeno fumbled with the rusty lock of his apartment, keys jingling clumsily as he struggled to keep your half-conscious body propped against his side. the familiar smell of damp walls and cheap detergent hit him as he finally managed to shove the door open, the two of you stumbling into the cramped, poorly lit space.

his apartment was nothing more than a dim square — naked walls, a tiny kitchen barely separated from the living area; the only kind of refuge he could offer you that night.

he kicked the door shut behind him, hands holding you with more care than he ever thought he was capable of. you were light, fragile even, so different from the image you had projected earlier — all glittering sequins, stiletto heels, and that ridiculous electric blue fur coat hanging loosely off your shoulders like some pathetic flag of surrender.

jeno guided you to his messy bed, the only one in the room, and let you fall into it with a kind of clumsy gentleness. you stirred slightly, dragging the rough sheets with you, a shaky sigh escaping your lips. your dress rode up dangerously high along your thighs, exposing smooth, warm skin — raw vulnerability laid bare.

"hey..." your voice was small, uncertain.

jeno turned his head just enough to see you, your body curled into a tight ball, your face half-buried in the pillow.

"what's your name?" you asked.

it hit him harder than it should have — the simple, broken question.

"jeno," he said after a beat, voice rough. "lee jeno, and you?"

there was a pause.

long enough that he thought you’d passed out again.

then:

"does it matter?" you whispered, almost too quiet to hear.

jeno exhaled sharply through his nose, a bitter little laugh catching in his throat. "guess not."

for a moment, jeno couldn’t move. he just stood there, watching the broken, overflowing creature you had become, a knot forming in his throat and something much darker twisting low in his belly. he clenched his fists at his sides, forcing himself to take a step back. he wasn't that kind of man. he wouldn’t be that kind of man.

he turned toward the worn-out couch, muttering a curse under his breath. he'd have to rough it out tonight, he figured. one last glance toward you, curled up in a ball of sequins and regret, and he was retreating towards the door of the bedroom, bracing himself for a night of painful insomnia.

but then you moved.

a broken little moan slipped from your throat as you pushed yourself up, your electric blue coat sliding off your shoulders to pool at your feet. the sequined dress caught the faint light, flickering like something barely alive. you stood, barefoot and trembling, swaying slightly as you crossed the few steps between you and him.

"don't go..." you slurred, voice thick, syrupy, a dangerous kind of sweetness.

jeno stiffened when your hands found his back — small, warm hands — and pressed your body flush against his. your breasts, soft and full, molded to him through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, your breath warm and damp against his neck.

"i know i'm drunk..." you whispered, your hands trailing up his sides, seeking skin, seeking heat. "but i'm also so fucking horny. it's been... it's been so long..."

jeno’s heart punched against his ribs, blood rushing south so violently he almost staggered. he could feel his cock hardening instantly, straining painfully against his jeans.

"fuck..." he muttered, hands closing around your wrists to halt your wandering touch — but with no real strength behind it, his grip trembling.

you laughed, low and bitter, feeling his reaction through the thick denim, rubbing yourself against him with deliberate, reckless need. "you feel that, right? you want me too..."

jeno shut his eyes, breathing harshly through his nose, as if that could somehow erase the vision of you — drunk, aching, desperate for something to fill the void gnawing at your soul. everything inside him screamed to just take it. to lose himself in your body and your sadness.

but not like this.

not fucking like this.

"no," he rasped, pushing you back with a gentle but firm hand. your eyes, glassy and pleading, stabbed straight through him, leaving a wound that might never heal. "not like this, you're drunk"

you wobbled slightly on your feet, confusion and wounded pride flashing across your face.

jeno stepped away from you as if your very touch could burn him alive. he dragged a hand down his face, cursing again under his breath. the hard-on straining against his jeans was a cruel, relentless reminder of what he was denying himself.

without thinking, he turned and fled into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

he flipped the shower on, letting freezing water crash down without even testing the temperature first.

stripping hastily, he stepped under the punishing cold, gasping at the shock against his overheated skin.

but it wasn't enough.

the images — your soft body pressed against him, the hunger in your voice — wouldn't leave him alone.

with a muttered curse, he braced himself against the cold tiles, his hand sliding down to his aching cock, gripping it roughly.

he worked himself with desperate, furious strokes, biting back moans of frustration.

your face, your lips, the faint trembling of your voice — it all burned inside his mind, even as he spilled himself against the wall with a grunt of broken need.

he wrapped his fingers around himself, jerking roughly, almost angrily, trying to erase the image of you from his mind — but failing miserably.

because all he could think about was how soft your skin had felt when he’d touched your arm. how you had looked at him like he was someone who could save you.

his hips stuttered forward, chasing a release he hated himself for even needing.

he came with a strangled, broken sound, painting the tiles in front of him, his forehead dropping against the cold wall.

he stayed under the icy water for a moment longer, letting it wash away the physical evidence of his failure to control himself. but it did nothing to erase the guilt.

when he finally emerged, wet and exhausted, the apartment felt even colder, even emptier.

you were passed out again on his bed, the ridiculous fur coat now tangled beneath you like some tattered shield.

jeno collapsed onto the couch, dragging the rough blanket over himself, shutting his eyes against the too-bright images still playing behind his eyelids.

tomorrow, he told himself.

tomorrow he’d forget you.

forget the taste of your voice, the shape of your body, the scent of cheap perfume still clinging to the air.

tomorrow.

if he fucking survived the night.

the faint murmur of the city waking up outside was what pulled you from the thick, nauseating fog of sleep.

your head throbbed painfully as you shifted on the unfamiliar mattress, the rough blanket scraping against your bare legs. the world tilted dangerously when you forced yourself upright, one hand clutching your pounding temple, the other searching for anything solid to anchor yourself.

it was then that you noticed him.

sitting awkwardly on a battered old couch across the small room, watching you with a guarded, tense expression.

panic surged through your veins like fire, burning away the last remnants of alcohol in your system. you scrambled off the bed, heart hammering violently against your ribs, and pressed yourself back against the nearest wall.

"where the fuck am i?" you demanded, voice hoarse and trembling. "who are you? did you — did you fucking kidnap me?"

jeno flinched as if you had struck him, the muscles in his jaw tightening. he rose slowly from the couch, palms raised slightly in a gesture of peace, his brows knitting together in a deep frown.

"i didn't kidnap you," he said, voice low, steady. "you got drunk at the bar. couldn't even stand. the bouncers threw you out like trash. i couldn't just leave you there in the street at three in the morning."

you stared at him, breathing hard, trying to make sense of the jumbled memories flashing through your mind — neon lights, the overwhelming haze of alcohol, the taste of desperation in your mouth.

seeing the genuine offense, the almost hurt in his expression, some of the panic drained away, leaving only a heavy, miserable shame. you wiped a trembling hand over your face, letting your forehead thud softly against the wall behind you.

"fuck... i'm sorry," you mumbled, your voice breaking.

jeno just shook his head, as if he didn’t expect much better from you.

after a heavy silence, you peeked at him from beneath your lashes, guilt gnawing at your gut. "did i...?" you hesitated, the words sticking to your dry tongue. "did i say anything... inappropriate?"

jeno froze — just for a second — but it was enough. the way his ears flushed pink, the way he shifted uncomfortably where he stood, looking anywhere but at you.

you felt your own stomach sink, mortification rising like a wave.

"oh my god," you whispered. "i did. i propositioned you, didn’t i?"

jeno scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath. "you were drunk," he said tightly. "you didn’t know what you were saying."

you groaned, covering your burning face with your hands. "i'm so fucking sorry. god, you must think i'm..."

"it's fine," he cut you off sharply. too sharply.

you swallowed, throat raw. then, fumbling toward the nightstand, you found a scrap of paper and a pen.

"give me your bank account number," you said, voice still shaking. "i'll transfer you some money. it's the least i can do for — for this."

jeno stared at you like you had slapped him.

"i don't want your money," he said, voice cold, final. "just... forget it. forget this ever happened."

but forgetting wasn’t possible. not with the way your heart slammed against your ribs every time your eyes met, not with the heavy, crackling silence filling the tiny apartment.

you shifted, the hem of your dress riding dangerously up your thighs, and you caught the way his gaze flicked downward, his throat bobbing in a harsh swallow.

it was all the confirmation you needed.

without thinking, without even breathing, you crossed the distance between you.

jeno stiffened as you pressed your body to his once again, but this time, you were fully aware, fully sober, your mind burning with the reckless, stupid need that had never really left you.

"if you really don’t want anything from me..." you whispered, fingertips ghosting up his chest, "then push me away."

for a heartbeat, he didn’t move.

then —

with a low, guttural growl, he grabbed you by the waist, slamming your body back against the nearest wall. the impact knocked the air from your lungs, but you barely noticed, too consumed by the heat, the sheer violence of it.

his mouth crashed against yours, teeth scraping, tongues clashing in a messy, desperate kiss that tasted of frustration and hunger and something dangerously close to despair.

jeno’s hands were everywhere — gripping your ass, hauling you higher until you were forced to wrap your legs around his hips. you could feel his cock, thick and throbbing through his jeans, grinding hard against the soaked strip of your panties.

you gasped against his mouth, rolling your hips, seeking friction, seeking anything that could numb the hollow ache inside you.

"fuck, you're gonna be the death of me," he growled, dragging his mouth down your neck, biting and sucking harshly until you were sure you'd wear his marks for days.

he barely gave you time to breathe, yanking your dress up to your waist, tearing your panties down with brutal efficiency.

you whimpered when the cold air hit your soaked folds, but then he was there, lining himself up, not even bothering to fully undress.

jeno looked at you once, just once, his eyes dark and wild, silently asking if this was what you wanted.

you nodded, breathless, desperate.

and then he was inside you in one brutal, unrelenting thrust, forcing a broken, keening cry from your lips.

he was big, stretching you wide, filling you so completely it bordered on painful — but you welcomed it, craved it.

jeno fucked you against the wall, hard and fast and dirty, the slap of skin against skin loud and obscene in the tiny apartment.

you clawed at his shoulders, at his back, leaving angry red lines in your wake, and he only fucked you harder for it, growling low curses into your ear.

"so tight," he grunted, hips pistoning mercilessly into yours. "so fucking wet for me."

you could only sob his name, your body burning, your mind shattering with every brutal thrust.

jeno shifted his angle, and you saw stars as he drove into that sweet, devastating spot deep inside you over and over until you were a babbling, incoherent mess.

you came with a broken scream, clenching around him so hard that he cursed, pulling out just in time to spill hot, sticky ropes of cum across your thighs and stomach.

he collapsed against you, breathing ragged, forehead pressed to the crook of your neck.

for a long moment, neither of you moved, the only sound the harsh, uneven drag of your breaths mingling in the thick, heavy air.

and in that silence, the consequences of what had just happened started to settle between you like smoke.

your legs were still trembling when he pulled away, but the moment his weight left you, the emptiness hit harder than anything else.

"jeno..." you whimpered, your voice raw and wrecked, tears stinging the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming need clawing inside you. "please..."

he froze at the broken sound you made — half a sob, half a desperate plea — and lifted his head to look at you. his face was flushed, his chest heaving, but his eyes... his eyes burned.

"please what, baby?" he rasped, voice wrecked, teasing even as his hands grabbed your thighs again, squeezing hard enough to bruise. "use your words, pretty girl. tell me what you want."

you swallowed thickly, shame and need warring inside you, but it was so easy to give in — to beg for him, to drop the last shred of pride you had.

"i want more," you gasped, clinging to his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping you upright. "please, jeno... fuck me again. i need you."

jeno groaned low in his throat, like he was in pain, and crashed his mouth against yours once more. this kiss was different — hungrier, sloppier, laced with pure fucking greed.

he carried you to the bed with ease, tossing you down onto the messy sheets, your dress still bunched around your waist, panties somewhere lost on the floor.

jeno stripped then — fast, brutal, shedding his shirt and jeans in seconds until he was gloriously, fucking painfully naked.

your mouth watered at the sight of him — broad chest heaving, abs tight, thick cock still hard and leaking, glistening with his own precum.

he knelt between your trembling thighs, grabbing your ankles and shoving them wide open, baring your dripping cunt to his ravenous gaze.

"look at you," he growled, voice thick with dark admiration. "so fucking pretty. so desperate for my cock, aren't you, baby?"

you nodded frantically, shame burning your cheeks but need burning hotter.

"say it," he demanded, stroking his cock lazily, spreading precum over the swollen head. "tell me how much you want it."

"i want your cock," you sobbed, arching your back, hands fisting the sheets. "i need you inside me, jeno. please, please fuck me — ruin me."

jeno snarled, something savage and unhinged breaking loose inside him.

"fuck, you’re perfect," he hissed, crawling up your body, caging you beneath him. "my perfect little slut, begging for my cock."

your heart stuttered at the filthy words, at how much you wanted them, needed them.

jeno didn’t waste another second — he lined up and slammed back into you with a brutal thrust that punched a strangled scream from your throat.

he didn't give you time to adjust, didn't give you time to breathe — he set a relentless pace, fucking you into the mattress, each thrust driving you higher and higher toward oblivion.

"you're so fucking tight," he grunted, slamming deep inside you. "like you were made for me, baby. made to take my cock."

"yes — yes, i am," you cried, tears spilling over your cheeks, your body arching to meet every savage thrust. "i'm yours, jeno. yours."

his growl was pure fucking sin.

"mine," he snarled, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand, the other gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

jeno kissed you then — filthy and claiming — fucking you harder, faster, deeper, until your body was nothing but raw nerve endings, every inch of you burning, every breath a broken prayer.

"you gonna cum for me, pretty baby?" he panted against your mouth, his cock driving into that sweet spot with ruthless precision. "gonna cream all over my cock like the dirty little girl you are?"

you nodded frantically, incoherent, pleasure crashing down on you like a fucking tidal wave.

your orgasm ripped through you, violent and all-consuming, and you sobbed his name as your cunt clamped down on him, milking him ruthlessly.

jeno cursed viciously, losing control, fucking you through it, chasing his own release.

with a final, brutal thrust, he spilled deep inside you, filling you so full it leaked out around him, hot and thick and obscene.

he collapsed onto you, both of you trembling, gasping for air, the scent of sex heavy in the room.

he didn't pull out — he stayed buried deep, holding you close, whispering broken praise against your ear.

"good girl," he murmured, kissing your temple. "so fucking good for me."

you clung to him, dazed and shattered, your heart hammering against his.

for the first time in a long time, you felt full.

wanted.

claimed.

as you glance at the clock, you realize it's far too late. Jeno notices it too, the tension thickening in the air as both of you scramble to get dressed in a rush. there’s a strange shift inside you, and suddenly, the cold, distant attitude you had before returns. you stand up straight, smoothing down your clothes, and with a tight smirk, you throw out the words, “this will be the last time we see each other.”

jeno pauses, his eyes narrowing as you continue, your tone biting, “i’ll make sure to remember you have a good dick, but that’s all.” you can practically hear the sarcasm drip from your words, the defiance clear in every syllable.

a sharp click of his tongue escapes him, the irritation in his eyes impossible to hide. he watches as you switch from the girl he’d just been tangled up with to someone almost unrecognizable—distant, untouchable. his jaw clenches, the frustration mounting as he mutters, “fine, then. we won’t see each other again.”

he moves toward the door, ready to usher you out, but before he can say another word, you lift your chin high, your gaze fixed ahead like a queen on her throne.

you glance at him one last time, your words sharp, almost cutting through the air. “obviously, we won’t see each other again. i hardly ever get tangled up with people of your level.” you watch as his face hardens, the words lingering between you like smoke, suffocating any remnant of the moment you just shared.

without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel, leaving him in the room, his annoyance and confusion left hanging in the silence. the sharpness in his gaze follows you, a twinge of something dangerous in the way he watches you leave. it only irritates him more.

the scene shifts abruptly.

you step into the grand lobby of your penthouse, the heavy weight of the night still hanging on you, your heels clicking sharply against the cold marble floor. the lights are dim, the shadows making the room feel colder than it should. your husband, managers, and several other figures of the personal are gathered there, a sea of blurred faces and disinterested glances.

the moment you enter, your husband’s gaze snaps to you, his eyes burning with fury, his expression twisted in a way that makes your stomach churn. he’s on his feet in an instant, his body towering over yours as he grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging you painfully toward him. the suddenness of it catches you off guard, and your breath hitches as he snarls, his words sharp and venomous.

“where the hell have you been, you stupid, fucking bitch?” he spits, the insult stinging worse than the pull on your scalp. you try to free yourself, your hands clawing at his grip, but he’s too strong, too furious. the others? they barely even flinch. they just watch, their eyes glazed, as if this is just another ordinary occurrence.

your body tenses, anger mixing with fear as you try to shove him off. but he doesn’t let go. he keeps shouting, his breath heavy, as the room fills with the sour weight of his anger.

“smelling like alcohol, again. you’re fucking disgusting. you’re going to rehab. i’ll make sure of it, you hear me?” his voice rises with each word, his control over you suffocating, as if his rage is all that defines you now.

you gasp, your voice trembling as you manage to find the strength to shout back, “no! i won’t go! don’t… don’t you dare!” the fear in your voice is clear, but there's something else—something that exposes the cracks in this whole twisted thing. the way he controls you. manipulates you. it’s sickening, and yet, you're stuck in this web, unable to break free.

he doesn’t even flinch at your protest. instead, he drags you down the hall, pulling you toward the bathroom, his hand like iron around your wrist, squeezing until you can barely breathe. his voice is cold as he commands, “you’ve got ten minutes. get in the shower, clean yourself up. you have a session to get to.” the words hit you like a slap, like you're nothing more than an object to be handled and used.

he releases you only to bark at the staff, the low, guttural growl of his command making the air around you heavy. “get everything ready in her room. she’ll be in there when she’s done. we need her ready, now.”

you barely process the words. your mind is spinning, dizzy from the alcohol, from the anger, from the fear. all you know is that you’re trapped in this—this life you never wanted, this marriage you never signed up for. and yet, there you are, bound by the chains he forged.

you walk into the session, completely lost, your mind scattered, your soul feeling bruised. it’s like every part of you is on autopilot, just going through the motions, trying to make it through. you’re not sure who you are anymore, but you push all of that aside, forcing yourself to give them the best version of you, even though it’s so far from who you really are.

they leave your hair straight, simple, and flat against your shoulders. the lingerie you’ll be modeling is put on you, but it feels like a prison, like it’s meant to show off something that’s no longer yours to own. the makeup they do on you is almost natural—just a touch of foundation to cover the pain, and then the red lipstick. cherry red, like it’s supposed to make you feel alive, but it only reminds you of all the things you wish you could forget.

as you stand in front of the mirror, trying to breathe through the mounting pressure, you feel a deep sense of loss settle in your chest. every day, it feels like you’re slipping farther away from yourself, drowning in a sea of expectations, a sea of things you can never fully escape. your anxiety is high, gnawing at your insides, a constant, ever-present hum. all you want is to drown it out—to feel something other than this suffocating emptiness.

you glance into your bag as you wait in the car, alone for a few moments. you can’t stand the quiet, the weight of everything pressing down on you. your hands tremble as you pull out the small bottle of liquor you keep hidden, a desperate, shaky hope that it’ll make everything go away, even if just for a little while.

the first sip is shaky, your heart pounding, fear clawing at your chest that someone might catch you, but as it slides down your throat, it burns. and for the first time today, you feel something other than numb. it’s not much, but it’s enough to calm the panic inside you, to push the anxiety back just a little.

you glance around the car, making sure no one’s coming, and take another quick sip. it’s just a little more, just enough to quiet the noise, to make the world feel a little more manageable.

but then you hear the door open, and you quickly hide the bottle back in your bag, your heart racing as your driver and the others pile in, the awkward tension thick in the air. they try to make small talk, to congratulate you on how great the photos turned out, but you don’t hear them. it’s like their words are just noise, the hollow echo of people who don’t really see you, don’t really know what’s going on inside.

nothing they say can fill the void inside you. nothing they say can stop the ache, the loneliness. you sit there, surrounded by them, yet more alone than ever.

jeno’s life continues, an unremarkable routine he’s gotten used to. by day, he’s washing dishes in the hotel kitchen, the steam and clatter of plates all he hears as the hours drag on. by night, he’s behind the bar, mixing drinks for customers who hardly notice him. nothing changes. it’s the same every day.

but you? you’re different. you’re out there, in a world he can’t even imagine, posing in front of cameras, wearing clothes most people could never afford. your life is glittering, filled with fame and lights. and jeno... well, he’s just trying to get by.

he visits his mom and brothers when he can, bringing them whatever he can afford—money, food, school supplies. his mother always greets him with a warm smile, her tired eyes softening when she sees the small bundles of things he’s brought. one afternoon, as jeno watches her fuss with the groceries, he sees her hands, worn and rough from years of work. her voice is gentle as she talks about the boys and their progress in school, and jeno, despite everything, can’t help but feel a small flicker of pride.

“you’re doing good, jeno,” she says softly, her hand brushing his cheek. “i’m proud of you.”

he smiles, the weight in his chest lightening for a brief moment. “i’m just doing what i can, mom.”

on his way back to his apartment, jeno sits on the bus, watching the city of seoul pass by, the neon lights flickering as the sky darkens. the world outside the window is moving too fast, just like everything else in his life.

but then he spots it. a building with a large billboard hanging outside—an advertisement for victoria’s secret. the image catches his attention, something about it drawing him in. it’s a silhouette, a woman posed confidently in black lingerie. her face, though partially obscured by the lighting, is unmistakable.

it’s you.

your figure, your face, the cherry-red lipstick—it’s all there. beneath the image, the name printed in bold letters: “y/n.”

“y/n...”

the name echoes in his mind, bouncing around like a restless thought he can’t shake.

he sits there, staring at the ad, his heart thudding in his chest. was that you? he wonders. he wasn’t surprised he hadn’t recognized you earlier, considering how little he paid attention to social media or the new faces in the industry. his life was always too busy—work, family, just surviving. he didn’t have the luxury of keeping up with the world outside his own.

he leans back in his seat, the questions swirling in his head. was that why you were dressed the way you were at the bar?he wonders, his mind replaying the night, trying to piece it all together. was that why you didn’t even bother telling me your name?

he shakes his head, frustration building inside. he hadn’t even thought to ask you. not in the way he should’ve. maybe that’s why the whole thing felt like a dream—something too far out of his reach, too disconnected from his reality.

days pass, and jeno can’t shake the thought of you. why couldn’t he get you out of his head? he keeps thinking. his mind keeps returning to that night in the bar, to the way you made him feel in ways no one else ever had. it wasn’t just the physical attraction—though that was undeniable—it was something deeper. a connection, maybe. something that left him wanting more.

and you? did you think about him too? he wonders. he can’t help but wonder what you felt. what was it about that night?

he keeps going through his days, the weight of the routine pressing down on him, but your image haunts him. every time he passes that building, every time he sees a billboard, the thought of you creeps in.

he can’t seem to get you out of his mind. not now. not ever since that night.

days go by, and life continues. you’re caught in your own spiral, wrapped up in your career, your fame, your superficial relationships. but behind the glossy exterior, there’s a storm inside. your anxiety is climbing, your need for control is overwhelming. you can’t shake the memory of jeno, of his touch, the way he made you feel in a way no one else ever has. it haunts you. and yet, you can’t bring yourself to admit it. he doesn’t belong in my world. you tell yourself that over and over, even though deep down you know it’s a lie.

one evening, after a photoshoot, you find yourself at a bar. it’s not glamorous, not the kind of place you usually visit, but something about it draws you in. maybe it’s the need for escape, or maybe it’s just the feeling of being lost, like always. you walk in, the low hum of conversations and clinking glasses filling the air.

and then, as if fate had a twisted sense of humor, you see him. jeno. he’s sitting at the bar, his back to you, but you know it’s him instantly. the same posture, the same way he leans against the counter, the same worn-out look in his eyes. for a moment, you just stand there, frozen. what the hell is he doing here?

he doesn’t see you at first. but when he does, his gaze flicks up, and for a split second, neither of you moves. you’re not sure what to feel. you should leave. walk away. pretend you never saw him. but then something shifts, something almost dangerous flares inside you. why should you leave? he doesn’t belong in your world, but there’s something magnetic about him. something you can’t resist.

you walk up to the bar, casually, as if nothing ever happened between the two of you. your voice is cold, distant when you speak.

"didn’t expect to see you here," you say, your words laced with a bitterness that doesn’t even feel real to you.

jeno raises an eyebrow, his face giving away nothing, but there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of something, something that betrays the calm façade he’s trying to maintain. "neither did I," he responds, leaning back in his chair, looking at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t quite solve.

you take a seat beside him, your body language confident, almost too much so. why does he still make you feel this way? your mind is racing, but you won’t admit it. you won’t show any weakness. after all, he’s not worth it. but still, as you sip your drink, you can’t help but wonder if this will be the last time you see him... or if there’s something else between you two, something neither of you can deny.

jeno, ever so cool, watches you from the corner of his eye, a strange expression on his face. "so," he says finally, breaking the silence. "this is it then? you just walk in and act like nothing happened?"

you tilt your head slightly, a wicked smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "what did you expect?" you reply, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "you think I’d remember a night like that?"

his jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. he knows better than to push. but still, the way you carry yourself, the way you treat him—it drives him insane. and he can’t help but wonder, why does he still feel drawn to you?

you don't know who moves first, but suddenly you're both on your feet, the space between you charged with something volatile, something dangerous. your eyes lock, a silent dare hanging heavy in the air. and then, like the snap of a rubber band stretched too far, you grab his wrist, dragging him toward the back of the bar without a word.

jeno follows, his steps heavy, his breathing ragged. he doesn’t need you to say anything. he knows exactly where this is going.

the bathroom door slams shut behind you, and before you can even turn around, he's on you—shoving you against the wall so hard the air leaves your lungs in a gasp. his hands are rough, desperate, sliding up your thighs, bunching up your expensive dress around your hips.

"this is the last time," you hiss, even as your hands tangle in his shirt, yanking him closer, needing him like you need your next breath.

"fuck, you’re so full of shit," he growls, his mouth crashing into yours, teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance. there’s no softness, no tenderness. it’s all teeth, spit, and fury. you kiss him like you hate him, nails raking down his arms, and he groans against your mouth, grabbing your ass hard enough to leave bruises.

he lifts you effortlessly, your back hitting the wall again as he grinds his hips into yours. you can feel him, hard and straining against his jeans, and it sends a rush of wetness flooding between your thighs.

"you fucking missed me," he mutters against your neck, biting down hard enough to make you gasp, to make your head slam back against the wall.

"shut the fuck up," you snap, even as you wrap your legs tighter around him, rocking your hips shamelessly against his. you hate him. you hate yourself even more for wanting this, for needing it.

he fumbles with his jeans, freeing his cock, and the moment you feel him—hot, thick, leaking against your thigh—you lose whatever shred of dignity you were still clinging to.

"beg for it," he growls, one hand squeezing your throat just enough to make your knees tremble.

"fuck you," you spit back, but the way you grind down on him betrays you.

he grins, a wicked, filthy thing, and without warning, he slams into you in one brutal thrust, making you cry out loud enough to echo off the walls. you cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, as he pounds into you, hard and fast and punishing.

"this is all you're good for," he snarls against your ear, hips snapping into yours with vicious precision. "a spoiled little bitch who needs to get fucked stupid."

you moan, high and broken, because he's right. you hate how right he is.

he fucks you like he’s trying to ruin you, like he’s trying to burn himself into your skin, your bones, your fucking soul. every thrust knocks the air out of you, every rough groan he rips from your throat making you fall apart a little more.

you rake your nails down his back, probably drawing blood, but he just groans, fucking into you even harder, chasing the sick, desperate high you both crave.

"gonna come all over my cock, aren't you?" he pants, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit in brutal circles. "fucking filthy."

you bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming, your whole body tensing as the orgasm crashes over you, blinding and savage. you shake in his arms, squeezing him so tight he curses under his breath, slamming into you a few more times before he spills inside you with a low, broken groan.

for a moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing, your bodies still pressed together, sweaty and trembling.

then you shove him away, fixing your dress with shaking hands, refusing to meet his eyes.

"this never happened," you snap, voice hoarse. "it’s over."

jeno chuckles darkly, zipping up his jeans, not bothering to hide the smug, wrecked look on his face.

"whatever you say, princess," he mutters, like he knows you’re both lying through your fucking teeth.

you return to your tables like nothing happened, your bodies still buzzing, still raw from what you just did. but now the bar is more crowded, people weaving through the narrow spaces, laughter and music filling the air.

there's barely room to breathe.

it happens naturally—or maybe fate is just cruel—but without really thinking, you both end up sitting at the same table. the shared silence is thick, electric, both of you pretending to sip your drinks, pretending not to notice how close you are.

jeno stretches his legs under the table, and casually, like it means nothing, his hand slides onto your thigh. slow. deliberate.

your body goes rigid, and you shoot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. a warning. don't.

but he doesn't stop. if anything, he just smiles lazily, the pad of his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles against your bare skin, sliding higher, inch by devastating inch.

you should slap his hand away. you should tell him to fuck off. instead, heat coils low in your belly, slow and humiliating. your thighs tense under his touch, but you don't move. you can feel the smirk against your skin without even looking.

fucking bastard.

the air grows too thick, your breathing too shallow. it's like every nerve ending you have is concentrated where his hand touches you. and you hate it. you hate him.

and yet, you lean closer, just enough to let your knee brush against his.

jeno chuckles low, dark, under his breath. he knows he's winning.

you finish your drink in one harsh gulp, slamming the glass down harder than necessary. without looking at him, you mutter, "let's go."

he follows you out without a word, the tension between you stretched tight enough to snap.

the second the door to his shitty apartment clicks shut behind you, it's like a dam breaks.

jeno surges forward, grabbing you by the waist, crashing his mouth to yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and spit and hunger. you kiss him back just as hard, biting at his bottom lip, hands fisting in his jacket, dragging him toward the living room.

your knees bump against the couch, and with a rough push, you shove him down onto it, standing over him, chest heaving, eyes burning.

jeno spreads his legs slightly, slouching back with that cocky, infuriating smirk on his face, like he knows exactly what's about to happen.

and he’s right.

you sink down to your knees between his thighs, never breaking eye contact. your fingers work at his belt, slow and unhurried, dragging the moment out, making him twitch with impatience.

"you’re so fucking full of yourself," you mutter, undoing the button of his jeans, pulling down the zipper inch by torturous inch.

"and you’re so fucking desperate," he shoots back, voice rough, hands fisting the couch cushions instead of grabbing you like you know he wants to.

you free his cock, heavy and flushed and already leaking for you. the sight makes something in you snap, something hot and reckless.

you wrap one hand around the base, squeezing lightly just to watch his stomach tense, to hear that tiny hitch in his breath he can’t hide.

slowly—so slowly it’s almost cruel—you lean in, letting the tip brush against your lips, teasing him, smearing precum across your mouth like lipgloss.

jeno growls low in his throat, hips jerking slightly, but you pull back with a wicked smile, your eyes daring him to move again.

then, finally, you flatten your tongue and lick a slow, filthy stripe from the base to the head, savoring the weight of him, the taste of him. his whole body shudders, and his head tips back against the couch.

"fuck, y/n," he breathes, voice broken, wrecked.

you hum around him, letting the vibration travel through his cock as you take him deeper, inch by inch, until your lips are wrapped tight around him, until he’s sliding against your tongue, heavy and pulsing.

you set a slow, relentless rhythm, hollowing your cheeks, swallowing around him just to feel him twitch. your hands grip his thighs hard enough to bruise, keeping him pinned, even as he bucks his hips weakly, desperate for more.

"look at you," he groans, voice thick with lust. "on your knees for me again... fucking perfect."

his words only make you sink lower, taking him even deeper, your throat tightening around him. he curses, one hand finally tangling in your hair, not forcing, just holding, trembling with the effort to stay still.

you pull back slowly, gasping for air, a thin string of spit connecting your swollen lips to his cock.

"last time, right?" you pant, stroking him lazily, watching him fall apart above you.

jeno laughs, broken and breathless.

"keep lying to yourself, baby."

then you take him back into your mouth, hungrier this time, like you’re trying to erase every rational thought from both your minds.

and you know you will.

after you finish, you both sit there, breathless, ruined, the taste of each other still fresh on your tongues. there's a moment—dangerous, heavy—where your fingers brush against his when you hand him back his drink.

jeno doesn’t pull away.

neither do you.

without really thinking, you slide your phone across the table. he smirks, slow and lazy, and types his number in without a word.

days pass.

the number burns a hole in your phone, in your mind. but you don’t call. neither does he. pride, fear, something darker keeping you both in check.

until your husband leaves for a business trip, off to some distant city, chasing dirty deals and cheap whores. and suddenly you’re a teenager again, reckless, starved, hungry.

your fingers tremble slightly when you dial jeno’s number.

he picks up on the second ring, his voice rough from the noise in the background. he's working. you can hear the clatter of glasses, the low thrum of music.

"come to me," you whisper, not bothering to hide the need in your voice. "i’ll send you the address. i don’t care how long it takes. just come."

you hang up before he can answer, your heart hammering against your ribs.

the knock on your door feels like a gunshot in the silence.

you sprint to open it, heart hammering in your chest. and there he is—jeno, still in his work clothes, smelling faintly of sweat and cigarettes, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his forearms, veins popping, hair messy.

he looks at you—standing there in nothing but a black silk robe, your nipples hard and obvious through the thin fabric, thighs pressed together like you're trying to hold yourself together—and his jaw clenches.

"fuck," he breathes, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "look at you. fucking waiting for me like a good girl."

he kicks the door shut, not even bothering to take off his boots, and crowds you back against the wall. his hands are rough when they grab your face, tilting your chin up, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

"been thinking about me all day, huh?" he taunts, his voice low, rough. "bet your little pussy’s been dripping since the moment you called."

"jeno—" you whimper, squirming under his gaze, needing him more than you need air.

"shh," he cuts you off, dragging his thumb over your lips. "you don't get to talk yet, baby. just nod if you're desperate."

you nod immediately, cheeks burning.

"good girl," he growls, and then he’s kissing you—hard, brutal, messy. his tongue fucks into your mouth like he owns it, hands everywhere at once: squeezing your tits through the robe, grabbing your ass, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

without warning, he grabs the belt of your robe and yanks it loose. it falls open, and you shiver, fully exposed under his heavy gaze.

"fuck, you're perfect," he mutters, palming your breasts roughly, pinching your nipples until you gasp. "so fucking soft. made for me."

you don't even realize he’s backing you toward the couch until he shoves you down onto it.

"spread," he commands, voice sharp, and you obey instantly, legs falling open to show him just how wet you are.

jeno drops to his knees between your thighs, dragging his tongue along the inside of your thigh, slow and filthy, so close to where you need him, but not giving you anything yet.

"such a messy little cunt," he murmurs, nosing against your slick folds. "fucking soaking... and it’s all for me?"

"yes," you gasp, hips bucking.

he laughs against your skin, a dark, cruel sound.

"then you better fucking take it."

and he dives in—licking, sucking, fucking you open with his tongue until you're crying out, writhing, clutching at his hair. he pins your hips down with strong hands, eating you like a man starved, dragging you closer and closer to the edge with every messy, wet stroke.

"gonna cum, baby?" he teases, voice muffled against your pussy. "gonna cum all over my tongue like a good little whore?"

you nod frantically, tears slipping down your cheeks from how good it feels.

but just when you're about to fall apart, he pulls away.

"nuh-uh," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "not yet. you don’t get to cum until i say so."

you sob, needy and frustrated, but he’s already standing up, freeing his cock from his jeans—thick, heavy, flushed red at the tip.

"open your mouth," he orders, stroking himself slowly.

you open without hesitation, tongue out, desperate.

"good fucking girl," he praises, and slides the tip into your mouth, letting you taste him, letting you choke on him as he pushes deeper.

he fucks your mouth slowly, watching you with hooded eyes, his thumb wiping away the tears leaking down your cheeks.

"take it all, baby. you can do it. i know you can."

you gag slightly, but you force yourself to relax, hollowing your cheeks, letting him use you until you’re drooling, messy, ruined.

he pulls out with a grunt, grabbing your wrist and hauling you up.

"couch first," he mutters, pushing you onto your hands and knees. he lines himself up behind you, slapping the head of his cock against your soaked pussy.

"you want it?" he asks, teasing your entrance, barely pushing in.

"yes, please, jeno, i need it," you cry, grinding back against him shamelessly.

"beg for it," he growls, slapping your ass hard enough to make you yelp.

"please," you sob. "please fuck me. i need you so bad."

he slams into you with one brutal thrust, knocking the breath from your lungs.

"that’s it," he groans, gripping your hips, fucking into you hard, deep. "take it, baby. fucking take all of me."

the couch creaks under the force of his thrusts, and you’re a mess—crying, moaning, babbling nonsense.

jeno leans over you, one hand grabbing your throat, not squeezing, just holding, anchoring you.

"mine," he growls into your ear. "this pussy’s mine now. no one else gets to have you like this."

he pulls out suddenly, making you whine in protest, and manhandles you onto your back.

"wanna see your face when you cum," he mutters, lining up again and thrusting back inside.

this position lets him go even deeper, the angle perfect, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

he grabs your ankles, pushing your legs up and back, folding you almost in half, fucking into you with brutal, relentless precision.

"so fucking tight," he pants, sweat dripping from his forehead. "so fucking perfect for me."

you’re close, so close, and he knows it.

he presses his forehead to yours, his thrusts getting sloppier, rougher.

"cum for me, baby," he whispers, voice wrecked. "cum on my cock. show me who you fucking belong to."

you shatter, screaming his name, your whole body convulsing around him.

jeno keeps fucking you through it, chasing his own release, until with a broken grunt he buries himself deep and cums inside you, filling you up.

he stays there for a moment, both of you gasping, sweating, bodies trembling.

then, without pulling out, he flips you onto your side, hooking your leg over his hip, and starts moving again.

"not done," he murmurs against your neck. "you said you’d wait for me with your legs open. now you’re gonna take everything i give you. all fucking night."

and you do.

he fucks you on the couch, on the floor, against the wall, until you’re too weak to stand.

he carries you to the bed, lays you down gently, kisses you softer now, but still hungry, still desperate.

and he doesn’t stop.

not until the sun is rising, and you’re ruined under him, full of him, marked and claimed in every way possible.

the morning sun creeps through your curtains, casting soft, golden light over the wreckage of the night.

your body aches in the sweetest way—thighs sore, skin marked with bruises and bites, every part of you still humming with the memory of him. you stir lazily, stretching a little, feeling the empty space beside you.

jeno is sitting at the edge of the bed, shirtless, still in his wrinkled black jeans, his boots finally kicked off and lying somewhere in the living room. he’s staring at the floor, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed like he’s lost in thought.

you push yourself up slowly, the silk sheets pooling around your waist.

"you’re not staying for breakfast?" you tease lightly, voice still hoarse from all the moaning and screaming you did last night.

jeno doesn’t laugh.

he glances over his shoulder at you, jaw tight, eyes shuttered. there’s something unreadable in his expression—something sharp, something raw.

you sigh, brushing your hair out of your face, and swing your legs off the bed, standing up naked in front of him without a second thought.

"look, jeno," you start, voice cool, detached, like you're discussing the weather, not the fact that you just spent the whole night fucking like animals. "this thing between us... it’s just physical."

he doesn’t move. doesn’t even flinch.

you continue, walking toward where your robe is draped over a chair. "you know that, right? i mean, let’s be honest. we’re not from the same world."

you shrug into the robe, tying it loosely around your waist, feeling his eyes on you the whole time.

"i’m a model. i have contracts, photoshoots, events. i travel the world." your tone is matter-of-fact, brutal in its honesty. "you... you wash dishes. you serve drinks."

jeno’s hands curl into fists between his knees.

you know your words are cruel, cutting deeper than you intend, but you can't stop yourself. it’s easier this way. easier to build the walls high and thick before either of you starts to feel something you shouldn’t.

"there’s nothing you can offer me," you say, your voice softening only slightly. "except maybe a good fuck."

the words hang heavy in the air, toxic and ugly.

jeno lifts his head finally, meeting your gaze. there’s a storm in his eyes—hurt, anger, humiliation—but he swallows it all down, burying it under a mask of indifference.

"yeah," he says, voice low and rough. "i know."

you look at him for a long moment, something twisting in your chest. a part of you wants to take it back, to apologize, to say something, anything, that might soften the blow.

but you don’t.

because it’s better this way. it has to be.

jeno stands up, grabbing his shirt off the floor and pulling it over his head.

"i gotta get to work," he says, avoiding your eyes now.

you nod, tightening your robe around you as if it can shield you from the sudden chill in the room.

he lingers for a second, like he wants to say something else, but in the end, he just grabs his boots and heads for the door.

you watch him go, heart pounding in your chest, throat tight.

when the door shuts behind him, you finally let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

the silence that follows is deafening.

you barely have time to process it when your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

it’s your manager.

on my way to your place. we have a full schedule today. be ready.

you stare at the message, swallowing the lump rising in your throat.

right. life goes on.

you pull yourself together, hiding every trace of last night, tucking it away deep inside where no one can see. you touch up your makeup, fix your hair, throw on a designer outfit.

by the time your manager arrives, you look perfect again.

polished. untouchable.

like last night—and the boy who made you feel something real for the first time in ages—never even happened.

the bar is packed tonight.

jeno moves behind the counter like a machine—pouring drinks, wiping down surfaces, dodging drunk customers—but his mind isn’t here. his body works on autopilot, muscle memory guiding him through the motions.

inside, he’s boiling.

he clenches his jaw so hard it aches, fists tightening around glasses when he thinks about the way you looked at him this morning. like he was... nothing. disposable. just another tool for your pleasure.

just physical, you had said.

you wash dishes. you serve drinks.

you have nothing else to offer.

jeno grits his teeth and slams a bottle harder than necessary onto the counter, earning a glance from one of the other bartenders. he ignores it.

he doesn’t need their pity.

he doesn't need anyone's pity.

he pours another shot for some suit who probably makes more in a week than jeno does in a year, sliding it across the bar with a mechanical smile.

meanwhile, across town, you’re stepping out of a black car, flashing a blinding smile at the cameras.

your manager walks beside you, murmuring the day's schedule—photoshoot in the morning, interview in the afternoon, charity gala at night.

you nod, perfectly poised, perfectly composed. you pose for the paparazzi, flash that million-dollar smile, turn your head at just the right angle to catch the light.

to the world, you’re flawless. untouchable.

jeno’s hands shake when he twists open another beer. he wants to hate you. he really fucking does. he wants to hate the way you used him, the way you looked at him like he was beneath you.

but all he can think about is how soft you felt under him. how sweet you tasted. how your body fit his like it was made for him.

and the worst part?

he’d do it all over again.

even if it breaks him.

even if it makes him feel like less than nothing.

jeno slams the empty bottle into the bin with a little too much force, earning another side-eye from the bar manager.

he wipes his hands on a towel, grabbing the next order slip, throwing himself back into the chaos.

work. distraction. numbness.

it's the only thing he has now.

it’s well past closing time.

the bar is almost empty now, chairs stacked on tables, the floors sticky and reeking of spilled liquor. the neon signs buzz and flicker, the only sound in the heavy silence.

jeno sits slumped at the counter, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him, one hand wrapped loosely around his phone.

he knows he shouldn’t.

he knows it’s a terrible fucking idea.

but his heart is heavy, his body still aching with the memory of you—your moans, your warmth, your fucking smile after you ruined him.

the whiskey burns as he takes another swig straight from the bottle.

fuck it.

he unlocks his phone, pulls up your contact—the one you insisted on saving after that first night back, after you both swore it would be just sex, nothing else.

his thumb hovers over the screen for a second too long before he types:

"you miss me yet?"

simple. reckless. pathetic.

he stares at the message, finger trembling slightly.

his pride screams at him to delete it, to pretend he never even thought about reaching out. to pretend he’s fine. that he doesn’t dream about you. that he doesn't crave you like he needs you to breathe.

but his thumb moves before he can stop it.

send.

the second the message disappears, dread hits him like a freight train.

he sets the phone face down on the counter with a shaky breath, dragging a hand through his messy hair.

what the fuck is he doing?

you’re probably in bed already, sleeping soundly on satin sheets, not giving a single thought to the dishwasher who was stupid enough to fall for you.

jeno laughs bitterly under his breath, the sound low and broken.

he pushes the bottle away and buries his head in his arms on the counter, wishing he could turn back time. wishing he could forget you.

wishing he wasn’t so fucking weak.

the morning sun pours through the massive windows of your penthouse.

you stir lazily under the expensive covers, stretching like a cat, still half-asleep.

your phone buzzes softly on the nightstand.

you reach for it without thinking, screen lighting up with a few notifications—emails, your manager confirming today’s appointments, a reminder for a fitting later tonight.

and one message. from jeno.

your heart skips for the briefest second, a flicker of something you immediately smother down.

you open it.

"you miss me yet?"

the words sit there, small and needy on the screen.

pathetic.

you stare at it for a few seconds, expression unreadable. there’s no rush of warmth, no surge of longing. just a cool, detached amusement.

he actually thought you would miss him.

a dishwasher. a bartender.

someone so far beneath you it was almost laughable.

you sigh, tossing the phone back onto the bed without even bothering to reply.

your time is too precious to waste on things like him.

on emotions.

on weakness.

you swing your legs over the side of the bed, standing gracefully, your silk nightgown clinging to your body.

there’s a whole day ahead of you—meetings, shoots, events. you have an image to maintain.

a reputation to protect.

jeno was just a moment of weakness. a dirty little secret. a mistake you wouldn’t make again.

you walk into the bathroom, the sound of the shower starting up filling the silence.

behind you, your phone stays dark and unanswered on the bed.

jeno’s message left to rot.

just like him.

your marriage, already a hollow shell, rots from the inside. arguments, cold silences, whispered threats—until the bomb explodes.

then the whisper becomes a headline.

then the headline becomes a full-blown fucking wildfire.

you’re in the middle of a fitting for an upcoming fashion week when your phone explodes with notifications—texts, missed calls, news alerts.

your manager bursts into the dressing room, her face pale, panic in her eyes.

"you need to see this," she says, shoving her phone toward you.

on the screen, a breaking news banner flashes brightly.

your husband—soon-to-be ex-husband—caught leaving a well-known cabaret at three in the morning. hidden camera footage. evidence of embezzlement, laundering money through shell companies tied to shady nightclubs and prostitution rings. links to criminal networks.

your name gets dragged into the mud too—guilt by association.

"model and socialite embroiled in scandal." what did she know? was she complicit?

your face—your face—plastered on every tabloid, every gossip blog, every news channel.

you stare at the screen, heart thudding dully in your chest.

your hands shake slightly as you take the phone, scrolling through the article.

photos of you, smiling beside him at charity events. walking hand in hand at galas. attending lavish dinners.

painted like a co-conspirator.

painted like a trophy wife who turned a blind eye to the filth crawling underneath.

your stomach twists violently.

"i didn’t know anything," you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else.

your manager is already barking orders into her phone—damage control, pulling your name from upcoming campaigns, preparing press releases.

you barely hear her.

your mind is spinning, a thousand miles an hour.

your marriage—the carefully curated image you upheld for years—shattered.

your career—your future—threatened by something you had no part in.

you can file for divorce now, thanks to the mountain of evidence piling against him. but it’s not easy. he has friends, connections, dirty favors tucked away in every corner of the city.

for a while, it feels like you’ll never escape.

but then the police step in. an arrest warrant. handcuffs. flashing cameras. reporters shouting.

he’s taken into custody, charged with fraud, corruption, and solicitation. and for the first time in years, you can breathe.

the police move fast. within days, your husband is arrested on charges of fraud and conspiracy. the photos of him in handcuffs, head bowed, hit the media like a bomb.

your lawyers file for divorce immediately, citing irreconcilable differences and gross misconduct.

still, it’s not easy.

his influence runs deep.

he has friends in high places, money tucked away in hidden accounts, strings he still tries to pull even from a jail cell.

the next few weeks are hell.

interviews. paparazzi hounding you outside your building. brands putting your contracts on hold. people whispering behind your back—was she involved? did she really not know?

you hold your head high through all of it.

because that’s what you do.

you survive.

even as the walls close in, even as the floor crumbles beneath you, you refuse to break.

you show up to every event you can’t cancel, dressed in sharp designer suits, makeup flawless, smile impenetrable.

you answer the reporters’ questions with cold, practiced precision.

"i had no knowledge of my husband’s illegal activities." "i am fully cooperating with authorities." "my focus is on my career and clearing my name."

you’re a fucking machine.

but at night, when the cameras are gone, when the lights are off, when you’re alone in your massive, empty penthouse—you watch it all unfold, wrapped in that same black silk robe, sipping a glass of wine, a wicked little smile playing on your lips.

you think of jeno.

you think of the way he looked at you.

like you were human.

like you were real.

you wonder if he’s seen the news.

if he’s laughing.

if he thinks you deserve it.

maybe you do.

and somewhere, not far away, jeno’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. he smiles when he sees your name. because he knows—you’re his now.

completely.

the media circus dies down eventually, but the aftermath lingers, like a bad taste in your mouth that won’t go away.

you’ve done everything you could to salvage what’s left of your career—multiple PR stunts, interviews, charity work. the world is watching, waiting for you to crack.

but you don’t.

you can’t.

you’re a perfect, cold image again.

you’ve learned how to play the game too well.

but in the dark corners of your mind, when the day is done and the press has left, you think of him.

jeno.

the one thing you can’t control. the one thing you can’t forget.

the thought eats at you like a slow burn.

the media has done its job, your reputation is in shambles, your career on the edge—but you can’t stop thinking about that night.

about him.

about how he made you feel more alive than you’ve ever been, more real. and you hate yourself for it.

it’s a stupid, dangerous thought.

he’s not in your world.

he’s beneath you.

just another distraction. another mistake.

but the ache inside you only grows.

you find yourself back at the bar. alone. this time, it’s a quiet night. the hum of soft chatter and clinking glasses is the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. you’re sitting at the counter, nursing a glass of wine, feeling like a stranger in your own skin. the music plays in the background, but you can’t focus on anything. not the drink in your hand, not the man flirting with the bartender, not the low conversations around you.

just the memory of his hands on you. his body pressed against yours, his breath hot in your ear, the way he made you forget the world for just a few hours. you pull out your phone, half-drunk, and stare at the screen for a few moments.

his name is still in your contacts, buried deep under the noise of everything else.

your thumb hovers over the keyboard. it’s stupid. reckless. but you can’t help yourself.

you tap out a simple message.

“i’m coming to see you.”

no questions. no excuses. just a direct invitation. no more games.

you don’t wait for a response. instead, you gather your things and slip out of the bar, sliding into a dark corner to change into something that will keep you anonymous. a dark jacket, a hood pulled low, sunglasses that hide your eyes. you don’t want anyone recognizing you. not tonight.

you arrive at his apartment about thirty minutes later. the small, worn-down building feels like a world away from everything you know. the scent of cheap takeout, the dull hum of the refrigerator, the creak of the old floors.

and there he is.

jeno.

he looks up as you step inside, surprise flashing across his face. but it’s quickly replaced with something else—something dark, almost relieved. He stands up, running a hand through his hair.

“so, what now?” he asks quietly, his voice rougher than you remember. his tone guarded, defensive.

you don’t answer immediately. you step closer, close enough to feel the heat of his body radiating toward you. for a moment, neither of you speaks.

then you finally let the words slip.

“now?” you let out a shaky breath, fighting the overwhelming pull between you. “now, we stop pretending it was just... nothing.”

he doesn’t move, but you see the way his eyes darken, like he’s trying to process what’s happening. but you’re done waiting. you step into his space, hands reaching for his chest, fingers trembling as you slide them down, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“you’re not like them,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “you’re not like the men i'm supposed to be with. you’re real.”

the words hang between you, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. his gaze flickers, something raw and exposed in his eyes.

“and what does that mean for us?” jeno’s voice is rough, like he’s fighting back something—regret, bitterness, confusion, or maybe something worse. “you’re not the same woman i fucked a few weeks ago,” he adds, the tension in his voice unmistakable.

you swallow hard, feeling the heat surge between you again. “it means...” you say, your voice breathless as you pull him closer, “it means we both need this. we both need something real... and we’re going to do whatever the fuck it takes to feel alive again.”

you push him back against the wall, your hands quick and desperate as you rip open his shirt.

he doesn’t stop you.

and this time, you’re not pretending. you both know exactly what this is.

the air between you is thick with tension, suffocating. the weight of everything—the scandal, the lies, the broken pieces of your life—suddenly doesn’t matter anymore. it’s just the two of you, and the world outside feels miles away.

you drag him closer, your fingers working at his jeans, impatient, desperate. you feel the heat radiating off his skin, the tension in his muscles as he grips your hips, pulling you flush against him.

his mouth crashes onto yours, urgent, hungry. you kiss him like you’re drowning and he’s the only thing keeping you afloat. your hands slide up his chest, tugging at his shirt, tearing it off. there’s no room for subtlety anymore. no games. no pretending.

you step back for a moment, just to take him in—his chest, bare and defined, his eyes dark with something you can’t quite name. but you want it.

you want it more than anything.

"you’re not the same person," he mutters, his voice low, hoarse.

"neither are you," you reply, eyes never leaving his.

there’s something raw in his gaze, something that tells you he’s as broken as you are. but you don’t care. you don’t need the emotional baggage right now. you need him. just him.

you pull him back toward you, lips crashing against his once again, a rush of heat flooding your veins. his hands roam your body with practiced ease, sliding over your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

he’s rough, pulling at the hem of your dress, pushing it up your thighs, as if he can’t get enough of you.

you’re not the same person either—not the woman who had everything under control, not the one who smiled for the cameras. right now, you’re just her—the one who needs this.

you push him back onto the couch, straddling his lap in one swift motion, grinding against him with a soft, needy moan. he groans, his hands gripping your hips, his eyes dark with desire.

"fuck," he mutters, and you smile wickedly.

"do you want me to stop?" you tease, dragging your nails across his chest, watching the way he shudders under your touch.

"don’t you dare," he growls, his voice rough with lust.

you lean forward, lips brushing against his neck, tasting the salt on his skin as you begin to undo his jeans. he doesn’t even try to stop you. he’s just as lost in this as you are.

his breath catches as you finally release him, your hands wrapping around him, stroking him slowly, teasingly, knowing just how to make him lose control. you feel him harden under your touch, his body tense beneath yours, and you smile, leaning in to kiss him again—slow and deep, savoring the moment.

you’re not going to pretend anymore. you don’t care about the past or the future. all that matters is the way he makes you feel. alive.

you lower yourself onto him in one smooth motion, his eyes dark and intense as you begin to move, your rhythm slow at first, letting the tension build.

he grabs your waist, urging you on, his body reacting to yours in the most primal way.

his hands slip to your back, pulling you closer, his lips finding your neck, your ear, anything he can reach.

"you wanted this, huh?" he breathes against your skin, his voice a mixture of cocky satisfaction and raw hunger.

you moan, your body moving faster, needing him closer, deeper, harder.

"shut up and fuck me," you gasp, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you ride him harder, faster, your movements frantic now, just as desperate as your feelings.

he doesn’t hesitate.

he’s the perfect balance of force and control, guiding your hips, meeting you thrust for thrust.

you’re a mess of tangled limbs and desperate breath, lost in the pleasure, in the feeling of his body moving against yours, in the heat of the moment.

you come undone first, your body shaking with pleasure as you cry out his name, the sound of it raw and needy in the air.

but he doesn’t stop.

he keeps moving, keeps fucking you with such intensity that you can barely think, can barely breathe, but it doesn’t matter.

all that matters is this moment, this thing between you, this need you can’t escape.

he comes with a low growl, his grip tightening on you as he finishes inside you, his body shuddering beneath yours.

for a long moment, neither of you moves. you’re both gasping for breath, your chest rising and falling as you cling to each other. finally, you collapse against him, your head resting on his chest, your mind spinning.

you both know this is dangerous, that you shouldn’t be doing this, but right now, in this moment, it feels like it’s the only thing that makes sense.

"you’re fucking perfect," he mutters, his voice hoarse and ragged.

you smile softly, fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

"this is just physical, right?" you ask, your voice steady, even though there’s a hint of something else in it.

"just physical," he replies, but his voice wavers slightly.

you both know it’s a lie. but right now, neither of you cares.

the morning after feels different.

the first thing you notice when you wake up is the quiet. the kind of quiet that rings too loudly in your ears. you’re in his bed, curled up against him, your body still aching from the night before, from the way he pushed you to your limits. you can still feel him, the imprint of his body on yours, the way he made you feel alive when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

but the reality is sinking in.

you push yourself up from the bed, your muscles sore, your thoughts a jumbled mess of lust, anger, and confusion. the sun is just starting to rise, casting a faint light across the room, but it does nothing to ease the storm in your chest.

you glance back at jeno, still asleep, his dark hair messy, his body sprawled out across the sheets.

he looks peaceful.

and for a moment, you wonder what it would be like to have this... without the mess, without the lies, without the broken parts of both of your worlds.

but you shake your head.

you can’t think like that.

he’s beneath you.

nothing more than a distraction from the mess you’re in.

the scandal. the divorce. the pieces of your life that are crumbling away.

you stand, grabbing your clothes from the floor, slipping into them quickly. you can’t stay here. you don’t belong here.

you move quietly, making your way to the door, but before you can leave, you hear him stir behind you.

"where are you going?" his voice is rough, still heavy with sleep, but there’s a trace of concern there.

you freeze, your hand on the door handle.

"i don’t belong here," you say, your voice colder than you feel. "you’re just a distraction. this… was just physical. i never needed anything more from you."

his eyes darken as he pushes himself up in the bed, his expression a mixture of frustration and something you don’t want to acknowledge.

"don’t bullshit me," he snaps, his voice sharp.

"you can lie to yourself all you want, but i know how this goes. we both know how this goes."

you turn to face him, your gaze cold.

"this is who i am," you say, your words biting. "this is all i can offer. just this."

his jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck flexing.

"fine," he says, voice low, almost resigned. "but don’t think for a second that i’m not going to keep coming back for more."

you want to say something—anything—to tear him down, to remind him of his place, but the words don’t come. you don’t know what’s worse: the fact that you want him to come back, or the fact that he’s right. you both need this. and it terrifies you. but you refuse to admit it.

you turn away, leaving his apartment without looking back.

the next few weeks pass in a blur.

you try to focus on your career, on cleaning up the wreckage of your life, but nothing feels right. nothing feels real anymore.

your divorce moves forward, slowly but surely, as the scandal continues to dominate the media. your husband’s arrested, and the reports of his illegal activities make headlines every day. he’s a sinking ship, and you’re still tied to him, whether you like it or not.

but the hardest part is the isolation. the loneliness that settles in, creeping into your soul when you least expect it.

you haven’t seen jeno in days. it feels like a lifetime, but you know deep down that you can’t keep pretending you don’t want him.

he was your escape.

he was the only thing that made you feel real, like you weren’t

drowning in a life that was suffocating you.

the temptation is too much.

you don’t call him.

you don’t need to.

because you know he’ll show up.

and he does.

your phone buzzes, but this time it’s not another report or the nagging questions of your lawyer. it’s a message from jeno.

he’s waiting outside.

you stand in front of the mirror for a long moment, eyes running over your reflection. the woman staring back at you seems so different from the one you used to be. strong, sure—no longer that naive socialite lost in the lies of her own image. the events of the past weeks have shattered you in ways you didn’t expect. but through it all, jeno’s presence, his touch, his voice, has been the only constant, the only thing you can’t escape.

you pull on a black dress, simple yet elegant, before slipping into the hallway. no words need to be exchanged when you open the door and see him standing there, a silhouette in the dim light. the door clicks shut behind him, and just like that, you’re alone in the silence.

his eyes find yours immediately, hunger mixing with something darker in his gaze.

"you can’t keep doing this to yourself." his voice is low, almost a growl, but there’s no anger in it. just... truth.

you don’t answer immediately. the silence stretches, thick like the air in the room. you want to say something—anything—but the words escape you.

instead, you step closer, until the space between you two is barely enough to breathe. you see his jaw clench, his hands ball into fists at his sides as he holds back from reaching for you.

"tell me this isn’t what you want." his words are a command, but they feel like a plea too. "tell me you’re not going to walk away again."

you bite your lip, your heart beating louder than your thoughts. the truth is simple. you can’t walk away. you never could.

"i can’t," you whisper, finally breaking the tension. your hands reach up, your fingers brushing his chest as you stare into his eyes, "but you’re not part of my world. you know that."

jeno’s breath catches at your touch, and he lets out a slow, steady breath. his gaze locks with yours, the silent battle between desire and logic waging on in his mind. finally, he shakes his head, the corners of his lips turning into a faint smile.

"neither are you," he murmurs, before pulling you in close, his hands gripping your waist. "but here we are."

the words hang heavy between you. your fingers slide into his hair, tugging him closer as his lips crash onto yours. there’s no hesitation now, no pretense. the kiss is hungry, urgent. his mouth moves against yours with a raw intensity, pulling all the tension from the past weeks into a single moment.

"we can't keep doing this," you breathe against his lips, your hands traveling lower, desperate to feel him again. "you know it’s just physical. that’s all it ever was."

he pulls back slightly, his lips brushing your ear as he growls lowly, "i don’t give a fuck what it was. all i know is this—when i’m with you, i can’t breathe, and i don’t want to." he presses himself against you, and you feel the heat, the undeniable need. "you can pretend you don’t want me, but i know you do. every time we’re near each other, you can’t stay away."

you shiver at his words, the heat coursing through you, spreading like wildfire. you know he’s right. but what does it matter? you’ve already crossed every line.

"then why are you still here?" you challenge, your voice thick with desire and something else—vulnerability? maybe it’s the quiet confession you’ve never been able to say aloud. "why haven’t you left if i’m just someone you’re using?"

jeno steps back for a second, looking at you with something raw in his eyes. "because i know better than anyone else that i can’t stay away from you. and maybe i don’t want to." his hands reach for you again, pulling you close as his lips find your neck, your pulse racing under his touch.

"we don’t need anything else, do we?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper, your hands gripping the back of his shirt. "no strings. no future. just this."

he doesn’t answer with words. instead, his hands glide under your dress, pulling you flush against him. there’s nothing else left but the undeniable, desperate need between you two.

his lips find yours again, slow at first, savoring every inch of you. but then his hands roam, and the kiss deepens, growing desperate, desperate to erase everything but the sound of your breath, the feeling of your skin, and the raw, unrelenting chemistry between you.

"this is all we have," he murmurs against your mouth, as you drag him toward the bedroom. "and maybe... it’s enough."

you don’t answer. you don’t need to. all that matters is that you're here—together, for now, and no matter the consequences, nothing else matters.

this is your world. this is your escape. and for tonight, that's all that matters.

[beansmakesthings]

I'm a basic bitch and it's the off-Broadway production. There are details I like and details I'd change about every production, but in general I find the off-Broadway version to be the strongest show overall

I have indeed read Legoland! I like it, but honestly I'm waiting for Majestic Rep to do it live cause you can tell it's one of those things they'll hit different live as opposed to reading it

Misha and Jane are my favourites. I find that overall Misha consistently gets the biggest laughs out of me, and Jane is my lil autism creature that I'd like to put in my pocket

I'm not sure. I like to think I'd be the most authentic person in town, just because I've had a lot of people including family try to change me and tell me I'm too this or that and I have never once changed myself to fit what they think I should be. But hey feel free to give me a better one if you wish cause generalizing myself like that is hard lol

If we're talking any song in any production, probably Waiting for The Drop. Danceable, catchy, and I just think it captures the juxtaposition between the happy atmosphere of the carnival and the sheer horror and tragedy of their deaths really well. We don't talk enough about how good that song is and I desperately wish we had an official cast recording.

My favourite ship is perfectdolls and my least favourite is anything romantic with Noel and the girls cause what even man

Jawbreaker. I'm sure this is not a hot take at all or a unique answer but honestly Constance's character exposes my soul in ways that aren't entirely comfortable for me but in a way that I think is important and very special and Jawbreaker is the culmination of that.

Penny Lamb gets really into heavy metal after the Cyclone. Girl has some crazy emotions that she isn't sure how to process aside through aggressive headbanging and crying listening to Nemo by Nightwish

Hot_Smoky_Cowboy has a great series (although unfinished) on Ao3 called 'Everbody has a crush on Penny Lamb - Except Noel' and it's not only hilarious and a fun exploration of ship dynamics, but is also a great character study of each of the RTC cast

I LOVE everybody comes back AUs. I also love ones where they don't! I have different hcs for both versions! Do whatever you want with the story after the events of the musical man, the world is your oyster and there are no wrong answers no matter what anyone says

I don't know a lot about cut characters, but the little details I do know absolutely make me love them. I wish I could have known you, Corey Ross

Excluding the songs cause that makes it wayyy too difficult to pick, I think my favourite scene is probably in the off-Broadway version when Ocean starts asking everyone's favourite stories. Hilarious, has great character details and actual lines for Ricky to say, and I was crushed when they cut it.

I love rides so much, anything that throws me around and treats me like a punching bag gives me the happy stimmies. I'm not really that picky about rides and I like pretty much all of them, but my two favourite rides at my own local traveling carnival are Crazy Mouse and the Ring of Fire.

Yes I do think Talya is real and she's also a YouTube rapper and she's got an anarchy tattoo on her hip and Misha's name in Ukrainian Cyrillic tattooed on her knuckles

Sugar Cloud. If you don't tear up during Sugar Cloud I don't trust you (/j)

I certainly do have ocs! Dragon Jones, Zach Matthias-Blackwood, Conner LaPointe, and Moose Morrison. All of them can be found @the-uraniumverse !

I personally think Jane Doe is mostly just what Penny is like when she's not masking her autism. I also think that, when she comes back, Penny has a certain gratitude for Jane Doe finding her a group of friends and helping her realize she is worthy of love just as she is and cuts and bleaches her hair as an homage to Jane. So I don't think she quite keeps Jane Doe character traits so much as Jane Doe's character is Penny's hidden traits, but she does adopt some physical traits because it wasn't ALL bad being Jane.

Ocean would have gone into political sciences and eventually become Prime Minister. Noel would have moved to France and probably worked a mundane job while doing drag on the side. Misha would have moved to Ukraine, married Talya, and used his big brain to become a doctor specializing in rare genetic conditions like his best friend Ricky's. Ricky would have become a best selling author and a big name in furry art commissions. Constance would have taken over the cafe and been HAPPY ABOUT IT. Penny would have become a sheep farmer. I will not elaborate on that one

Ocean is teal, Noel is red, Misha is lime green, Ricky is magenta, Constance is purple, Jane is grey, Virgil is yellow, Karnak is royal blue

Fall Fair. No shade to Uranium Suite, but you've got nothing on "Algebra 12, kiss my ass"

ride the cyclone ask game!!

(I’ve never actually made/done one of these before so if I somehow manage to do this wrong pls tell me ^^)

1. What’s your favourite production?

2. Have you seen/read the script for Legoland? If so, what do you think?

3. Favourite character and why?

4. If you were in the choir, what would your “the most x person in town” be?

5. Favourite song/songs?

6. Do you engage in shipping, and if so, what is your favourite and least favourite ship?

7. Favourite monologue?

8. What’s your favourite headcanon?

9. Do you have any fic recommendations?

10. Do you enjoy the ‘everybody comes back to life’ aus?

11. Do you know much about the cut characters? If so, do you enjoy them?

12. Favourite scene?

13. Do you like rollercoasters? If so, what type of rides do you like?

14. Do you think Talia is real?

15. What moment/scene in the show makes you the most emotional?

16. Do you have any ocs?

17. Do you think penny retained any ‘jane doe-ish’ features after coming back to life?

18. What do you think the choir would have done after high school if they didn’t ride the cyclone?

19. What colour do you associate with each character?

20. Fall Fair or Uranium Suite?

[dreamersparacosm]

I have a feeling OC and Yoongi would get along really well but like in a quiet way...and annoying(whispering) that's it that's the idea

they sooo would! i mean, think about it: oc keeps to herself very much, doesn’t speak in social settings unless she feels she needs to insert herself (obviously not true at work), and when she does finally speak, it’s some one-liner no one forgets. who does that remind you of, you may ask? yoongi. and jungkook fucking hates it (but also loves it)

the price of desire — epilogue blurb 2!

prompt ; in which you’ve met your match, and jungkook’s annoyed it’s not him.

warnings ; none!

You don’t have a lot of friends.

It’s not on purpose, really — you’re not a total psychopath — it’s just that between the corporate ladder you were busy free-climbing with your bare hands and the general soul-crushing speed of your career, there wasn’t a lot of time to seek people out, or maintain them or text them back or remember birthdays.

Or… socialize like a normal human being in any capacity, honestly.

You were always polite. Charming, when you needed to be. Professional to the point of intimidation.

But friendship? That required vulnerability. Time you didn’t have. You’ve spent your whole adult life hoarding those two things like a miser, rationing them out only when absolutely necessary.

So when you first met Jungkook’s circle, the boys he’s built an entire lifetime with, you were cautious and quieter than normal (which was wild, considering you have so much to say it sometimes physically pains you to keep it in.)

You smiled at the right moments. Nodded. Even laughed twice when someone said something genuinely funny. But mostly, you lurked in your corner like a fashion-forward gargoyle, judging people.

Jungkook noticed, because of course he did. The man tracks your movements like you're his favorite Netflix series.

What caught his attention and made his head tilt like a confused puppy was the bizarre wavelength you and Yoongi seemed to share. You were two perfectionists silently communicating through raised eyebrows and microscopic sighs. So professional you make accountants look like chaos demons, constantly eyeing everyone in the room with a level of judgment, and with wit so dry it should come with a dehumidifier warning.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Jungkook wasn’t jealous. Just… intrigued, he said, when you called him out on the weird little pout he tried to hide the first time he caught you and Yoongi side-eyeing Jimin’s questionable outfit choice from opposite ends of the room (and by “intrigued,” he meant he was building elaborate friends-to-lovers fanfiction plots about it in his brain, but whatever. Semantics.)

Which is how you find yourself here today — sitting cross-legged on the pristine floors of a HYBE rehearsal studio, laptop closed at your side, watching Jungkook run through choreography with the rest of the guys while you not-so-subtly whisper to Yoongi during breaks.

It's nice watching Jungkook in his element. The transformation is almost comical, like watching your playful puppy boyfriend suddenly morph into a sleek panther. He's all laser focus and sharp edges, completely locked in with a concentration so intense it could burn holes through concrete.

You rarely get this front-row seat to witness the version of him that's equal parts discipline, raw talent, and charisma. This is the Jungkook who built his name into a global phenomenon, the one who makes teenagers faint.

You should probably be paying more attention. You should be clapping enthusiastically after each run-through, smiling proudly like a good supportive girlfriend.

Instead, you’re currently elbow-deep in a whispered conversation with Yoongi about the fact that someone (you’re not naming names but it rhymes with Schmin) is absolutely not hitting the counts on the bridge section.

“Left foot,” you murmur out of the corner of your mouth, gaze locked on the mirror.

Yoongi, without missing a beat, “Always the left.”

You purse your lips, nodding solemnly, like two battle-worn generals surveying the frontlines.

Across the studio, Jungkook, who’s supposed to be focused on perfecting a complicated turn sequence, catches the whole thing in the mirror.

He sees you lean in closer to Yoongi. Sees Yoongi nodding sagely, the two of you in your own little private world of silent judgment.

He messes up the next turn with a stumble, nearly crashing into Jin before muttering something about "slippery floors" that nobody believes for a second.

When the music cuts and the studio fills with the buzz of professional dancers pretending they're not exhausted, Jungkook makes his way toward you with the desperation of someone trying very hard to look like they aren't rushing. The man has many talents, but subtle he is not.

You don't immediately notice his approach, too busy trying not to choke on suppressed laughter as Yoongi whispers something accurate about the choreographer's hand gestures.

It's only when Jungkook's sneakers announce his arrival with a passive-aggressive squeak on the polished floor that you finally look up. He's standing there, brows furrowed into a perfect v, arms crossed over his chest in what he clearly thinks is an intimidating pose.

You blink up at him innocently, unleashing your sweetest smile. "Hi, baby."

His eyes narrow to suspicious slits, not buying your act for a millisecond. "What's so funny?" he demands, gaze bouncing between you and Yoongi.

You glance at Yoongi. Yoongi glances at you. An entire conversation happens in absolute silence.

The lack of response hits Jungkook harder than any explanation could have.

You shrug with feigned innocence. “Nothing’s funny.”

From beside you, Yoongi deadpans, “Why do you look like someone just stole your lunch money?”

A loud unflattering snort escapes before you can clamp it down and Jungkook's face immediatel flattens.

You make a valiant attempt to contain your amusement, but it's a losing battle against the twitching corners of your mouth and the tremor in your shoulders. Especially when confronted with Jungkook looking like that.

Because — and this is just an objective assessment — Jungkook looks absolutely edible today. His tan and blue Nike tracksuit clings in all the right places, particularly around his waist and thighs. His hair has reached that perfect stage of dishevelment, curling slightly at the ends, falling dark and heavy across his forehead. Cheeks glow with a pink flush, lips parted, eyes sharp and focused.

He looks, quite frankly, delicious. The kind of criminal, offensive, painfully appetizing presence that makes you understand why certain animals bite their mates.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

He glares at you a second longer, like he’s debating whether or not to drag you away by the collar of your shirt, and then dramatically plops down next to you and Yoongi with a grunt.

You and Yoongi immediately adopt a synchronized silence. The transition from animated conversation to complete innocence happens faster than Jungkook can change outfits between performances.

Jungkook's eyes ping-pong between you two with suspicion. "No, no," he says sarcastically "Please. Continue."

You raise a single eyebrow at him while Yoongi doesn't even bother looking up, just leans back on his palms radiating indifference that only comes from a decade of surviving Jungkook's antics.

Another silent communication passes between you and Yoongi, one of those telepathic exchanges that require no actual words but convey entire paragraphs of shared amusement. The silence stretches between the three of you, growing thicker by the second.

That's when Jungkook — survivor of world tours, global media frenzies, and dating you — finally explodes.

"OH MY GOD.” he groans, arms flailing outward. "You’re doing it again."

You release a shameless giggle that does nothing to help the situation, and Jungkook whips toward you with betrayal painted across his unfairly gorgeous face.

"You guys are literally speaking a whole other language!" he accuses, hands gesturing wildly "You didn't even say anything and you still had a whole conversation! How is that fair?!"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You laugh harder, reaching for him instinctively. Clutching the fabric of his tracksuit, you pull him close and start planting obnoxiously loud, smacking kisses all over his face — his cheeks, nose, forehead — anywhere you can reach.

He squirms at first, trying to dodge you but he’s laughing by the third kiss, the kind that makes you wonder how you ever survived denying yourself this particular man.

“You’re just mad because Yoongi understands me,” You murmur against his temple, grinning.

Yoongi, maintaining his position as the group's resident unbothered zen master, merely lifts his chin in lazy agreement, a silent validation that encapsulates the quiet solidarity that drew you to him in the first place.

A few feet away, the rest of the guys are watching, half-amused, half-horrified at what’s unfolding before them. But Jungkook appears completely unconcerned with his audience.

He leans into you, arms winding around your waist and pulling you onto his lap, holding you there.

The boys adore you.

He can see it, feel it in the way they welcome you into their lives without hesitation. Jungkook, for all his ridiculous jealousy over silent glances and whispered jokes, can only be so grateful.

Somewhere along the way, without you even noticing, you became theirs too.

And he thinks, with utmost clarity, that this unexpected belonging might be the greatest gift you've ever given him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

masterlist + request

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hello mr. sex witch. 100% ok to discard if this is inappropriate or out of your wheelhouse. i love my husband very much and feel very safe with him, but i tend to dissociate pretty bad when trying to have sex. like, full on my soul leaving my body and floating a few steps away from it. it’s really distressing and makes me feel terrible because it makes me want sex less, which makes my husband feel like i must not be attracted to him or love him and i feel like an awful spouse.

i’m in therapy already, but it’s one of the hardest things for me to talk about with another person. it makes me feel dirty and shameful and disgusting every time i try. i love my therapist and have been seeing her for around 4 years now, but i just want to leap out of my skin anytime our sessions go anywhere near my relationship to sex, and i have a hard time even using correct anatomical terms to refer to my body parts when talking to her about it. i usually just slip into vagueries like “down there” or “that part” or “that area.” my mouth and throat dry up otherwise.

not at all asking you to diagnose me with anything, but i was wondering if there happen to be any good self-help resources you know of for moving past this? the things i have found in the past 10-ish years or so often feel sort of like “just look at yourself in the mirror and jerk off more and then one day you’ll magically get over it in one fell swoop,” and that’s never really felt like anything but dismissal to me. (i also acknowledge that i could be misreading the tone of some of these stories and guides because i’m coming at them from a place of pain and fear. may very well not be their fault.)

if you don’t have anything for something like this it’s okay, i don’t want to be annoying or a burden. you just seem really knowledgable and i thought maybe would know of something or other. if not it’s totally fine, i hope you’re having a nice day. thanks for your time reading this.

hi anon,

I want to be very delicate here, because I'm broadly opposed to offering diagnoses here especially when it's in an area that's very outside my realm of knowledge, and I really appreciate that you aren't asking me for a diagnosis.

having said that: virtually everything you're describing here, from the consistent dissociation to the physical distress response you experience when trying to talk about sex, sounds very much like a trauma response. I absolutely agree that most of the resources you've been finding likely aren't suitable to be helpful for you, because they're aimed at people who are feeling a little insecure in their body and not someone who has a deeply rooted distress response.

it sounds like the most well-equipped person to help you tackle this is a trauma-informed therapist. I obviously don't know anything about the therapist you see now, and I'm sure she's been able to help you in other ways, but it seems like you're having a hard time cracking this particular matter with her to make any positive change in the direction you want. if trauma isn't an area where she's able to work with patients, I think it may be very worth your while to consult someone more specialized to help you address this specifically.

I know that all by itself this isn't really an answer, almost certainly not the one you were hoping for, and is only a suggestion of more work and emotional difficulty for you, in addition to the potential costs of finding a second mental healthcare provider. I am sincerely sorry about that. I wish there was an easier solution I could provide, and I wish you the best of luck.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Five Minutes Late

Pairing: Reader x Jana El Alfy

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: Jana is there to catch you when you fall.

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

People don’t really get it when you’re still showing up. When you’re laughing at memes, making your friends soup when they’re sick, handing out high-fives after practice, or even kissing your girlfriend like the world isn’t tilting inside your head.

They don’t get that you can be drowning and still swim laps.

Most days, I hold it together.

Actually, I hold me together.

Bit by bit. Smile by smile. Deadline by deadline. The occasional crying session in the shower, but I still dry off and get dressed and act like I didn’t just think about disappearing for five straight minutes.

I was at the library that night.

Trying to get through the last 300 words of a paper for my psych class—funny enough, on burnout and academic pressure.

I had started strong.

Annotated sources, thesis outlined, even a funny little metaphor in the intro. But somewhere between paragraph two and the conclusion, my brain short-circuited.

I stared at the blinking cursor and felt the air shift. Like gravity just doubled.

I didn’t even notice the time.

Until I did.

12:05 a.m.

“No. No no no no no—” I said, scrambling to the submission tab.

Canvas.

Loading…

Due: April 24th, 11:59 p.m.

Late: 12:00 a.m.

“No!” I slammed my laptop shut and my heart instantly took off like I’d just run stairs. “Shit, shit, shit.”

When I got back to the dorm, I dropped my backpack by the door with a thud.

Jana was sitting cross-legged on my bed in a hoodie and shorts, scrolling through TikTok with her hair pulled into a low messy bun. She looked up instantly, like she’d been waiting for me.

“Hey, babe—” she started. Then saw my face.

“Bubba?” Her voice softened.

I didn’t answer. I just sat down on the edge of the bed and buried my face in my hands.

Jana slid closer. “What happened?”

“I—I missed it,” I whispered.

“Missed what?”

“The psych paper. It was due at 11:59 and I clicked submit at 12:05. Five minutes, Jana. Just five. And now it’s late and she’s not gonna take it and I’m screwed and I’m—I’m—” My voice cracked.

“Okay, okay,” she said gently, touching my back. “Hey. Look at me.”

I didn’t want to. But I did.

Her brown eyes were calm, soft. The kind of steady you could cry into for hours.

“You’re okay,” she said. “It’s five minutes. She’s not going to fail you over five minutes.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She said she’s lenient.”

“But what if she changed her mind?” My voice rose. “What if she’s tired of me being on the edge and just decides—‘that’s enough’? I’ve been turning things in barely on time, emailing about extensions. She probably thinks I’m lazy.”

“You’re not lazy, love,” Jana said immediately. “You’re tired. And overwhelmed. There’s a difference.”

That broke me.

Because yeah—I was tired. So tired. Not just physically, but in the bone-deep way where your soul feels wrung out like an old sponge. And I was overwhelmed, but I’d been pretending not to be. Pretending so well, I almost fooled myself.

Almost.

“I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I said, voice cracking. “I do everything. I show up. I get shit done. I smile and make jokes and I even helped Mike with his project last week when I didn’t even finish my own. And it’s like—I’m doing everything right, and it’s still not enough. I’m still falling behind. I’m still a mess.”

Jana wrapped her arms around me from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder. “You’re not a mess,” she said quietly. “You’re a person. A person who’s been holding way too much without letting anyone help.”

“I didn’t want to dump it on you,” I whispered. “You’re busy with games and practice and media—”

“You’re never a dump,” she said. “You’re my girlfriend. You’re my bubba. You’re the person I want to help.”

I started crying then.

The ugly kind. Chest-heaving, nose-running, couldn’t-even-breathe kind.

And she didn’t flinch. She held me tighter, rocking us slightly, rubbing circles on my back like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” I choked.

“You don’t have to fix it alone,” she said. “We’ll figure it out together.”

We sat like that for a long time.

At some point, Jana got up and brought me a hoodie—hers—and tucked it over my shoulders. Then she handed me her water bottle and a banana from her drawer.

I laughed through tears. “Did you just… therapist me?”

She smiled. “Maybe. But I did it out of love. And because I know you didn’t eat dinner.”

“Guilty,” I sniffled, chewing slowly.

When I finished, she tugged me into bed and wrapped herself around me like a shield.

“You don’t always have to be the strong one,” she whispered into my hair.

“I don’t know how not to be.”

“I’ll teach you.”

The next morning, I woke up to her gently nudging my shoulder.

“I emailed Professor Harris for you,” she said.

“What?”

“I explained that you had a rough night, said the paper was done and just got turned in a few minutes late. She responded already.”

My heart nearly stopped. “And?”

Jana passed me her phone.

The email was simple.

Hi — thank you for the heads up. I appreciate the honesty. I’ll accept the assignment with no penalty. Take care of yourself.

• Prof. Harris

I blinked at the screen. “She’s not mad?”

“She’s not mad,” Jana said, kissing my temple. “She’s human. Just like you.”

I pressed my face into her neck. “Thank you, babe.”

“You’re welcome, bubba.”

I let her brush my hair.

Let her draw stars on my back with her fingertip while I lay face-down on her lap, half-asleep and half-broken but whole enough to keep going.

“I’ve been so scared,” I admitted quietly. “Of messing up. Of not being enough. Of dropping something and it all falling apart.”

She kissed the back of my neck. “You can drop things. I’ll catch them with you.”

I smiled into her hoodie. “That was poetic.”

She laughed. “I’ve been practicing. You inspire me.”

It’s not fixed.

Functional depression doesn’t just go away after one breakdown or one kind gesture. It lingers. It resurfaces. But it doesn’t win.

Not when someone sees you through the mask.

Not when your girlfriend notices the way your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, and doesn’t push—but stays. Waits. And holds you when the weight gets too heavy.

So yeah—I’m still swimming. Still showing up. But now, when I get tired, I have a place to rest. Arms to catch me. A voice to remind me I’m not a failure just because I’m exhausted.

I have Jana.

And for the first time in a while, I’m starting to believe I’m going to be okay.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨💗

[redwolfwoods]

Demon Twins fanfic

I'm righting a demon twins story, which I've decided not to publish until I'm done because I don't work on it often, but I've had some fun ideas for parts I haven't gotten to yet and I figured I'd share some of them.

This scene I'm going to share is where Damian meets Dani for the first time. She's one of my favorite characters so I'm really excited. Also I know most people call Dani "Ellie" but Dani chose her name and i feel the family would honer that so she's mostly referred to as Dani. However, in acknowledgement of the homophone, she is nick named Lidy (Little Dani).

Important things to know for this point in the story: We've got bad parents Jack and Maddie, they sold him out to the GiW when he told them he was a ghost. Danny is 16 and has been phantom for two years, Danny was made physically 10 so now she is physically 12. Danny is the ghost king. Dan isn't a character beyond a one off villain and existential crisis for Danny, Danny badly faked his death and ran away from the LoA when he was young and joining the Fenton family through the foster system. Despite the faking being bad, the LoA told Damian that Danny was dead so he was very surprised when Danny showed up at the manor. Danny left before he could be told that Bruce is Batman, so while he does know that Bruce isn't the Brucie Wayne he portrays himself as, he doesn't know his new family are heroes. Except Jason all he has to do is meet him to mark his ecto signature and always recognize him. The bats don't know about his ghostness yet. Danny is also trans, his birth name was Danica.

........

Danny stared around the large room at all the fancy people. The party was officially in his honor, welcoming him to the Wayne family and presenting him to the high society in the area. He knew it was necessary. Cementing him as part of one of the richest families in the country would help protect him from the GiW, and he would also have to get use to general parties like this as part of that rich family. It was technically good practice for political events he, as the ghost king, would eventually have to start attending. It didn't make him like it any more.

He had been to a few parties like this before. Either accompanying Sam or Dragged by Vlad when Jack and Maddie insisted on them bonding.

He didn't like the suit he was wearing either. It was perfectly tailored to his body, and somehow wasn't actually stiff. this made it the most comfortable suit he had ever worn, but he had never liked this stile of dress, with its boxy outline, thin fabric, and the tie around his neck. Not only has he spent most of his life at this point in T-shirts and hoodies, but given his League upbringing and Ghost unlife, he was rather an old soul when it came to formal wear. Thick tunics, heavy and fancy coats, leggings with no loose fabric and tall sturdy boots were the minimum usually light armor and weapons were involved. This suit made him feel both caged and exposed, as well as being just down right boring in his opinion.

He'd tried to spend the evening sticking to Damian like a leach. Failing that, his plan had been to remain close to one of his numerous new family members, but somehow his plans had fallen short as getting out of a conversation with on of these rich people was about as hard as it was easy to be swept up into one, and all the Waynes had quickly been pulled apart.

Danny had only just been able to pull away from an older woman who thought he was "just too cute!" and also looked nothing like Damian "Are you sure you're twins?" and he was now hiding in the shadows of the stairs.

"I thought you swore off penguin suits," said quiet, but smiling female voice from behind his right shoulder.

"Dani?" Danny spun around quickly and saw his little sister standing there like she always had been. Despite he small size, she wore a very elegant floor-length black dress with long sleeves, a flowy skirt and pale blue embroidery all over it in wisps and curls. Looked very young, because she was, but she didn't look silly.

Danny scooped her up in a hug. "Dani! What are you doing here? How did you get in? When did you get here? You weren't in line when we we're greeting guests."

Dani shrugged when he set her down. "I just got here. Came through the wall. No one noticed me. And I'm here to see you, Dumb-ass. I was worried about you."

Danny smiled at the sentiment, then frowned as he processed a little more. "Did you come alone? I know traveling is your obsession, but we agreed that you shouldn't be wandering alone at your age. Does Pandora know you're here?"

"Hey, I wasn't alone! I was hanging out with Youngblood for a while, then when I came back visit Jazz a few weeks ago she said you'd gone missing, so I went out with Skulker to look for you! We were searching for ages! Then one day, low and behold, I see a picture of you on TV talking about this party and how you're a Wayne now! What happened? Why didn't you talk to me?" Dani finally paused for breath.

"I'm sorry, Dani," Danny sighed. "You don't have a phone, and with all the crazy things going on I haven't had the time to try and find you. But you're right. I should have reached out. Jack and Maddie gave me to the GiW. I escaped and came here to live with my twin brother and bio dad."

Dani floated slightly of the floor in excitement before Danny quickly pushed her back down. "We have a brother?" she asked. "We have a brother and you never told me?"

"Sorry," Danny started. "It's complicated. I had to leave him behind before and-"

"Danny?" both halfas turned to see a dark-skinned boy with similar features approaching them. "There you are. Sorry we got separated." Damian stopped when he saw Dani, his eyes flicking between the two beings before him. "Who's this?" he asked Danny, gesturing to Dani. "She wasn't on the guest list."

Danny looked down sheepishly, then back up at his brother. "Damian, this is our sister, Dani. Dani with an i. She snuck in. Dani, this is my twin brother Damian."

Damian eyed the two of them. His sharp eyes likely noting their physical similarities.

Dani grinned and bounced on her toes. "Pleasure to meet you!"

"Why did you introduce her as "our" sister?" Damian asked. "When you were introducing Jazz, you called her your sister, not ours."

Danny winced but answered the question. "Well, Jazz is my adopted sister, not yours. If you wanted to form that kind of relationship with her you can, but my adoption doesn't automatically make you related. However, as Dani is biologically related to me, and thus you, that makes her our sister."

"As far as I'm aware," Damian scanned between them again. "neither Father nor mother have procreated since our birth. So, how is she biologically related to you?"

Danny took a deep breath. "Okay, you guys have to promise not to get mad."

Damian raised an eyebrow.

"And no stabbing," Danny added.

Damian said nothing.

"Okay, so Dani is actually my clone."

"What?!" Damian stepped forward and Danny stepped in front of Dani.

"It's not her fault. Remember how I told you about the rich family friend who's obsessed with me? He cloned me and made Dani about two years ago. Neither of us asked for this, but it's not like you asked for me. She's my sister now and I won't let anyone take her from me."

Dani peeked out from behind him at Damian. "Do we have a stabby brother? Can I play with the stabby brother?"

Damian and Danny both relaxed as they laughed.

"Not right now," Danny answered. "You're in your nice fancy dress, and we can't leave the party yet, but there's a gym we can use later as long as you behave." He put his hand on her shoulder and pushed down slightly to indicate to her not to use any ghost powers.

Dani sighed. "Okay." She turned back to Damian. "Like he said, my name's Dani, but I understand that can be confusing. If you ever need differentiate us by sound, you can call me Lidy. It's Jazz's nick name for me."

Damian smiled. "I can't wait to see everyone's faces when they see you for the first time."

[brachioton]

first (lee taeyong)

wherein male reader experiences his first sex with his long-time crush power bottom lee taeyong, sub top male reader, smut, fluffy ending, college au, loss of virginity, kissing, anal sex, unprotected sex, younger reader, reader calls taeyong "hyung" all througout 2,765 words

you didn't know how you ended up pressed against the headboard. whimpering and moaning while sucking on luscious lips that moved lasciviously against yours. dexterous hands that roamed your torso, making you breathe heavily in arousal that your glasses fog. yet, despite the moisture on your spectacles, you clearly see the beautiful, ravishing taeyong staring back at you sensually. he smirks, his stare alone making you feel vulnerable at his mercy, after pulling away from the heated makeout session. 

“for someone inexperienced, you're surprisingly amazing,” he coos, gazing at you with so much desire. you blush, cheeks feeling hotter than it usually does. you're surprised how it is you making out and being heated with taeyong when there were jaehyun and johnny who were undoubtedly good in bed aside from being fatally handsome and sexy. what have you ever done in your past life to have taeyong—the lee fucking taeyong, who had every soul, you included, worshipping the dirt he walks on for his surreal looks and incredible intellect and awesome artistry—give you his number by the end of your physics class followed by a wink and a “call me, handsome”? mark's squealing noises didn't even allow you to think as he screams as if he is the one taeyong gave his number to. 

“god, are you really sure you're a virgin,” taeyong asks while pulling your glasses off and pushing your hair back from your forehead. “with that goddamn face and this fucking body,” he purrs while caressing your broad shoulders and biceps before squeezing your firm pecs. “you’re a greek god, baby,” he whispers while grinding on your erection trapped inside your boxers. all you could croak as a response was a whimper. too flattered to talk and too shy to look at him, you press your face in the crook of his neck while holding him close by his tiny waist before grinding your crotch against his. 

“how eager, baby,” he chuckles, cooing at the way your leaking cock gets increasingly harder that it peeks out of your boxer’s waistband. “desperate for your virginity to be taken?” he teases further before fishing your weeping cock from your underwear. 

fuck. taeyong always knew you were packing under your pants but what he was not expecting was your cock to be as huge as his forearm. he couldn't help but drool at how heavy your cock felt in his touch. he drools at the sight of the veins that run along your shaft and the bulbous glans leaking so much precum. he moans upon seeing your unshaved pubes. god, he'll surely love how they smell. not to mention your balls that felt heavy and full of cum to be pumped inside his tight walls. he smirks, thanking the universe for his luck and congratulating himself for bouncing on it first. 

taeyong keeps his seductive gaze on you as he holds your cock upright before spitting a huge load of saliva on your cock. he breathes slowly, easing his nerves as he grasps your thick member. hell. not even his fingers could meet around the girth of your cock—the biggest cock he is about to take—and gosh he could only imagine how much it could stretch his tight hole. the thought of it alone drew more precum from his sensitive dick; not to mention how his hole clenches and unclenches in excitement, his heartbeat racing as he imagines the positions of you two fucking, his pink nipples being the tautest they’ve ever been. 

“you’ll take care of me, right, hyung?” you breathed, heart racing in excitement for finally being naked together, about to do it with your crush, and, at the same time, anxiety for having zero experience with sex, although you have read and researched a ton about gay sex and pleasure—absorbing as much as you could from articles, forums, threads, and even anatomical diagrams about kissing, foreplay, sex, and even aftercare—ever since taeyong gave his number. 

“i-i’ll be g-good for y-you… p-promise, h-hyungie,” you stutter, internally cursing yourself for not just embarrassing yourself in front of THE lee taeyong but also for possibly the experience before it even started. shit. what would taeyong even think of you? will he end this, this instant? fuck. how will you redeem yousel—

“baby,” he cooed. taeyong planted a kiss on your forehead, before leaning back, looking at you with adoration. “don’t panic, okay,” he whispers, cupping your flushed face before closing the distance between your lips, “we have all night.” you hold him close before slamming your lips onto his. your lips move heated and hurriedly against his. you couldn’t even recall even a single thing about kissing from all the articles you’ve read; all that took over you was the desire to feel taeyong and kissing his soft lips is just the start.

he moans, smirking in the kiss before cupping your jaw with one hand and stroking your wet cock with the other. taeyong leans closer, swirling his tongue against yours, drawing a whimper from you. he kisses you harder, while playing with your sensitive tip, sending zaps of pleasure throughout your body. you could only moan and whimper and thrust onto taeyong’s hand as you let him take the lead.

you both pull away, gasping for air from the intense kissing. you absorb how unreal taeyong looks in front of you—pleasure masked all over his face, plump lips covered with drool, tattooed, milky skin coated with a thin layer of sweat, his belly… god, that fucking belly that would definitely look amazing when your cock bulges as you penetrate him, that tiny fucking waist you would grab as he would bounce on you or as you would thrust upwards inside his warm hole… god, he looks even prettier than he did when you fucked him in your dirty, wet, dreams. 

“baby,” he heaves, stroking your cock to its fullness, “i wanna feel you now.” he holds himself up, lining himself right on top of the tip of your cock which you held by the base. SHIT. SHIT. FUCK. your ears rang as you let out an internal shriek. your skin buzzes as your mind goes completely haywire. your breath hitches, your mind churning into a puddle of disbelief; you’re finally fucking with lee taeyong and about to have your virginity taken by the goddess you worship and jerk off to almost every night. 

“GOD, Y/N,” he moans, thighs shaking as he sinks halfway down your thick length. “fuck, you  already feel so good halfway inside me, baby,” he gasps as he slowly takes you in, moaning at the delicious stretch your cock does to his pink hole. “shit, you’re the biggest i’ve ever had,” taeyong whimpers, basking himself in the most painful yet most blissful stretch of his hole. 

“y-you feel so t-tight, h-hyung!” you cry out as you guide taeyong down your cock by the wait with one hand while holding your dick upright with the other. “f-feels so wet and hot… you might break my cock, hyung!” you whimper at the crushing tightness as taeyong finally takes all of your cock and moans at how he feels so full with how your cock reaches deep inside him. he lifts himself up a little before slamming down your pelvis. fuck. it feels so good already.

“feels better than your hand, right, baby,” he smiles sensually, clenching and unclenching while circling his hips around your cock to get a feel of it. “o-ohhh,” taeyong whimpers as he finds a sweet angle, “bet my hole feels better than those filthy fleshlights you use when you think of me.”  

“fuck, fuck, hyung,” was all you could mutter, moaning dumbly as taeyong lifts himself up, the tip only left inside him before slamming himself down. “so fucking good,” you cry, eyes tearing up. 

“it gets better, baby,” he whispers before leaning back, planting his palms on the bed, before bouncing down your tall shaft, eliciting a loud moan from you. taeyong moves slowly, bouncing again, only harder this time that his stomach bulges from the intrusion of your cock. “feel your huge cock, baby. feel how deep you are inside of hyung.” he reaches for your hand and presses it on his stomach before bouncing faster. fuck. you feel your cock juts against your palm and prods his stomach just below his rib cage. 

“fuck, you feel so good, baby. no one else has ever made hyung feel this fucking good.” taeyong spreads his legs wider, allowing you to see how obscene your wet, dripping cock slides his tight hole. his untouched, leaking dick flaps poorly as he bounces harder and faster. taeyong’s insides are warm, rubbing deliciously against your cock. his hole tightly clamps around you, making your cock leak even more, this is evident in your cock being wetter and wetter as he rides you blissfully. 

while you whimper and moan at how good everything feels, he curses and pants as he rides you, bouncing harder and faster and switching angles once in a while that feels overwhelmingly heavenly. taeyong bounces harder, lifting himself slowly, then quickly slamming himself down your hips to which your toes curl and back arch from pleasure. 

“FUCK!” you both curse, taeyong fisting the sheets to keep him grounded from the immense pleasure from that bounce whereas you grab on the headboard and curl your toes. 

“H-HYUNG, DO THAT AGAIN!” you squeak, cock throbbing and twitching inside his warm heat.

“love it, my boy?” he smirks proudly, lifting himself once again, this time slower—dragging his hole upwards, feeling every throbbing vein on your girthy shaft tickling his insides in the right places, then, clenching and unclenching around you upon reaching your sensitive tip, gazing at you seductively while you stare back with a look of pleasure and submissiveness on your face, before dropping himself down your base. fuckfuckfuck.

you moan gutturally, chest heaving as your cock bulges deeper inside taeyong, the outline of your cock inside him being more prominent. 

“fuck, hyung, it feels so damn good!” 

“baby, your cock fills me up so good!”

“god, more, please!” 

“thrust inside me, baby.”

“fuck, hyung, you’re clamping my cock so good!” 

“just like that, baby… f-fuck, you’re so fucking good for me.”

“i wanna stay like this forever!”

god, taeyong foresees his neighbors hating him and filing a noise complaint from how loud you are, on top of the filthy squelching sounds of his wet hole sliding down your equally wet cock. you thrust upwards onto taeyong just as he instructed and god, have you regretted not doing this earlier. his waist fits perfectly in your touch, nails digging in his skin as you thrust upward, hitting the spots inside him that made him squeal shamelessly. 

“fuck, baby, you’re doing so well,” he pants. “make hyung feel so good with your fat cock,” he moans, fisting your hair as you thrust deeper and harder inside him. 

“hyung… fuck, i wanna make you feel so good, hyung…”

“shit! i love fucking your warm hole so much!”

“fuck, hyung! do you feel good as i do?”

“fuck, you’re so tight!”

you whimper loudly, no longer caring how pitchy or whiny you sound. the pleasure of having sex with taeyong drowned out everything else, that you don’t notice your current position of taeyong underneath you. taeyong lets out a shameless moan, eyes closed and backed arched in pleasure, as he raking his nails on your shoulders and back and tightly locks his legs around your waist. 

“hyung,” you whimper, slowing down as you lean down and peck him on the lips. “it feels so, so good,” you hold him close, kissing and licking his neck and taking in his sweet scent—god, even his sweat smells and tastes so good. “i wanna keep fucking you,” you lace your fingers together while pounding into him hard and deep.

“you’re so good for me, my boy,” he cups your face. “i love this so much,” he clenched tightly, to which you moan in bliss. “make me cum, baby.”

nodding in obedience, you kiss taeyong messily as you resume pummeling your cock inside his warm walls. tongues moving against each other and drool coating your lips and chin, you both swallow each other’s filthy moans and whimpers. taeyong’s prostate gets more and more stimulated, making him clamp tighter and tighter around your pulsating cock. your climax gets closer that each thrust becomes weaker and inconsistent. you tremble as you thrust into taeyong, who locks his legs tighter around your waist, getting more insane as your release dangerously closer. 

“mmmmhhh!” taeyong squeals as he pulls away from the kiss. “i’m cumming!” he curses, body trembling as he shoots his cum all over his stomach. taeyong cries, shooting more cum that even reached his face. 

“f-fuck, h-hyung,” you stutter, moans getting whinier and thrusts getting shakier as you chase your peak.

“in me, my boy.” taeyong pants. “fill me up with all of your cum.”

you grip taeyong’s waist tighter than before and hit his prostate repeatedly before finally shoving your cock deep inside and pump all of your load in his tight, warm walls. you tremble, body almost giving out from the intense orgasm. 

“hyung,” you sob, sniffling and whimpering as you grind inside him, pushing your cum deeper as your cock throbs from the orgasm. 

“so good, baby,” he kisses your forehead, “so good for hyung.” taeyong wraps his limbs around your body and kisses you softly, slowly as you recover from your high. you both pull away after a while, remaining at the same position after the intense fucking. taeyong hums, smiling satisfyingly after months of not sleeping around and having the best cock that gave him the best orgasm of his life. a blush crept up your cheeks as you nuzzle taeyong’s neck. you having your first sex with your crush? the universe must be so generous at the moment. god, you might already have the best entry for your journal. 

once your mind gets clear, you reposition yourself—leaning against taeyong’s headboard as he sits on top of you with your cock still inside him. smiling, you both lean in for another lazy kiss. you hold him by the waist as he cups your jaw and sucks your bottom lip before dancing his tongue with yours. you pull him closer, erasing the distance between you as you roam your hands all over his shoulders, back, waist, ass… all of his body to feel the goddess you surrendered your virginity to. 

after what felt like a heavenly infinity of kissing, you pull away, smiling sweetly before nuzzling taeyong’s neck. “this means a lot to me, hyung,” you whisper as you kiss his neck. “i’ve been crushing on you since i was a freshman.”

“really?” he hums, rubbing your hair as he hugs you. 

“yes, hyung. for so long. you’re incredibly talented and smart that you’re always on top of your class. you sing and dance so well that everybody loves watching you perform. not to mention how pretty you look, sunbae. everyone would kill for those looks of yours, sunbae. i could go on and on, honestly,” you blabber. 

“but what i truly love about you is when you told everyone to listen to my ideas in that history class. you believed me when everyone else did not,” you rasped. “i do not know if you even remember, but i would never forget that moment, hyung.” you kiss his cheek. 

taeyong blushes, “i am honored to hear this from you.” he pats your back, “i’ve always looked up to you because you’re just so good at everything you do.” taeyong kisses your forehead. “but i really love it whenever i see you take care of the campus cats. nobody does that, and seeing you do it makes me warm.” 

he pulls away from the embrace and holds your hands. “i do not usually do this to anyone, especially to younger guys, but…”

your heart stops. but what? is it even what you're thinking of? your heart pounds harder and louder.

“would you want to go out with me on a date?” he asks, hopeful eyes staring into yours. 

did he really say it? did you hear wrong? no way you’re hearing this right now. 

“w-why, yes, hyung! i want to! i am honored to!” you beam enthusiastically before kissing his hands repeatedly. 

giggling, he pulls you in for a hug, kissing your forehead once in a while, “i would be happy to know you more, y/n.” he pulls away, kissing your forehead, “my baby.” 

[purplehalnw]

Props to the Daredevil writers because there are moments between Matt and Foggy like:

-Foggy saying that Matt's a "really good looking guy" when they first meet

-Foggy and Matt equating owning a law firm together to them being married

-Matt saying "you're not gonna kiss me" and Foggy responding "I'm feeling a little something"

That could come off as queerbaiting but honestly don't, at least in my opinion.

Some of my fave celebrity dynamics (David Tennant & Michael Sheen, Anthony Mackie & Sebastian Stan) are friends who are secure enough in their sexualities and identities that they're totally fine with jokingly flirting with/saying romantic things about each other. And this seems like something that the Daredevil writers were doing with Matt and Foggy's relationship.

Like in most instances, queerbaiting comes from the situations two (often male) characters are put in. They're put in situations that force them to be super close with one another or in situations where other characters assume that they're a couple, both of which the audience is expected to laugh at. You're laughing at how "compromising" the situation is. Because being queer is largely seen as something shameful and emasculating and seeing these men being essentially humiliated is meant to be funny.

I think an example of this is Bucky and Sam in "Falcon and the Winter Soldier". There's the scene where Bucky and Sam fall off a truck in ep 2 and roll around in the grass, holding onto each other. Even when they stop rolling, Bucky doesn't get off of Sam until Sam pushes him off. There's a scene in that same episode where Bucky and Sam are with Bucky's therapist who suggests that they do a "soul gazing exercise" that she "usually does with couples". To do the exercise, Bucky and Sam have to get so close that they end up interlocking legs. In the end, Sam tells the therapist "thanks doc, for making it weird".

In these moments you're laughing at how unwillingly physically close Bucky and Sam have to be, you're laughing at them being treated/framed like a couple, but you're not supposed to seriously expect them to ever be together. It's pretty mean-spirited.

And in my opinion what makes Matt and Foggy different from this is that they are the ones making the jokes. They aren't ashamed by the idea of them being together, in fact they're endeared by it. So, in this case you're laughing with them, not at them.

Plus, queerbaiting has intention behind it. The writers intend to bait queer people with representation without giving them any payoff so that they can also appeal to the homophobes in the audience. And in my opinion, it's clear that the Daredevil writers never intended to give off the impression that Matt and Foggy might be a couple some day.

Obviously, no hate to Matt & Foggy shippers. People love romance, especially between those who are already close friends. But I do really love their friendship and how it's the heart of the show.

Some writers are so afraid of their male characters being interpreted as gay that they'll just ruin their relationship in general. Like how the Star Wars sequels separated Finn and Poe and started giving them random female love interests. Or how the MCU decided to have Steve abandon Bucky just so he could go back in time to be with his previously-almost-girlfriend Peggy who had moved on from him in the future.

But the Daredevil writers definitely aren't afraid of Matt and Foggy being too close. Matt gets several love interests but pretty much all of them end up leaving him in some way. But you know who is always there for him? Foggy. His friendship with Foggy is the most important relationship in the show, even in death it seems (haven't seen Born Again yet but I of course couldn't avoid spoilers).

[shesmore-shoebill]

okay. where to start. choosing one thing per pairing/person to highlight. for brevity. BREVITY. am i late for lesbian visibility week by now. maybe. but its fine i have lesbian vision goggles or whatev. etc.

- amangela obviously has my brain and soul but i do think its worth highlighting how much joy they get out of each other as comedic partners. Its legitimately such a joy to watch the way that Amanda laughs at almost everything Angela does, and the way that Angela will sonemetimes watch Amanda with awe when Amanda is mid bit. Like theyre super sweet friends and they clearly love doing bits together and interacting. But also on a purely comedic-coworkers basis they both respect each other so much and find each other so fucking funny. The first time they did a video together they were just SO blown away by how talented the other person was!

- courtmanda are immensely powerful and magnetic, both as a duo and towards each other!!!! i love how comfortable they are with each other. Its so present in their physical interactions especially, and theres both a sort of reciprocated admiration and glee thats so fun to see. And as a bonus they way they talk about and interact with shayne really displays botb their respective affection for him. and their understanding and affection with each other. insert smosh mouth shourtmanda promo photo.

- courtrasha.... my beloved..... i need more people to make a commotion about them. in case its not clear i am always so deeply unwell about courtrasha there is something so giddy and sincere in how they talk to each other. on a pure friend level i think they have such a goofy fun time with each other and are ESPECIALLY good at like. listening. to each other. like sometimes you see them just watching each other talk and something about it is so INTENSE and sincere and fascinated... im tired you just need to trust me its so good.

- arangela ALSO doesnt get enough commotion. theyre SO fucking fun together!!! their energy bounces so well because theyre both deeply competitive in slightly different flavors, and so when theyre against each other? ENERGY UP THE WALLS. when theyre with each other??? i hesitate to say well oiled machine because sometimes that machine is not oiled or is operating incorrectly BUT IT IS ALWAYS GOING WITH GUSTO. also whenever theyre in videos together they tend to just. gas each other up randomly and enthusiastically and once you start noticing it its so fun to keep seeing it.

- i promise there are more but maybe this is already long enough. didnt even do courtgela..... or courtmangela.... or amarasha.......

- truly so many excellent smosh girlies dynamics for those willing to look for it

- i am ALWAYS READY AND WILLING TO LOOK FOR IT 🫡🫡🫡🫡

lesbian visibility week this week so for the enjoyment of lesbian and sapphic smoshblr users out there whether an rpf enjoyer or not i need everyone and i mean Everyone who sees this post to say one thing you enjoy about the girlies whether as a ship or as a general dynamic. it is Mandatory™️!!!!!

[utalterego]

FAQ/About!

What is UNDERTALE Alter Ego?

UNDERTALE Alter Ego is an UNDERTALE au that seeks to take characters, concepts and places and lay them out in a formula similar to the last three games of the Persona series!

What's a Persona Series?

The Persona Series is a set of games made by Atlus, starring high school students happening upon shadow worlds that reflect society and awakening to the special power of persona- a physical manifestation of their inner self, to defeat an oncoming threat.

Who's in it?

The story follows Frisk- a recently orphaned sixteen year old, moving in with their foster family: The Dreemurrs (Toriel, Asgore, Asriel and Chara). Frisk's party consists of their two new foster siblings as well as Clover and Kanako from UNDERTALE Yellow as well as our interpretations of the other 5 human SOULs. Outside of the party there's Flowey: The party's guide through Mt. Ebott. Outside of the shadow world there are the characters Frisk will meet and befriend: Sans, Papyrus, Undyne Alphys, Mettaton, Ceroba, Starlo, Martlet and Dalv. Assisting Frisk will be an enigmatic man who resides over The Dark Room: W.D Gaster and his assistant- Goner kid. Other UT and UTY Monsters will be featured in the background.

Hold on- Ebott? Like the mountain?

Yep! Mt. Ebott is no longer the prison for the monsters who lost the war so long ago- It is now the epicentre of many dark and mysterious magical beings and people who seek to utilise them. The Human and Monster war did not end in their banishment- it instead ended peacefully with a treaty formed. Monsters have lived on the surface peacefully since.

Will Deltarune or Persona characters cameo?

For deltarune, it's likely they will not as the game is not finished! We don't wanna mess with stuff we don't really know. For the Persona characters, they may appear in the bg- Though all of the shadows/personas frisk obtains are from the series (bar their starting one.)

What will you use from UT and Persona?

The characters will all pretty much be from UNDERTALE with any original ones seeking to fit into that. As well as that, the locations and dynamics between characters will be very reminiscent of UNDERTALE's- All of the floors of Ebott will very very very closely resemble the locales from UNDERTALE! The battle style, plot structure, social links and- of course, the ability to use a Persona will be adapted from the series. The AU will take plenty from Persona 3, 4 and 5- Though tonally we're looking more at a Persona 4 here.

So what is this? Will it be a game? an animated series? a complicated board game your family won't play with you?

No, No and... Not yet. The AU will be presented in the form of a... Webcomic! There'll be the main comic with all the plot and junk as well as side Social Link comics where Frisk befriends various other people mentioned prior! We're also considering opening in-character asks during breaks :D

Who joins when? What happens?! Cocoapowder real?! Who's the ___ arcana?!?

For most of those I'd have to say to be patient and wait for the comic to roll out- We'll try to keep up monthly updates (or more frequent if need be). Though I can confirm cocoapowder real.

When's it coming out? I crave a date!

Well, I'm flattered but we're taken. Secondly, it'll be released in arcs, we can't put a solid deadline or time frame on it but we're working pretty hard to get as much done as possible- again, patience :D

Will Jack Frost be in the Comic?

... yes.

[murdocksapostasy]

If you’re taking requests for Logan fics I would love one where he has to get an x-men reader back to the jet during a mission. She was maybe shot with a drugged dart making her loopy, almost drunk. Usually she is really shy around Logan but because of this she is fully calling him hot and pretty. Maybe the fic can go until she sobers up the next morning and is embarrassed to face Logan after practically confessing to him.

hey i’m so sorry it took me so long! but i really like this idea!!

logan howlett x f!reader

tags: flirting, no smut, mention of drugs/poison, kinda damsel reader, no established relationship, pet name use(darling), warning for possible second hand embarrassment umm yeah

you look around observing your surroundings, a snowy mountain and dull sky, just another middle of nowhere “trip” with the x-men, the mountain you landed on seems almost abandoned like not a soul in sight.

you and storm are cautiously exploring the area when you feel a sharp pain in the back of your neck. a small dart landing on your skin catches storms attention immediately. she pulls it out

“it’s probably laced with something, you should be careful”

“no i don’t feel anything.”

you protest against storms concerns, you don’t genuinely think it could be poisoned? logan comes up and takes the dart from storms hand before examining it.

“oh you will”

he says fully knowing what’s to come, you start looking a little more concerned for yourself. storm seems to notice and try’s to reassure you

“you’ll be okay, just maybe get back to the jet, can you take her logan?”

he nods with a slight eye roll and gestures for you to turn back with him, you just follow in silence, you and logan didn’t interact much except when you had to, he wasn’t really a people person and you were honestly a little intimidated by him, not that he’s scary i mean he is but you weren’t scared of him, no just a little shy.

you as you walk slowly your vision blurs and the landscape infront of you turns to a smear of snow and trees. and that’s it you’re gone. and he can tell, you’re starting to walk a little loopy. logan stops to check up on you’re condition.

“you alright?”

“..yeah?”

you answered in a very not convincing tone, logan mumbles something and steps loser to grab you by your upper arm and guid you inside the jet. you’re surprised by the sudden physical contact but don’t mind, you’re a little too drugged up to care so much about everything going on around you.

once you’re inside he sits you down beside him and occasionally observes you just making sure you’re feeling okay. you however are staring at him with no shame admiring him and his sharp jawline. he’s trying not to pay you much attention to your stare.

until you reach out to touch him, he looks at you confused as you almost drunkenly caress his jaw with your hand.

“you’re really hot you know that?”

he chuckles a little taken aback but also flattered. you’re definitely feeding his ego and his smirk says it all.

“you think so huh?”

“yeah you’re like a cute little kitty”

you speak quietly sliding your hand from his face to his hair, over the spikes that honestly do resemble cat ears.

“but still sexy you know?”

you’re giggling to yourself as you lay out all your thoughts in front of him, logan takes your hand and takes it out of his hair, he’s not trying to hide his smirk at all. you’re amusing him

“think you should take a nap darlin’”

you’re about to protest when he picks you up and lays you on one of the pilot chairs that’s extending all the way back like a bed.

“some sleep wouldn’t kill you”

“i’d sleep with you”

he chuckles sitting down beside you not entertaining your comments further in hopes you’d actually fall asleep.

and eventually you do, poison makes people tired, you woke up just before all the x-men were back in the jet done with their mission. at this point you felt better however the second you saw logan the embarrassment hit you like a tone of bricks. you didn’t speak to him at all on the way back to the mansion.

the second you landed you tired to flea the scene but oh no logan wouldn’t let you off that easy, you could feel him smirking at you even when you weren’t looking.

“so you remember anything you said earlier darlin?”

[nacricissa]

hi!!! I'd love to hear about the complexities of elise's state of death/life!!!!!

- @magic-is-something-we-create

Thank you very much for the prompt ask!

Step one: was she killed at birth? Elise's human body was selected because it was stillborn. hers is not the soul that was meant for the body. In fact, the reason she was given up for adoption is because she her biological parents had already grieved her when the doctors told them about the high chance of stillbirth, and were not adequately prepared when the baby suddenly started breathing a suspicious amount of time postpartum. Elise was stuck in this human body for somewhat as-of-yet nebulous reasons to do with generation dysfunction on Olympus, with the generalized purpose of sealing her powers. Does sticking someone's soul in a dead body count as killing them? Especially when the purpose of putting their soul in that body is to prevent them from using the power that would allow them to inhabit "their natural body"? Unclear. From a metaphysical perspective, since she never crossed the Shadowless , it is broadly true that she was alive for her human life.

Step 2: If you get killed and then come back, are you still dead? Elise got killed by her grandfather/half brother (the Olympic family tree is so bad) and went to Tartarus. This was the traditional metaphysical transition of Death, which involves crossing the Shadowless using the power of Faith, supported by the belief of others that she was a person with whom they interacted, who then died. However, this was not the first time she'd crossed the Shadowless at this point, even though it is only meant to be possible to cross it once (any subsequent time, you know it's possible, and so cannot have Faith). This is because she is the Specialest Protagonost Girl, and I, the Author, say she can do this, mostly by being able to create universes, which means she can survive the Shadowless without Faith. As such, the bindings of Faith were already pretty weak, in terms of this being a Permanent, Irreversible Death, and so some mnemonic manipulation on the part of her brother later, she's building up more speed than the developers of Tartarus intended was possible, and flying past the trigger to teleport anything passing through from one end to the other, which is all that maintains its bottomlessness. Now she's flying about the normal world, but... is she dead? She felt herself die, so her personal narrative is that she died, and the aforementioned mnemonic manipulation means that there lacks the normal amount of souls with opinions on the matter, which means that her thoughts on the subject have outsize impact, and while she was able to keep it together with the thought "I am alive" long enough to get herself into a universe full of living people, doubts begin to creep in as her life gets steadily weirder from this point.

Step 3: Are vampires alive? About a year after the whole getting killed debacle, Elise gets turned into a vampire. Ow, hiss the dayli- she can just turn it off. The effects of vampirism on her body appear to be the same as for other vampires, however, she can get out of them with enough concentration. Her vampirism is essentially habitual, since her human body (the one that got vampirized) is not intrinsically hers, it has no base state for her to naturally return to, especially now that everyone who knew her as a human no longer remembers her, and so can no longer contribute to the body's temporal development. The people who do remember her, remember her becoming a vampire, or being a goddess, or some other not-quite human phenomenon. Her human body retains vampire traits, and does not age, but Elise herself is never able to determine how much of that is due to the events from a year prior.

[blooddrinkingbartender]

"Perhaps," Bill said, "I provide a chat and drinks and a bit of charm to those who come here from jobs that are maybe just a little bit more stressful."

Bill then raised an eyebrow at that comment. Sure, he liked to make subtle jokes that he was old despite his youthful appearance. But Bishop's reaction suggested that perhaps he had seen that sort of thing before.

"Heh, I barely look over thirty, don't I?" Bill said, grinning "But that's only because I'm thirty one. Some say I have an old soul though, whatever that means. The kids and teens you see today certainly have me feeling old though."

Maybe that was what Bishop was getting at; that Bill seemed to have an 'older' kind of vibe despite his physical age.

Leofric nodded.

"I feel having a creative outlet is helpful for many," Leofric said, "I know we are well built but exercising the mind is just as important as exercising the body."

Leofric seemed satisfied with that answer. He wasn't going to have people unfair assumptions about dogs just by their appearance if he was around to hear it.

"Well, I suppose that's something to consider," Bill said. He wasn't going to bring up the fact that Antonio didn't really have people as plants, unless said plants were uncannily good catching frisbees or a cat plush, and that Russell definitely wasn't a plant by any means.

Russell didn't need to be dragged into whatever this strange situation was, or have it bite him in the ass later without any knowledge of it.

"Heh, I suppose you would," Bill said, before he then grinned and moved to pour a fourth and final glass for Bishop, "I'd be surprised you'd even get a hangover, given you still seem completely fine. I bet your men will look at you and not even think you've had any."

Bill then slid the glass back over.

"There you go, my good sir," Bill said, "I am curious now though. I've told you some interesting stuff tonight."

He figured that this might be a good time to try and catch Bishop off guard with an attempt at vampiric compulsion again.

"What are you thinking of doing with that information?"

Leofric had once again tilted his head to the side slightly as he heard that question, and felt the vibration of power inside of it.

"Well, there is nothing wrong with settling for something less exciting. Yours is as honorable of a profession as many others." Bishop said with a smirk, "After all, not all of us have the fortune of aging as gracefully."

Bishop was aware that was a bold statement coming from him, but he too found it hard to resist the temptation to toss in a playful dig.

It was better than talking about hobbies anyway. That topic was, ironically, completely alien to him. Bishop had not relaxed a single day for the past couple of decades.

"Painting is definitely an interesting choice in this day and age." Something even he could appreciate. "And I don't mind working out in my off time."

Indeed, his way to have fun after work was to do more work. The company of a pet might have helped him, but patience and care were traits that didn't really belong to him in such a context.

"I suppose you're right. The dog seemed well behaved anyway."

It was one more reason to not underestimate its owner again, if anything.

"That seems like a viable alternative for the time being." He assumed so at least. He wasn't exactly an avid concert-goer to be able to tell. "Well, it would certainly be easier to tell how it's done after seeing it for myself. There can be a number of possible explanations and the possibility the other man had been planted in the audience. It's common among psychics as well."

Unless that magician was cheating with the help of some actual magic. Their intel was still a bit spotty. Bishop once again debated leaving, before realizing he would have looked a bit suspicious simply walking off three drinks on an empty stomach. He'd have to endure this a bit longer and perhaps hope the staged alien invasion he had put together a while ago would keep helping him make his lies more believable.

"And even if I told you, then I'd have to kill you." Bishop replied, tapping his finger impatiently before giving a nod, "Fine. But this will be the last for tonight. I can keep up appearances better than most, but I must keep in mind I have work tomorrow.

He then nudged the glass over.