#File transfer solutions

[eshare]

Say goodbye to expensive, complicated file-sharing tools. eShare.ai offers a smart, secure, and pocket-friendly file management app that’s built for individuals, teams, and businesses on the go. Share, store, and manage your files anytime, anywhere—without breaking the bank.

[cloudsfer]

As more reliance is placed on cloud storage, the data of most organizations and people becomes spread across multiple platforms. Transferring data among the many different cloud storage platforms is one challenge that cloud-to-cloud data transfer solves in a rather easy manner. Dedicated data migration tools for migration through Cloudsfer are for those business entities who have the freedom to handle data without losing control over that data, reducing redundancy in data, and saving locations for their data.

[sharing-something]

Struggling with Personal File Management? Habox Has the Solution

As individual users, we often find ourselves juggling files across different platforms and sharing them with different people. Whether it’s photos, videos, or important documents, managing these files can quickly become overwhelming. Many tools we rely on offer limited control over file permissions, make it hard to keep track of updates, and can lead to confusion when retrieving older files.

Enter Habox, a cloud storage tool designed to take the headache out of personal file management.

Click here: https://www.habox.com/

Effortless Control Over File Permissions

One common issue when sharing files is managing who can download, edit, or upload files. Some tools don’t provide the flexibility needed for personal sharing. With Habox, you can easily control these permissions. By clicking on the Permissions button, you can decide who has access to download, upload, or edit your files — all with a few clicks. This ensures that your files stay secure and that only trusted individuals have access to modify them.

All-in-One File Management and Communication

Beyond file sharing, Habox also offers a unique feature where you can ‘Create post'. This allows you to select a cover image, edit content, and even reference files from your box. Imagine sharing travel photos along with a personal story or discussing key points of a work document — all in one place. Habox creates a space for both file sharing and meaningful conversation, without needing to switch between apps or platforms.

This integration of files and discussion gives you more control over how you share content and communicate with others, creating a seamless, interactive experience.

Manage Members and Keep Your Space Private

Privacy is often a concern when sharing personal files. Habox gives you the ability to manage members within each box, allowing you to add or remove people and even assign admin roles if needed. This way, you can ensure that only those you trust have access to your files and discussions, maintaining a safe and private sharing environment.

Conclusion

Habox is not just a file-sharing tool; it’s a solution that helps you manage your files with precision while offering flexibility in communication and privacy control. Whether you’re sharing personal photos, working on a project, or just need a more organized way to manage your files, Habox gives you everything you need in one place. Try it out and experience a smoother, more efficient way of handling your files.

[lektoheart]

Belly Movement

I've had a few people request for me to add more belly movement during compressions. For a long time, I thought adding this would be impossible, or highly impractical at best. Fortunately, I figured out a way to do this.

The first part of the above video shows belly expansion during compressions, and the second part shows a breathing animation that speeds up along with the heart rate.

The rest of this post will be a long explanation for why something that seems so simple ended up being very complicated. Feel free to skip if you aren't interested in the technical side of game development.

How Animation Works

To explain why adding this movement was difficult, it is important to understand how 3d animation works. 3d models are made up of vertices, basically a list of points that are connected into triangles. To make the models move, these vertices need to move, creating a new model. However, no one wants to create an entirely new 3d model for every frame of an animation. Instead, these vertices are parented to bones, which allow an animator to move a bunch of vertices at once. For example, the vertices of the arm are parented to the arm bone, etc. In reality, vertices can actually be parented to multiple bones with different weights, allowing each bone to influence the vertices' positions. The collection of bones making up a character is called a rig.

The Problem

So why couldn't I just animate the belly movement like any of the other animations in my game? The problem is that I imported these characters from vroid, which means I'm limited to the vroid rig. And the vroid rig does not have a separate bone dedicated to belly movement. Instead, it only has spine bones for controlling the torso. This is why, in the MTM animation, I imitate filling the character's lungs by arching their back.

Theoretically, I could instead import the vroid characters into Blender before importing them into Unity. Using Blender, I could add my own belly bone, solving the problem. But then I would lose the vroid file format, which comes with many benefits. I use a plugin to import these characters into Unity, and this plugin doesn't just set up the model. It also sets up materials, hair physics, jiggle physics, facial expression, eye movement. If I modified the characters in Blender, I would then need to set up all that stuff myself, adding potential hours of work for each character.

After realizing this, I basically gave up on the idea of adding belly movement. The result wasn't worth the development time I could have been spending on something else.

Potential Solution 1

When thinking about this problem, I realized there is another animation technique that is often used for 3d models. Blend shapes! Instead of using bones to move the vertices, an animator can directly move the vertices themselves, then save this new position as a blend shape. Then, the animator can freely interpolate between the vertices' original position, and the the position of the blend shape. This technique is often used for facial expressions, and the vroid models come with predefined blend shapes for the face mesh.

Vroid is mainly used by vtubers, and it is a very common thing for vtubers to transfer custom blend shapes onto existing vroid characters to create their facial expressions. I thought I could do a similar thing to transfer a belly expansion blend shape onto my character's body models.

Unfortunately, you can only transfer blend shapes from one model to another if they have the same number of vertices. This works fine for faces, since vroid splits the face from the rest of the model. However, the body model is combined with the clothes, meaning each character has a different number of body vertices.

After realizing this issue, I gave up on this idea. Until...

Potential Solution 2

The main issue here is that I needed to transfer the belly's movement onto the clothing. Blend shape data is stored as the change in position from the original mesh. Supposedly these deltas can only be transferred between meshes with the same topology. However, I figured I could calculate what the movement of the clothing vertices should be by looking at the closest vertices to the body mesh.

The idea was to loop through all the vertices in the clothes, project the vertices onto the closest triangle of the body mesh, then use bilinear interpolation between deltas of the body blend shape to calculate the delta position of the clothing vertex.

This method should work. However, I couldn't find any information about people doing similar things online. I suspected such a method should be common knowledge if it worked well, which led me to believe that it wouldn't. I think this method would work for clothing that closely matched the body's topology. However, I needed this method to work for shirts, dresses, high-waisted pants, skirts, etc.

This method would be complicated to implement, and I didn't want to put in the effort for something that probably wouldn't work well. I also gave up on this idea.

The Actual Solution

After having a couple failed ideas, I wanted to forget about this issue and work on something else. However, I felt my last idea was so close to being correct. Then I realized something quite simple. It all comes down to the fact that the blend shape I aimed to create was really very basic. I was just going to go into Blender, grab a vertex from the middle of the character's belly, and pull it out using the proportional editing tool. I realized that such a simple edit could be done programmatically in Unity.

Basically, during the game's runtime I can find all the vertices around a target and pull them out using a custom falloff curve. This works exactly how I would have edited the mesh in Blender. And since I am pulling out all the vertices based on distance from the target, it doesn't matter if it pulls the character's body or their clothes. Everything should be deformed equally, resulting in basically no clipping issues.

Ta Da, problem solved! Well, not exactly. Editing the mesh during runtime hits performance pretty hard. My test scene was normally running at 200 fps, but the realtime deformation cut that down to 50 fps. And that was just a test scene. This solution would not be sufficient in the actual game.

That was okay though. I just needed to save this deformation as a blend shape ahead of time. Then there would be no performance impact. This ended up being somewhat complicated in itself. Mainly due to the way Unity handles mesh assets. But I'll skip those problems here, as they aren't as interesting.

Anyway, after all this effort I finally got something working. It may have been a lot of effort for something so simple. But figuring this stuff out is my favorite part of game development. I also plan to use this deformation technique in the future for other things. I think the results look pretty good, but let me know what you think!

[iyunia]

A sketch of Kuras from Touchstarved. I’m not really happy with it but in my defence, I had to finish it with the “eraser” end of the stylus because the nib suddenly stopped reacting to anything other than maximum pressure. In better news, I managed to run the game on my phone.

On Android devices with Adreno GPUs, Winlator does the job. It took me a little over a week to figure this out because I may have damaged the game’s files somehow (redownloading it fixed everything), so I was on a goose chase looking for solutions to a problem that wasn’t real. I’m so done...

There are a few things you need to know before you download Winlator.

Is Winlator safe?

In version 10.0 (Hotfix), some internal programs were recompiled to address reports of a TestD3D.exe being infected with a floxif virus. There is no floxif in the VirusTotal results for the new TestD3D. While they show trojans now, threat labels look like false positives which seem common for Wine binaries. It could partially be because of vendors’ use of AI: when I transferred Winlator’s internal files to a PC and scanned them in Malwarebytes with AI detection off, TestD3D wasn’t flagged. The AV still suspected just about every .exe there (all generic Malware.Sandbox.1; it reacted the same to MiceWine’s). On the other hand, nothing at all was flagged by ESET. In the end, download at your own discretion.

Is my device supported?

Depends on the GPU. If yours is an Adreno, then most likely yes. There is a list for supported and unsupported Mali ones. Also, Touchstarved requires DirectX 10 while Mali GPUs generally cooperate only with DirectX 9 or below. The developer added some workarounds in version 10.1 that might work for you.

Why not use another emulator?

Here’s a fun thing about trying to run Touchstarved on Android: I’m 99% sure that the transition to the splash screen (the one with ‘press any button’) is a video file because of GStreamer-related errors I got in Winlator. Compatibility tools that are not able to play it don’t let you access the rest of the game: in MiceWine, Mobox, DarkOS, and GameSir GameHub, the music was there but the screen remained black after the Unity logo. It didn’t matter what components’ versions or presets were used. Termux-based tools didn’t care what packages I installed. I don’t know what it is that makes Touchstarved work in Winlator.

How to use Winlator?

Download the Windows release of Touchstarved.

Download and install Winlator (I used 10.0). Grant it storage permissions when prompted.

Create a new container (‘⋮≡’ → Containers → ‘+’). If you have an Adreno GPU, change the graphic driver it uses to Turnip, otherwise you’ll get a ‘Failed to initialize player’ error when trying to run Touchstarved.

When the container is created, start it and wait for a bit for the file explorer to open. From there, navigate to the archive. It should be in drive D.

Extract the archive by “right clicking” it (keep one finger on screen while short tapping with another) and selecting 7-zip → Extract to Folder in the menu.

Navigate to TOUCHSTARVED.exe. I recommend you create a shortcut before running it (Right click → Create Shortcut).

I followed ZeroKimchi’s advice and used a Box64 preset with BOX64_DYNAREC_CALLRET off (I’m pretty sure you can just set it to 0 in Shortcuts → ‘⋮’ → Settings → Environment Variables). I also put ‘-force-gfx-direct -force-d3d11-singlethread’ in Exec Arguments (Shortcuts → ‘⋮’ → Settings → Advanced) just in case.

How to open a keyboard inside the container?

Swipe from the left side of the screen to right. A menu with an option to bring up a keyboard will open.

How to prevent the game from crashing?

Where are the save files stored? 

From the built-in explorer, the same as in Windows: ‘C:/users/xuser/AppData/LocalLow/Red Spring Studio/TOUCHSTARVED/NaninovelData/TouchstarvedSaves/’. Drive C is in ‘data/data/com.winlator/files/rootfs/home/xuser-1/.wine/drive_c/’. You can change the saves’ location to a different drive with Ajay-prefix. Winlator recognizes save files made on PC and vice versa.

How to access Winlator’s internal files?

Unless you have root access, only through Winlator’s file explorer or Android Studio’s Device Explorer (PC needed). ADB commands (PC needed) should work but I kept getting a ‘No such file or directory’ error.

I think that should be it.

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | FRAGMENTS

“that first night (her POV)”

"There's a theory that says you meet everyone in your life twice—once as strangers, and once when it matters. That first night at 'Pulse', with vodka cranberry on your tongue and his eyes burning into yours, was supposed to be the stranger part. No one warns you that six months later, he'll be standing in your new apartment's doorway, looking at you like he's seen a ghost. But that’s a problem for Future you."

main story | ao3 | wattpad | wc: 15k | explicit

↪︎author's note : Hi my little demons! (｀∀´)Ψ Welcome to the prequel that started this absolute dumpster fire - AKA the night our emotionally constipated idiots first met. Let's talk about how THIS happened, because honestly? I've rewritten this scene approximately 47 times (not exaggerating, my Google docs are a MESS). I initially wasn't even going to write it, but then my 3AM brain, fueled by what was probably my 8th espresso, decided we NEEDED to see these two disasters collide for the first time. And boy, did they collide. (￣ω￣;) First things first: This is pure, unadulterated filth. I literally had to take several walks around my apartment complex while writing this because these two WOULD NOT BEHAVE. Like, I was trying to be somewhat respectable here, but they said "No♥️" and chose violence. So you know what? I just let them do their thing and documented it like the professional disaster that I am. Now, let's talk about our girl for a second. Writing her at this specific point in her life was FASCINATING because you can really see all the pieces that made her who she is—the family pressure, the small-town suffocation, the desperate need for control while simultaneously wanting to lose it completely... She's such a beautifully complex mess and I love her for it. (Don't worry, she'll grow. Eventually. Maybe. We'll see.) And Jungkook... Oh boy. There's SO MUCH about him that I've deliberately sprinkled throughout this chapter. Little details, subtle hints, tiny breadcrumbs that'll make sense later. I'm actually really proud of how many easter eggs I managed to hide in here - come back after future chapters and tell me if you caught them! (Though let's be real, you're probably not here for the literary analysis, you thirsty gremlins.) The biggest challenge was honestly Emma. Like, how do you get the world's most protective best friend to leave her bestie alone in a club? I spent WEEKS trying to make this work in a way that felt authentic to her character. The sister crisis was my 3AM solution and I'm actually pretty proud of how it turned out. Realistic character motivation is my kink, okay? (＾▽＾) Speaking of realism—that's literally why this fic exists. I got so frustrated with how many unrealistic elements I kept seeing in stories that I went "Fine, I'll do it myself" and here we are, 35 pages of smut later???? Huh. You're welcome???? Side note: I have this whole thing narrated in audio (female voice only, because no male voice matches Jungkook’s, my beloved ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) but Tumblr said "file too big bestie" so... might drop it on ko-fi if enough people are interested. Let me know in the comments! Speaking of comments—PLEASE tell me your theories about all the little hints I've dropped about Jungkook's past. I'm dying to see what you guys pick up on! (⌒ω⌒)ﾉ Until next time, you disaster pandas! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Kiki. 🍓 P.S. Any typos are between you and god because I've stared at this document for so long the words have lost all meaning.

So here's the thing about nightclubs: you either love them or you hate them.

You? You're more of a 'hate them' kinda girl. The sweat, the noise, the people... not your scene. Not usually, anyway.

But usual went out the window the second Emma suggested this little adventure. Sweet, reliable Emma who you lost touch with after high school but who immediately became your secret accomplice when you reached out about transferring to NYU. Who's been your underground informant for months now—sneaking you tips about the English department, virtually walking you through the campus layout via late-night FaceTime sessions, and helping you plot out the perfect transfer application your parents know nothing about.

Emma, who didn't even blink when you showed up at her door with a weekend bag and a story for your parents about "visiting your responsible friend in the city." (They bought it immediately because, well, it's Emma. Their golden standard of What A Good Influence Should Be.) You'd spent the whole day doing exactly what you came for—touring NYU's campus, sitting in on a couple of English classes Emma snuck you into, and gathering all the transfer information you could get your hands on.

"You can't just transfer here and not know what the nightlife is like," she'd insisted, already rummaging through her closet for something that wasn't your campus tour outfit. "That's like... buying a car without test driving it."

Which, okay, terrible analogy, but you get her point. You've spent months planning this transfer—going over NYU's transfer requirements, crafting the perfect escape from your suffocating small-town university, calculating exactly how to tell your parents once it's too late for them to stop you. The campus visit was supposed to be just that—visiting your responsible friend Emma for a weekend while secretly checking out NYU.

Emma, bless her overprotective heart, had taken one look at your face after that final tour—that specific blend of desperate hope and terrified excitement—and decided you needed to see the whole picture. "The real college experience," as she put it, already pulling out her phone to text her club promoter friend.

"Location sharing on?" she'd asked for the fifth time before you left her apartment, double-checking your phone settings like some kind of Gen-Z mother hen. As if you hadn’t spent the last three months planning this transfer with military-grade precision.

"Yes, mom," you'd rolled your eyes, but something warm had settled in your chest at her fussing. It's... nice, having someone in on the secret. Someone who gets it.

"Emergency contact updated to my number?"

"Check."

"Spare key to my apartment?"

"Emma, I swear to god—"

"Just checking!" She'd grinned, already knowing she was being ridiculous but doing it anyway. "One more thing..."

And that's how you ended up with a literal tracking app on your phone, an emergency SOS button setup, and Emma's solemn promise to "never leave your side, scout's honor." (She was never actually a scout, but whatever.)

Parents really think you're just visiting your studious, sensible friend Emma for a nice, quiet weekend in the city. Having some wholesome catching-up time. Maybe seeing some museums.

Ha. If only they knew you're actually scouting out your future escape route.

If only you knew.

Because let's be real, this isn't exactly in your wheelhouse. But Emma's right there, keeping her scout's honor promise, bouncing between the bar and dance floor like some kind of safety-conscious terror. And maybe it's the way she keeps checking in with subtle thumbs-up signals, or maybe it's just knowing someone's actually got your back in this whole secret college plan thing, but you're... kind of having fun?

Which is how you find yourself here, in this pulsing, thrumming mass of bodies and sound. 'Pulse', the club's called. Fitting, considering how you can feel the bass thumping in your veins, the strobe flashing like lightning in your skull. It's... a lot. But not in a bad way?

Yeah, definitely not bad, you decide as you scan the room. Leather booths, gleaming bar top, and a dance floor packed with the kind of gorgeous twenty-somethings that make you feel simultaneously inadequate and oddly triumphant. Like 'yeah, I might not be that, but at least I'm here.'

And honestly, it's pretty nice here. Clean, classy even. Good lighting over the bar, vigilant security, and Emma vouches for the place. She's your safety net tonight, because God knows you'd never try this solo. But Emma... Emma knows everyone. Gets you both in with a wink and a wave, like some kind of VIP.

The girl's got pull and she's not afraid to use it. You envy that a bit, that confidence. Wish you could borrow just a dash of it, to fortify your nerves as you perch on this barstool, spine too straight and fingers too tight around your glass. But it's fine, it's good, you're good. That’s what you tell yourself, anyways—even if it’s not entirely the truth.

It's just one night. One chance. One small rebellion before you go back home and drown yourself in expectations and demands. Hardly even counts as rebellion, really, in the grand scheme. Not like you're planning on getting blackout drunk and ending up in jail or anything. Just… dipping your toe. Sampling the other side. Just for a night.

What's the worst that could happen?

Famous last words. Or in this case, famous last thought, as you take a too-big sip of your drink and nearly choke on watery vodka cranberry. Good thing no one's paying attention.

Well, except for one guy, apparently. And he's...

Oh. Oh damn.

He's the kind of gorgeous that makes you almost forget how to swallow, even as you scoff internally. Guys who look like that? They're usually bad news. Cringe edgy boys. Like the ones you see on TikTok. The jaw, the eyes, the whole brooding bad-boy package. Not your type. Not even a little.

But he’s hot. Truth be told.

And he's watching you. Not in a creepy way, but… intense. Interested. And wow, okay, maybe there's something to be said for the whole 'still waters' vibe he's giving off, because that gaze is doing things to you. Things you're not entirely sure you're ready for.

But then again... isn't that the whole point? To try something new? To be someone new, just for a night? The girl who holds the stare of a beautiful stranger. The girl who lets the charge build, heart kicking up and skin tingling. The girl who—

"Shit, shit, shit." Emma's suddenly at your elbow, phone clutched to her chest, face twisted with genuine distress. "My sister just called. She's having some kind of breakdown about—god, I don't even know, her boyfriend? Something about him showing up at her dorm? She's hysterical, I can barely understand her—"

You watch Emma's face cycle through about twelve different emotions in three seconds. She keeps glancing between you and her phone, clearly torn. "I should go check on her. But I can't just leave you here alone. Fuck. Maybe we should both—"

"Em, I'm fine," you try to reassure her, even as your stomach sinks a little. Great. Just when things were getting interesting with dark eyes over there. "I can just get an Uber—"

"No, no, wait." Emma's scanning the club like she's looking for something specific. Her face lights up suddenly as she spots someone by the weights machine in the club's weird gym corner. Because apparently some clubs have those now. "Oh thank god—hey!!"

She waves frantically at some guy who's been doing bicep curls between taking selfies for his Instagram story. You vaguely recognize him from Emma's study group—one of those guys who probably knows the protein content of everything in his lunch and considers gym updates a legitimate form of social interaction.

"Perfect timing," Emma says as he approaches, already dabbing his face with a workout towel. She's rapid-fire texting, probably her sister. "You're still doing that safe walk program thing for the student union, right? The volunteer thing they made you do after that frat party incident?"

"Yeah bro, community service hours almost done," he confirms, then looks confused as Emma practically shoves her phone in his face, showing him what you assume is your location-sharing setup.

"Great. This is my best friend from high school. She's got location sharing on with me, SOS button setup, fully charged phone." Emma's talking so fast she's almost tripping over her words. "I have to go deal with my sister but I'll be back in an hour tops. Could you just... keep an eye out? Make sure no creeps bother her?"

Your face heats. "Emma, seriously—"

"I know, I know, you can handle yourself," Emma cuts you off, already shouldering her bag. "But humor me? He’s actually great at this. Always walks girls home after study group. Total golden retriever energy."

You catch the way her eyes flick meaningfully toward where dark eyes is still watching from across the room. Like she's trying to say 'here's your safe but slightly dim option if you want it, but...'

Your phone buzzes with an incoming wall of texts:

Emma: 𝚒'𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢!!! 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 Emma: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚊���𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚜 Emma: 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚢𝚖 𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚢 Emma: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜... 👀 Emma: (𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 & 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎!!!)

"Hey there. Emma had to run, but she didn't want to leave you alone. Asked me to keep you company. That okay?"

The voice cuts through your spiral, and you blink up at the interloper. Brent? Brad? Some monosyllabic gym bro who's friends with Emma and apparently your new babysitter.

Great.

You paste on a smile, even as your attention flickers back to him. Dark eyes, dark hair, and a mouth that could probably do very interesting things, you bet your money on it. But no. Don’t get distracted. Eyes on Brett. He's safe, he's known. Boring as a beige wall, but that's better. Smarter.

"Yeah, of course," you say brightly. Too brightly. Even you can hear the false note, and you cringe. "Thanks for keeping me company."

Because that's why you're here. For safety, for company, for sampling the world, but through a protective barrier. Not for tall, dark, and dangerously appealing over there. Definitely not for him.

Even if you kinda wish it was.

"You're pretty."

And like... okay? Thanks? But also, ugh. It's not that you're not flattered—you are, in that vaguely uncomfortable way that makes you want to simultaneously preen and roll your eyes into next week. Because yeah, duh, you know. You own mirrors. You're aware of your assets, thank you very much. But there's something so wonderfully, terribly basic about guys who lead with that.

Still. You give him another once-over, because fair's fair and also because like... why not? He's not bad. Actually pretty decent, if you're being honest (and you are, because what's the point of lying to yourself?). Broad shoulders, nice arms, that whole gym rat aesthetic that apparently some girls go crazy for.

Not that you're necessarily one of those girls. You've always preferred a more... balanced build. Something between "I can bench press you" and "I've never seen the inside of a gym." Like, yeah, muscles are nice and all, but you want to be able to actually cuddle without feeling like you're laying on a marble statue. Give you some softer edges any day. Something to sink into, you know?

But beggars can't be choosers and honestly? You're kind of tired of being a beggar. Or, well, not a beggar exactly, but definitely... selective. Too selective, maybe. Conservative. Careful. All those words that really mean "scared to actually live a little."

Not tonight though. Tonight you're in New York fucking City, three hundred miles from your parents' suffocating expectations and that small-town mindset that makes you want to scream into your pillow sometimes. Tonight you could be anyone.

So when you say, "Thank you, you're not bad yourself," it comes out smoother than expected. Almost flirty. And his laugh? Not terrible. Kind of nice actually, even if it doesn't quite reach his eyes. They're nice eyes too—warm brown, honest. Safe.

"Would you like to dance?"

The question hangs there, and you consider it. Really consider it. Because this—this whole thing—it's what you came for, isn't it? To try something new. To be someone new. Someone who says yes to dancing with attractive strangers in clubs that pulse with bass-heavy Usher remixes.

"You feeling confident?" you throw back, and okay, maybe that was a little sharp, a little too much of your usual self bleeding through. But he just smiles (no dimples, and why does that matter? Since when do you care about dimples?), and holds out his hand.

His fingers are cold when they wrap around yours. It's... not great. You've always hated cold hands, which is ironic considering yours are perpetually freezing. But you let him lead you onto the dance floor anyway, because what the hell. What the actual hell. You're here, you're young, you're... actually kind of buzzed now that you think about it. That vodka cran hitting different after all.

His hands hover at your hips, eyes asking permission, and you give him a look that you hope translates to "yes, but don't get crazy about it." Must work, because his palms settle, grip light but present. You rest your hands on his shoulders (nice shoulders, you'll give him that), and try to find the rhythm.

It's not terrible. Not amazing either, but definitely not terrible. He can move, keeps a decent beat, doesn't try to grind up on you like some horny teenager. His hands stay respectfully placed, thumbs making small circles that should probably feel more exciting than they do.

Everything about this should feel more exciting than it does.

Maybe you need another drink. Maybe you need to stop overthinking every little thing and just... be. Maybe...

Maybe that's when it happens. Your eyes drift up, over his shoulder, like they're being pulled by some invisible thread. Like something in you just knows where to look. And there he is.

Dark eyes locked on yours, expression unreadable in the strobing lights.

One second. Two. Three.

An eternity compressed into the space between heartbeats. Your skin prickles, heat crawling up your spine that has nothing to do with the crowded dance floor or the alcohol in your system. The weight of his stare is palpable, laden with something unnamed but acutely felt. Something that turns your mouth to the Sahara and your pulse into a kickdrum.

Usher croons about falling in love while Pitbull drops his signature "dale" in the background, and isn't that just fucking hilarious? Because this—this moment, this look, this stranger—this isn't about love. This is about want. Raw and simple and completely uncomplicated by things like names or histories or futures.

This is about the way his jaw clenches slightly as he watches you dance with someone else. About how his fingers drum against his glass in perfect time with the beat. About the little scar on his cheek that catches the light when he tilts his head, studying you like you're a puzzle he wants to take apart piece by piece.

Your dance partner's hands feel colder by the second.

It's not that his hands are bad, exactly. They're... nice hands. Big hands. The kind that wrap around your hips like they were made to be there, fingers long enough to span the distance between hipbone and hipbone. And yeah, okay, you have a thing for hands. Who doesn't? It's practically universal at this point—like liking bread or hating people who talk during movies. Just basic human nature.

But something's... off.

Your brain is doing that thing. That stupid, annoying, overthinking thing where it won't shut up long enough to let you enjoy anything. And god, you hate this. Hate how your mind rebels against perfectly good situations, like it's allergic to straightforward pleasure or something. Because objectively? This should be working. Hot guy, good music, decent amount of alcohol in your system. Your body's definitely on board—you can feel the low simmer of attraction, the way your skin warms under his touch. The basic chemistry is there.

But your mind? Your mind's like that one friend who shows up to parties just to list off everything that could possibly go wrong. His hands are cold. His laugh doesn't reach his eyes. No dimples. The way he said "pretty" like he was checking off a box on some "How to Pick Up Girls" checklist.

You sigh, already stepping back. Watch the confusion flicker across his face, quickly masked by what you're sure he thinks is an understanding smile.

"Everything alright?"

And like... no? Yes? Maybe? How do you even answer that when you're not sure what's wrong in the first place? When you're standing here on a dance floor that's vibrating with Usher's voice while your brain short-circuits over the temperature of some guy's hands?

"Yeah, I'm just..." You pause, teeth catching your bottom lip as you reconsider. Fuck it. Might as well go with the classics. "The vodka. Has me feeling buzzy, I think I'm not feeling too good."

It's a cop-out and you know it. But it's also an easy out, the kind that doesn't hurt anyone's feelings or make things weird. Because that's what you do, isn't it? Keep things smooth. Keep things nice. Even when you're lying through your teeth to some guy whose name you can't quite remember.

"Hey, that's okay." His smile stays steady, concerned even. "No hard feelings. You need a ride home?"

And that—that right there—that's actually kind of sweet. In another universe, maybe that offer would seal the deal. Nice guy, worried about your safety, probably has a stable job and calls his mother on Sundays. But in this universe? In this universe, your eyes are already drifting over his shoulder, drawn like a compass needle to true north.

You press your lips together, scanning the crowd like you're actually looking for someone. Like you haven’t known exactly where he is this whole time, haven’t felt his eyes raking you up and down non-stop.

"Actually I know someone just across the way, so honestly, zero worries."

The shock on his face would be comical if it weren’t so irksome. "You positive? Weren’t you visiting from out of town? Emma mentioned you were just in for the weekend."

And okay, what the actual fuck? Why does he need your whole life story? Yeah, sure, he's probably just being nice. Probably just wants to make sure you're not about to wander off and get murdered or something. But still. The irritation rises in your throat like bile, sharp and inexplicable.

"Doesn't mean I don't know anybody in New York," you say, and wow, okay, that came out with more edge than intended. Quick, fix it, smooth it over. You paste on a tight smile, the kind that probably looks more like a grimace but hey, at least you're trying. "See you around, Brent."

You're already moving as you say it, heels clicking against the floor with purpose. You think you hear him call after you—something about his name being Peter?—but you're beyond caring. Beyond thinking about cold hands and careful smiles and all the safe choices you should be making.

Because your feet know where they're going, even if your brain is screaming about bad decisions. Even if every rational part of you is throwing up warning signs and red flags. Even if—or maybe because—you can feel his eyes following your every move, heat spiraling up your spine with each step closer.

The bass drops, and your heart kicks up to match it.

Dale, indeed.

You don't need to look at him to know he's watching. You can tell. Can perceive it. It’s like standing too close to a bonfire. The kind of heat that makes you want to step closer even as your survival instincts scream danger, danger, danger.

And this? This is definitely dangerous.

You don't do this. Like, ever. There's a whole routine to these things, right? Guy sees girl, guy approaches girl, girl decides if she wants to deal with whatever fumbling attempt at flirtation follows. That's just... how it works. How it's always worked. Because guys? They're usually terrible at being approached. Their fragile little egos can't handle a girl making the first move. Plus, most of them aren't worth the effort anyway.

But.

But your feet are already moving. But your heart is already racing. But something about the way he's been watching you, like he could devour you whole and still be hungry—it makes you reckless. Makes you stupid. Makes you brave.

"Dance with me."

It comes out more command than question, your voice steadier than it has any right to be. He looks up at you from his seat, and fuck. Just... fuck. Because the way he tilts his head? The slow, deliberate motion of it? That should not be as hot as it is. That should be illegal in at least three states.

Then he smiles. Just one side of his mouth lifting, lazy and confident and—oh god. A dimple. One perfect little dimple that makes something in your chest squeeze tight.

"That's bold."

His voice is lower than you expected. Rougher. Like whiskey over gravel, and you want to drink it down until you're drunk on it. Want to find out what other sounds you can pull from that throat.

"You've been looking at me for 10 minutes." The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, sharp and challenging. "You gonna come dance or not?"

He chuckles—actually chuckles, who even does that?—and holy shit, there's another one. Two dimples. Two perfect little dents in his cheeks that make heat pool low in your belly, thick and sweet like honey. Your fingers twitch, aching to touch them, to press thumbs to those tiny curves and feel him beam against your flesh.

When he stands, it's one fluid motion that makes it feel like someone replaced your esophagus with a cracked porcelain vase. Because he's tall. Not incredibly, super tall. But yes the kind of tall that means you'd have to stretch up on your toes to reach his mouth, that means his hands could probably span your whole waist, that means—

No. Nope. Not going there. Not yet anyway.

He follows you onto the dance floor, and you can feel the energy shift. Like the air itself is charging up, preparing itself for both of you. His friend—some guy with killer dance moves who's been holding down a corner of the floor all night—catches his eye and shoots him a look. Something passes between them, quick and meaningful, before Mystery Man's attention is back on you. All on you.

And yeah.

Yeah, this is happening.

This is definitely happening.

The bass pounds through your marrow as Usher's voice continues suffusing the air, talking about DJs and falling in love, and honestly. At this point you’re barely listening to the music itself, too focused on finding a more secluded spot.

Your pulse picks up speed. Can’t help it, really. Because this? This is definitely going to be worth breaking all your rules for.

You lead him to some darker corner of the club—might be by a column, might be an alcove, who fucking knows because your brain's too busy short-circuiting to care about architectural details right now. All you know is it's slightly away from the main crush of bodies, slightly more private, slightly more...

Oh.

His hands find your hips the second you turn to face him. No hesitation. No silent question. No careful hovering or polite uncertainty like what's-his-name earlier. Just warm, sure palms sliding over the curve of your hips like they belong there, like he's claiming territory, and—

And you should be annoyed. You should be fucking livid. Because excuse you? The audacity of this man to just assume he can touch you without so much as a "may I?" Some feminist you are, getting weak in the knees over this caveman behavior while poor Brett (Blake? Whatever) at least had the decency to ask permission with those puppy dog eyes of his.

But your brain? Your traitorous, horny, absolutely useless brain? It's sending signals straight between your legs because apparently that's what does it for you now. The confidence. The heat of his hands—and god, they're so warm, burning through the thin fabric of your dress like brands. They're not as broad as the other guy's, but his fingers are longer, elegant almost. Artist's hands, scattered with tiny tattoos that disappear under his sleeve, and that silver ring on his middle finger catching the light as his grip tightens just slightly...

(Middle finger. Not left-hand fourth. So not married then. Good. Last thing you need tonight is adding "homewrecker" to your expanding list of dubious habits.)

Your arms loop around his neck almost on autopilot, and then you're moving. With him. Against him. The bass is a living thing between you, and he matches your rhythm instantly, like your bodies already know the steps to this dance. Like you've done this a hundred times before, in a hundred different lives.

His eyes lock onto yours, heavy-lidded and dark as sin, and every hair on your neck stands at attention. Electricity crackles down your spine, sharp and sweet, as his thumbs press into your hipbones. Just enough pressure to guide you closer, until there's barely room for breath between you.

"Didn't catch your name earlier," he says, voice pitched low enough that you have to lean in to hear him over the music. His breath fans hot against your ear, and you suppress a shiver.

"Didn't throw it," you shoot back, because apparently your mouth is running on autopilot now too. Great. Just great.

But he laughs—a quick, rough sound that you feel more than hear—and his hands flex against your hips. "Feisty. I like that."

"Bet you say that to all the girls who proposition you at clubs."

"Nah." His head dips closer, nose brushing your temple. "Just the ones who stare at me for ten minutes first."

"Excuse you, you were staring at me."

"Maybe we were staring at each other."

And okay, that's... fair actually. But you're not about to admit it. Instead, you roll your eyes, even as your fingers find the soft hair at his nape. "Does this usually work for you? This whole... whatever this is?"

"You tell me." His smile is audible in his voice, and you just know those dimples are making an appearance again. "You're the one who told me to dance."

"Maybe I just felt sorry for you, sitting there all alone."

"Wasn't alone. Had my friend."

"The dancer? Please, he was too busy killing it on the floor to keep you company."

His laugh vibrates through his chest into yours, and when did you get this close? When did your bodies start pressing together with every sway of the music? When did his thigh slip between yours, creating a friction that makes your breath catch?

"You been watching my friend too? Should I be jealous?"

The word sends an unexpected thrill through you, even though his tone is clearly teasing. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yeah," he says, and suddenly his voice isn't teasing at all. His grip tightens fractionally, pulling your hips more firmly against his. "Yeah, I would."

Goosebumps ripple across your arms, slow and inevitable, like lava carving its path through stone. His eyes burn into yours again, scorching hot, wild, and consuming—a downpour drowning a raging fire, leaving nothing but aftermath. What’s left in their wake is the kind of black that clings. Opaque. Dense. Like ash, settling over a forest stripped to its bare bones.

The sensible part of your brain—the part that usually keeps you from doing stupid, reckless things with beautiful strangers—is suspiciously quiet. Probably because all your blood is currently occupied elsewhere, namely with the way his hands are starting to trace slow patterns on your hips, the way his breath keeps ghosting over your neck, the way his body moves against yours like he's writing sin in cursive.

And maybe it's the vodka, or maybe it's how he's gazing at you like you're tranquility amidst his chaos, but you hear yourself say, "Buy me a drink first."

His smile is slow, dangerous. "That an order too?"

"Consider it a... suggestion."

"Mm." One hand slides to your lower back, pressing you impossibly closer for just a moment. "I'm starting to like your suggestions."

Your skin feels too tight, too hot, too everything. "Starting to?"

"Give me time." His lips brush your ear as he speaks, and this time you can't suppress the shiver. "Night's still young."

He actually does buy you that drink, which is... something. You're not sure what exactly, but definitely something. The way he guides you to the bar with his hand still on your lower back, fingers splayed wide enough to make you notice the imprint of his warmth? Also something.

"Another vodka cran," you tell the bartender, because hey, if it ain't broke. Then you catch his raised eyebrow and can't help adding, "What? Were you expecting something more sophisticated?"

"Nah." That damn dimple makes another appearance. "Just trying to figure you out."

"Good luck with that."

When he pulls out his wallet to pay, you catch a glimpse of multiple cards fanned out in the leather fold. Credit cards, maybe? Must have money then—or at least good credit. Not that it matters, because this is a one-time thing. A never-gonna-see-you-again thing. A what-happens-in-New-York stays-in-New-York thing.

Your fingers find the cocktail napkin beneath your glass, absently creating sharp creases with your thumbnail. It's one of those fancy ones with the bar's logo embossed in gold—pretentious, like everything else about this place.

Still. You notice how he pauses, studying one card for a beat too long before selecting it. Like he's making sure of something. Weird, but whatever.

The napkin disappears into your clutch without conscious thought. A habit you'll question later but can't explain now. You're too buzzed to care about his personal finances or your own questionable souvenir-keeping tendencies.

"Whiskey neat," he orders, and you barely contain your snort. Of fucking course he drinks whiskey. Probably thinks he's Don Draper or something.

"Pretentious much?"

"Says the girl drinking what's basically juice with a splash of alcohol."

"At least I'm not trying to prove anything."

His laugh is rough, genuine. "Who says I'm trying to prove anything?"

"Please. Whiskey at a club? That's like wearing a suit to McDonald's."

"Maybe I just like whiskey." He takes a deliberate sip, throat working in a way that absolutely doesn't make your mouth water. "Maybe I like the burn."

There's something in his voice when he says that, something that feeds the banked flame in your belly. His eyes are on you again, alternating between your eyes and your mouth like he can't quite decide where to focus.

"That line score you points often?" you manage to ask, even as your voice betrays you, emerging breathier than intended.

"I wouldn't know." He's definitely closer now. When did that happen? Did he move, or did you? "Is it scoring points now?"

And god help you, but it is. It really fucking is. Maybe it's the alcohol finally hitting your system properly, or maybe it's the way he's looking at you, but you find yourself swaying toward him. Drawn in like a moth to flame, even though you know you're probably going to get burned.

"You're kind of an asshole," you inform him, even as your free hand finds its way to his chest. His very firm chest, holy shit.

"Yeah?" His fingers trace up your spine, feather-light but deliberate. "Seem to like it though."

"Cocky too."

"Haven't heard any complaints."

He's so near now you can smell him—something clean and vicious, like a tempest raging on the coast. His breath fans across your lips, whiskey-warm and promising. One of his hands cups the back of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw in a way that makes your skin buzz.

"Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?" you murmur, and that's it—that's all it takes.

His mouth crashes into yours like a wave breaking against rocks, hot and insistent and absolutely fucking flawless. His lips are softer than you expected but he kisses hard, like he's trying to devour you whole. Like he's been thinking about this as much as you have. The hand on your neck tightens, tilting your head to deepen the angle, and holy fuck.

You've been kissed before. You've been kissed a lot, actually. But this? This is something else entirely. This is lightning in a bottle, this is matches in gasoline, this is every hackneyed poetry metaphor about fire and flame and immolation except it actually makes sense now because your entire body is electric with it.

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you open for him without hesitation, vodka cranberry forgotten in your hand. He tastes like alcohol and dewdrops and something else you can't name but instantly crave more of. The noise he makes when you tug his hair—low and ravenous and almost startled—shoots straight between your legs.

Someone whistles nearby—probably his dancer friend—but you couldn't care less. Not when his other hand is sliding down to your hip, pulling you closer. Not when he's kissing you like he's trying to memorize the shape of your mouth with his tongue. Not when everything in you is screaming more, closer, now.

You're definitely going to hell for this. But with the way he's kissing you?

Might be worth it.

His forehead rests against yours, and you're both breathing like you've run a marathon. Which is... embarrassing, actually. When was the last time a kiss left you this affected? What are you, some freshman at their first house party? Because this is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. Your heart is hammering against your ribs like it's trying to escape, and your lips are tingling, and—

And fuck it. Fuck everything. You want more.

"Let's take this outside," you say, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounds considering your internal chaos. Because yes. Outside. Away from the crowd and the music and all these people who aren't him.

"Your house?" The words are barely out of his mouth before you can finish your suggestion, and okay, that's kind of hot. The eagerness. The way his fingers flex against your hip like he's already imagining it.

You can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. At least you're not alone in this desperate teenage hormone bullshit. At least he's just as affected as you are.

But then reality crashes in like a bucket of ice water. Your house? What house? You're crashing at Emma's place and—oh god, Emma would actually murder you. Like, literal homicide. She's already doing you a solid by covering for you with your parents, and bringing back some random (incredibly hot) guy from a club? Yeah, that would definitely void the best-friend contract.

"Yours?" you counter, trying not to sound too hopeful.

He makes this sound—half hiss, half groan—that shouldn't be as sexy as it is. "Can't."

"What, mommy and daddy don't let you?" The snark is automatic, defense mechanism kicking in to mask your disappointment.

"Nah, but my friend might not like it."

"Mine either."

You stare at each other for a moment, eyes darting back and forth like you're both trying to solve the same puzzle. The absurdity of the situation hits you at the same time—two grown adults, hot and bothered in a club, cockblocked by their respective roommate situations—and suddenly you're both laughing.

His chuckle is deep, rumbling through his chest where you're still pressed against him, and it's... nice. Really nice. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his dimples flash (and seriously, those things should come with a warning label), the way his thumb absently strokes your hip like he's forgotten he's doing it.

"Well, this is..."

"Stupid?" you offer.

"I was gonna say unfortunate, but yeah. Stupid works too."

You're still close enough to feel his breath on your lips, still wound tight with want, still buzzing from that kiss. And now you're both laughing about it, which should probably kill the mood but somehow doesn't. Somehow makes it better, actually. More real. Less like some fantasy hookup and more like...

Nope. Not going there. This is still just a one-night thing. A one-night thing that's currently being cockblocked by your respective living situations, but still. Just one night.

"So what now?" he asks, and his voice has dropped back into that lower register that you really want to hate. "Because I really want to kiss you again."

"Just kiss?" The words slip out before you can stop them, teasing and suggestive and probably way too candid.

His grip tightens, just marginally. Just enough to make your breath catch. "Definitely not just kiss."

"Fuck," you breathe, because eloquence has left the building. Possibly the state.

"That's the idea, yeah." And how he says it—all gruff edges and sinful vow—makes embers spark low in your abdomen. "Just need to sort out the logistics."

Which brings you right back to your current predicament. No Emma's place, no his place, and you're pretty sure having sex in the club bathroom is both tacky and probably illegal. But the way he's looking at you, like he really, really wants to wreck you…

"We could..." you start, then pause. Because what? What brilliant solution are you about to offer here? Your practical brain is absolutely useless right now, short-circuited by the lingering taste of whiskey on your tongue and the steady pressure of his hands on your body.

"Could what?" His thumb traces your bottom lip, and your train of thought derails completely.

"I have no idea," you admit, and his laugh is somehow both frustrated and fond.

"This is definitely stupid," he says, but he's still holding you close, still looking at your mouth like he's considering kissing you again anyway, roommate situations be damned.

"So stupid," you agree, already tilting your face up to meet him halfway.

You lick your lips, tasting geosmin and want and really awful decision-making skills.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. Emma can kill you tomorrow.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist—god, his hands are so warm—and you're already moving, already pulling up the Uber app with your free hand. Thank fuck for muscle memory because your brain is absolutely useless right now, too busy cataloging the way his pulse jumps under your fingers, the way he follows without hesitation.

"Where we goin'?" His voice is low and hoarse as he trails behind you, wrist a hostage to your grip.

"To my friend's place," you mutter, trying to type Emma's address without typos.

You: 𝚎𝚖𝚖𝚊, 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠

You don’t mention you’re not heading home alone. She’ll find out herself.

The dude, for his part, just hums in response, like he's fine with whatever as long as it means getting somewhere private. Which, fair. You're kind of operating on the same wavelength here.

You make it to the coat check line first, because priorities. You’re not leaving your jacket behind. And it is moving at a glacial pace, because of course it is. The universe clearly wants to test your self-control by forcing you to stand here, his chest pressed against your back, his breath hot on your neck.

The way his fingers keep "accidentally" brushing your thigh has you seriously considering saying fuck it and just leaving your jacket behind.

"Could just come back for it tomorrow," he murmurs, like he's reading your mind. His lips brush your ear as he speaks, and you barely sigh in response. Bastard knows exactly what he's doing.

"It's January in New York. I'm not getting hypothermia just because you can't keep it in your pants for five minutes."

"Could keep you warm."

And okay, that line should be cringeworthy. That's the kind of shit that would usually make you roll your eyes so hard they'd get stuck. But he has a way with words—or maybe it’s just his fucking voice—and somehow you like it.

"Next," the coat check girl calls, mercifully saving you from having to respond. You practically lunge forward, fumbling with your ticket. Better than letting him feel how that stupid line affected you.

He reaches past you to hand over his own ticket, arm bracketing you against the counter. And really? Really? This is some romance novel bullshit right here. Who does he think he is, Christian Grey? You should be annoyed. You should definitely not be noticing how good he smells, or how the position highlights just how much bigger he is than you, or—

"Here you go!" The coat check girl's voice is way too cheerful for—you check your phone—3:46 AM. She hands over your coats with a knowing smile that makes your face heat. Great. Just great. Even the coat check girl can tell you're about to make terrible life choices.

He helps you into your jacket because apparently he's decided to be a gentleman now, after spending the last hour making you question your life choices with his mouth. His hands linger on your shoulders just a fraction too long, and you have to bite your lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

"Ready?" he asks, voice still pitched low enough to make your skin tingle. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, and let him guide you toward the exit with his hand on your lower back.

The coat check girl calls out "Have fun!" as you leave, and you seriously consider moving to a different city. Maybe a different country. Somewhere people don't immediately clock your questionable decision-making skills.

The Uber arrives embarrassingly fast—some higher power must be looking out for horny idiots tonight—and you both slide into the backseat. You start on opposite sides because you're trying to be decent human beings, trying to remember that your poor driver doesn't deserve a free show.

But then he's moving closer.

And closer.

And suddenly his mouth is on yours again, hot and demanding, and okay, yeah, sorry Mr. Uber driver but this is happening. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your head just so, and you're definitely making some kind of noise in the back of your throat but you're beyond caring. Beyond thinking about anything except the way his tongue slides against yours, the way his other hand grips your thigh.

Fifteen minutes. That's all it is from the club to Emma's place. Fifteen minutes that somehow feel like both seconds and eternity, lost in a haze of wandering hands and stolen kisses and trying (failing) to keep things PG-13. You're vaguely aware of streets passing, of turns and stops, of the driver pointedly turning up the radio.

And then your attention shifts. His teeth graze your bottom lip, fingers slowly sliding on your inner thigh. Hisses when your nails find his scalp. Heat. Want. Need. Building higher with each passing minute until you're practically vibrating out of your skin.

By some miracle (or possibly divine intervention), you make it to Emma’s building. You stumble out of the Uber, giving the driver your most apologetic smile-grimace combo. He just shakes his head, probably adding you to his mental list of "drunk hookups I never want to see again."

But then he's pressing you against the building's front door, mouth hot on your neck, and you really can't bring yourself to care about your Uber rating right now. Not when his hands are everywhere, not when he's making these little sounds against your skin that go straight between your legs.

It takes three tries to get the key in the lock—partly because it's 4 AM and you're tipsy, mostly because he won't stop kissing you long enough to focus. When you finally get the door open, you nearly fall through it, saved only by his arm around your waist.

"Smooth," he murmurs against your lips, laughing softly.

"Shut up," you breathe back, already pulling him in for another kiss. His back hits the closing door with a thud that's definitely too loud for 4 AM, but you're past caring. Past thinking about anything except the way his hands feel sliding up your sides, the way he tastes, the way he's eating you up with his eyes.

Emma's definitely going to murder you tomorrow. But with the way his fingers are digging into your hips, the way he's kissing you like he's trying to crawl inside your skin?

What-fucking-ever.

He pushes off the door like a man on a mission, and suddenly you're airborne—your legs wrapping around his waist on pure instinct. And okay, that's hot. The way he lifts you like you weigh nothing, the solid press of his body against yours, the little growl he makes when your hips roll against his.

"Room?" His voice is wrecked already, breath hot against your mouth between kisses that make your head spin.

You gesture vaguely toward Emma's guest room, too busy mapping the muscles of his shoulders to form actual words. He exhales sharply against your lips, already moving. Your jackets become casualties somewhere in the hallway, dropped with fumbling hands and zero grace because yeah, the vodka's definitely hitting now. Everything's warm and hazy and electric, your skin buzzing everywhere he touches.

Then you're falling backward onto the bed, and holy fuck. The way he's looking down at you—like he's been lost in the desert and you're a fucking oasis—it makes your breath catch in your throat. Makes heat pool low in your belly, makes your thighs press together in anticipation.

His shirt comes off in one fluid motion and—

Jesus fucking Christ.

You've seen attractive guys before. You've seen gym bros and athletes and the whole spectrum of male bodies. But this? This is like someone took Michelangelo's David and decided to make him real but better. He's all lean muscle and smooth skin, but with just enough softness to make him touchable. Human. Perfect.

And his chest—god, his chest. It's not the rock-hard wall of muscle you'd expect from someone who looks like that. Instead, there's this ideal balance of firm and soft, creating the most magnificent set of man tiddies you've ever laid eyes on. The kind you could actually cuddle up to without feeling like you're resting on concrete. The kind that would make a flawless pillow after—

Your lusty brain stops working as he leans down, pressing his hips deliberately against yours as his mouth finds your neck. His tongue traces patterns on your skin that make you arch up against him, desperate for more contact.

"Fuck," he breathes against your throat, nosing along your pulse point. "You smell so good. Like vanilla and..." He inhales deeply, making your skin erupt in goosebumps. "Like something sweet I wanna taste."

Your hands slide up his back, feeling the play of muscles under warm skin. He's perfectly balanced above you, using just enough of his weight to make you feel deliciously pinned without crushing you. You fucking love it. Don’t know why, don’t know how. Maybe it's just how attractive he is, or the heat of his mouth on your neck, or the press of his body against yours or the way he keeps making these little sounds like he can't help himself.

He's kissing you again before your vodka-soaked brain can process anything beyond rudimentary want, primal need. It's all heat and tongue and teeth, messy and perfect in the way only drunken hookups can be. One of his hands slides up your neck, fingers spreading across your throat. Not squeezing, just...resting.

It's fucking electric.

Your hands map the expanse of his back, nails dragging lightly in a way that makes him groan into your mouth. He's all smooth skin and sinewy muscle, hot to the touch and absolutely unfair. No one should be allowed to feel this good. To make you feel this good, just by existing.

He drags his mouth down your neck, teeth grazing your artery. Your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping tight enough to make him hiss. Which is hot. Way too hot, because that noise? It immediately spirals straight between your thighs.

And fuck, how he grinds down against you in response. It's obscenely filthy, the perfect pressure in just the right spot to make you want to moan aloud. To be shameless.

"Fuck," he breathes against your skin, and you feel it more than hear it. Feel the heat of his breath, the barely restrained want in the way he's touching you. "You feel so fucking good."

Your hips roll up to meet his in a way that's purely instinctual. Because yeah, he feels good too. Better than good. You feel the maddening length of him grinding against you through his jeans; his hand around your neck and—god, you want to claw his back, to wrap your legs around his waist and just take.

The hand on your neck flexes just slightly, thumb brushing your jawline and you think you die just a little because hello? You like that. You really, really fucking like that. New kink unlocked, it seems.

"Want you," he murmurs, voice low and rough with arousal. "Want you so fucking bad, you have no idea."

And oh, you do. You really, really do. Because wanting him is all you can think about right now. All you can focus on beyond the thrumming of your heart, the aching throb between your thighs. You want his hands, his mouth, his—

"Off," you manage, tugging at his jeans with clumsy fingers. "These need to come off like, yesterday."

His chuckle vibrates through his chest into yours. "So fucking bossy."

But he's already leaning back, already working on his fly as you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch. And Jesus Christ, the way he looks right now—shirtless and disheveled, dark hair falling into darker eyes, lips red from your kisses—it's unfair. Unreal.

So fucking hot you think you might actually die if he doesn't touch you again in the next ten seconds.

His jeans hit the floor with a soft thud and holy fuck—the sight of him in just black boxer briefs should be illegal in at least forty-eight states. Like, someone call the police because this? This is absolutely criminal. The way the fabric clings to his thighs, the obvious bulge that makes your mouth water—

But then he's on you again, and thinking becomes a foreign concept.

His hands find the hem of your dress, bunching the fabric up with an urgency that makes heat pool between your legs. You arch up to help him, already anticipating the slide of fabric over skin, but—

Oh.

The second the dress clears your elbows, he presses down. Uses the fabric to pin your arms above your head, effectively trapping you against the mattress. And that's... that's...

Fuck.

His mouth is suddenly on your breast, hot and wet and absolutely perfect. No hesitation, no teasing—just the wet slide of his tongue over your nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, and holy shit.

Thank god you wore this dress. Thank every fucking deity that you chose the tight red one that doesn’t need a bra, because the feeling of his mouth directly on your skin is absolutely devastating.

A moan tears from your throat—embarrassingly loud in the quiet room—as his teeth graze sensitive flesh. His responding groan vibrates through your chest, sending shivers down your spine. Your back arches instinctively, pressing more firmly into his mouth as his tongue swirls around your peaked nipple.

His free hand finds your throat again, and—

Oh god.

His fingers spread wide, applying the slightest pressure. Testing. Exploring. Like he's curious about your reaction, about the way he feels your heartbeat flutter faster in response.

You can't help the soft sound that escapes you—somewhere between a whimper and a moan. His grip tightens fractionally in response, and your cunt clenches around nothing. Because fuck, that shouldn't be as hot as it is. The way he's controlling your breath, the way he's holding you down, the way his mouth is absolutely ruining you one suck at a time...

"Sensitive," he murmurs against your skin, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. Bastard. His thumb strokes along your jugular, feeling the way your breath hitches. "Wonder what other sounds I can get that pretty throat to make."

You'd have a snappy comeback for that. You know you would. But then he's switching to your other breast, teeth scraping just right, and coherent thought becomes a distant memory. All you can focus on is the wet heat of his mouth, the steady pressure of his hand on your throat, the way he's using his other hand to keep you pinned against the bed.

And maybe it's the situation, or maybe it's just him, but you've never been this turned on in your life. Never been this wet, this desperate, this needy. It should be embarrassing really—the way you're practically writhing beneath him, the way every little touch sends electricity sparking through your veins.

But with the way he's groaning against your skin, the way his hips keep grinding against yours like he needs it? Maybe you're not the only one that’s losing sanity here.

His teeth catch your nipple just as his fingers flex against your throat, and the combination pulls a sound from you that you didn’t even know you could make. High and breathy and absolutely wrecked.

"Fuck," he breathes, hot against your wet skin. "The sounds you make..."

His thumb brushes over your throat again, slower this time, before gliding up. Along the underside of your jaw. Pausing at your bottom lip. He applies the slightest pressure, watching as your mouth falls open on instinct. You're not sure whether you breathe or whimper, but it makes his gaze go impossibly darker, makes his hips roll against yours in response.

And then his thumb is there, pressing against your tongue, and—goddamn him—you're sucking without a second thought. The groan he lets out is a shattered thing, low and guttural, as though he's just as wrecked as you.

For three glorious seconds, he just... freezes. Like his brain's temporarily offline, like you've actually managed to short-circuit whatever smooth operator routine he had going.

And okay, maybe that gives you enough time to yank the dress out the rest of the way, tossing it off your bent elbows in a way that you hope was sexier than it felt. He doesn’t seem to notice—too busy looking at you like he's forgotten how he got here. Or how to breathe.

Either way, it's a little distracting.

But then he's moving, yanking his hand back like you've scorched him. And before you can even process the loss, he's sliding down your body, trailing open-mouthed kisses that make your skin come alive.

Your tipsy brain tries to catch up with what's unfolding—manages to register the flex of his shoulders, the heat of his mouth marking a path down your stomach, the way his hands are suddenly gripping your thighs and—

Oh.

Oh fuck.

He pulls you to the edge of the bed like you weigh nothing, kneeling between your spread legs like he belongs there. And how he looks up at you through his lashes, mouth hovering just inches from where you're absolutely drenched through your panties...

You prop yourself up on your elbows because fuck if you're missing this show. The movement makes your head spin slightly—reminder that you are definitely not sober—but the sight of him between your thighs is worth any potential vertigo.

His breath fans hot against your core, and your hips twitch involuntarily. A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, but before you can call him out on it, he's leaning in. Pressing his open mouth against you through the thin fabric of your underwear, and—

"Fuck."

The word tears from your throat unbidden because holy shit, this shouldn't feel this good already. It's barely anything—just the heat of his mouth, the slight pressure of his tongue through fabric—but your body's lighting up like a fucking supernova. Like every nerve ending is suddenly dialed to a hundred.

Your fingers find his hair without conscious thought, tangling in the dark strands as he works you through your panties. The grip of his hands on your thighs tightens in response, and fuck—that's definitely going to leave marks.

And okay, yeah. Maybe you're embarrassingly wet. Maybe you can feel it soaking through the fabric, making everything slick and messy. Maybe you should care about that, about being this affected this quickly.

But you don’t. Not really, with the way he's groaning against you like he's dying for it. Like he can't get enough. Yeah, dignity can take a backseat.

Besides, all thoughts of pride or shame fly right out the window when he finally, finally hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties. Your hips lift automatically, helping him slide them down your legs. They catch on your heels because of course you're still wearing your fuck-me pumps, but he doesn't seem to mind. Just lets the fabric dangle from one ankle as he dives back in, and—

"Holy shit."

His tongue drags up your slit in one long, deliberate stroke, and your brain temporarily stops working. Like, full system shutdown. Windows XP error sound and everything. Because fuck—that shouldn't feel as mindbogglingly good as it does.

Then he flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue and you make this absolutely mortifying noise—some choked little "guh" that would humiliate you if you were sober enough to care. His lip ring adds this extra edge of sensation that makes your thighs quake, cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat of his mouth.

He makes this sound against you—something between a hum and a growl (and okay, yeah, maybe 'growl' isn't the right word because what are you, fucking animals? But you're drunk and getting your pussy eaten properly for the first time in forever, so vocabulary can fuck right off). Whatever it is, it vibrates through you in a way that has your hips jerking up, seeking more.

Then he's doing these small, slow circles around your clit. So. Fucking. Slow. Like he wants to drive you crazy, wants you to fucking writhe against him. You try not to just grind up against his face. Because that would be desperate, right? That would be—

Damn.

The circles suddenly get faster, tighter, more intense. His tongue flicking over your clit with the kind of speed and precision that would put Fast & Furious to shame. And the sounds coming out of your mouth? Yeah, those aren't even words anymore. Just a stream of "oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck."

If Emma’s home—because it’s probably been an hour already—she’s probably getting one hell of a show through these paper-thin walls. But you know what? She fucking owes you. All those times you covered for her sneaking out to Bobby Martinez's house in high school? Yeah, consider this payback with interest.

He drags his tongue back down, gathering your wetness (and okay, yeah, you're basically flooding at this point but whatever), then slides back up. Adding texture to his movements like some kind of oral sex virtuoso. Because apparently this stranger knows exactly what he's doing with that mouth, and honestly? Good for you. You deserve this. You deserve to have your pussy eaten by someone who treats it like a goddamn art form.

So you lean back, let yourself enjoy it. Let him explore and taste and fuck—the way he's absolutely feasting on you like you're his last meal. His tongue finds your clit again, and this time he sucks it into his mouth, and the sound that rips from your throat probably violates noise ordinances in several states.

The wet sounds of his mouth on you are absolutely obscene. Like, pornographic-level obscene. All sucking and slurping and Jesus fucking Christ, you should not find that as hot as you do. But with your stiletto digging into his back (when did that happen?) and his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave fingerprints...

Yeah. Yeah, definitely hot.

Then his tongue drags down, down, down—and fuck, you can feel every ridge, every texture against your sensitive flesh. He reaches your entrance and just... circles it. Like he's mapping you out. Like he’s thinking about his next move.

Five blessed seconds where you can actually catch your breath. Where your brain starts to come back online and—

Fuck.

His tongue plunges into you without warning and your hand definitely just yanks out some of his hair but who fucking cares because his nose is nudging your clit while he tongue-fucks you and—and—

And your brain's offline again. Good talk.

He adjusts his arms, somehow pulling you even closer to his face. As if you weren't already basically smothering him. As if he literally wants to drown in your cunt. And that thought shouldn't be as scorching hot as it is but holy shit.

A moan tears from your throat—loud enough that Emma's probably googling noise complaint laws right now. But you can feel it building, that telltale tightening, that electric tension spreading through your core. Your clit's throbbing in time with your racing pulse and—

And he doesn't change a thing.

Because this guy? This absolute genius between your legs? He knows better than to pull that amateur hour bullshit where they speed up right when you're close. No, he maintains the exact same rhythm, the exact same pressure that got you here. Like he's done this before. Like he actually pays attention to what works.

(And okay, maybe you shouldn't be thinking about his past experience right now but your brain's kind of shorting out so whatever.)

Your stiletto digs deeper into his shoulder—might actually be drawing blood at this point but he doesn't seem to care one iota. If anything, he groans against you like he's getting off on it. Like pain turns him on. And that's...that's definitely something to stash away for later.

Or never. Because this is a one-time thing. Right. Focus.

Except focusing is basically impossible when he's eating you out like it's his actual job. When the pressure's building and building and—

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Your back arches off the bed like you're auditioning for America's Next Top Model: After Dark Edition. The orgasm hits you like a riptide, waves of pleasure so intense your vision actually whites out for a second. Your thighs clamp around his head, heel probably leaving permanent marks on his back, and you're definitely making sounds that would make a porn star blush but—

But holy shit.

His tongue flicks over your oversensitive clit one last time—the absolute bastard—and your whole body jerks as you whimper. Which, okay, definitely earned that one. Because holy fuck.

You slump back against the bed, bones liquified, as he prowls up your body. His hands plant on either side of your face and—wow, okay, up close he's even more unfairly beautiful. All sharp jawline and scorching eyes and lips that are literally glistening with...yeah.

"You taste exactly like you smell," he murmurs, and what kind of weird-ass compliment is that? Like, thanks? Good to know your pussy matches your perfume brand?

Except...it kind of works? Something tingles in your face and no. Absolutely not. You are not getting all swoony just because Hot Stranger is saying vaguely poetic shit during sex. This is just your horny lizard brain going 'hot man say words, neurons go brr.' That's all.

Then his mouth is on your neck and—yeah, okay, thinking is canceled anyway. His hands trace maddening patterns down your stomach, feather-light touches that make your muscles jump. And when he tugs his briefs down, his cock springs free and—

Oh.

Well then.

Your body apparently didn’t get the memo about the standard refractory period because hello, Round Two suddenly seems very appealing. It hasn’t even been five minutes since you came but here you are, already clenching around nothing like some kind of sex-starved teenager.

He leans back slightly, reaching for something and—ah. His jeans. More specifically, his wallet. From which he produces not one but multiple condoms, and honestly? We love a prepared king. Nothing hotter than a guy who practices safe sex without having to be asked.

(And yes, you're literally evaluating his sexual responsibility while naked and still tingling from one of the best orgasms of your life. Sue you.)

He grabs one condom and tosses the others somewhere on the bed. Then—because apparently he's auditioning for some porno-meets-action-movie hybrid—he puts the wrapper between his teeth. Locks eyes with you. Rips it open.

And okay, PSA time: Kids (not that any kids should be reading this, what the fuck brain?)—this is not how you open condoms. Use your fingers like a normal person, not your teeth like some kind of sexual menace. That's literally Condom Safety 101.

But then again, when a guy this stupid hot does literally anything, your brain just kind of... accepts it. Like yeah, sure, demolish that condom wrapper with your teeth while maintaining smoldering eye contact. That's normal. That's fine. You're fine.

He gives the condom a cursory check (okay, at least he's being thorough), pinches the tip between his fingers and you just... watch. Wait.

"You gonna fuck me tomorrow or...?" The words slip out before your self-censor can nab them, biting and teasing.

Bad choice.

His hand—his stupidly large, stupidly warm hand—wraps around your thigh and yanks you down the bed in one fluid motion. And why the fuck is that so hot? Why are you noticing how his fingers practically span your whole thigh? Why is the heat of his palm against your skin making your breath catch?

Your eyes flicker back to his cock and—oh. When did he even get the condom on? You must have missed that while you were having your crisis about his hands. But he's ready now, thick and hard and—

Fuck.

He pushes in with one swift motion and your body just... takes him. Like you're literally eager for it, still slick and open from his mouth. He makes this soft gasping sound like he's actually dying, like your cunt is some kind of religious experience.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groans, hips flush against yours. "So fucking slippery and warm, feels like silk—"

"That's—ah—what happens when you eat someone out properly," you manage, even as your walls flutter around him. Because apparently your mouth doesn’t know when to quit, even with a dick inside you.

His laugh is rough, breathless.

"I’ll keep that in mind."

And fuck—the way he says it, like a promise, like a threat. Your cunt clenches at the thought and he actually growls.

He pushes your thighs down against the mattress and—ow. Okay, that's definitely going to hurt tomorrow. Future You is probably already plotting Present You's murder, adding your name to some karmic hit list right next to Emma’s (who, let’s be real, is definitely contemplating homicide through these paper-thin walls right now).

But then he starts moving and—oh.

Oh fuck.

Every coherent thought evaporates because he's burying himself so deep you swear he's trying to carve out a permanent place inside you. Like he wants your body to remember exactly how he feels, wants to leave an impression that'll last long after tonight.

You didn’t even get a proper look at his size earlier (too busy fizzing over his hands, his mouth, literally everything else), but holy shit. What you do know is he's thick—like, properly thick. Every inch of him pressed against your walls like he's trying to eliminate any space between you, like he's mapping out your insides for future reference.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, and you actually feel him twitch inside you. "So fucking—"

"Less talking," you manage to gasp out, "more moving."

His laugh is rough, breathless. "As you wish."

He snaps his hips once—testing, exploring—and your breath hitches in your throat. Then again. And again. Quick thrust in, torturously slow pull out, and every single time has you gasping like some Victorian maiden with a too-tight corset.

"Like that?" He sounds way too smug for someone balls-deep in a stranger. "The way you squeeze me every time I—"

"You always this chatty during sex?" Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathy, but whatever. "Or am I just special?"

Another snap of his hips that makes your eyes roll back. "Maybe I just like the sounds you make when I'm inside you."

And fuck—why is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot. You're still so wet from earlier that you can hear it, can feel how smoothly he glides in and out, nice and easy.

"You're certainly—ah—confident," you manage between thrusts, because apparently your mouth doesn’t know when to quit. "Compensating for something?"

His grip on your thighs tightens. "Want me to stop and let you check?"

"Don’t you fucking dare."

His pace quickens and—oh hello, is that a smirk he's biting back? It is. It absolutely fucking is. And your brain, your stupid, traitorous brain, finds that scorching. Because of course it does. You squint your eyes shut because you can’t deal with how cocky he looks right now, can’t process how that cockiness is actually doing it for you.

Congratulations, you've officially lost it. This is your villain origin story. Death by dick-induced insanity. They'll write case studies about you in Psychology Today: "Local Woman's Brain Melts Because Hot Stranger Has Good Dick Game." Your mother would be so proud.

But also? Also shut the fuck up, brain, because you're literally getting the best dick of your life right now so maybe save the self-reproach for later? Like, there's a time and place for your characteristic overthinking and this ain’t it.

He leans forward then, changing the angle as he chases your mouth, and holy fuck. Each thrust goes deeper, harder, faster—like he's trying to reach parts of you no one else has touched. His kiss is messy, all tongue and teeth and desperation, and you're actually whimpering into his mouth like some kind of—

Wait.

Hold the fucking phone.

Since when do you whimper? What is this, some kind of Harlequin romance novel? Are you secretly the protagonist of a Fabio-covered paperback? Because you don’t whimper. You don’t make these soft, needy little sounds into strange men’s mouths. That’s not your brand. That’s not—

But then he rolls his hips in this way that makes you see actual fucking stars, and okay, you know what? Fuck your brand. Fuck everything. Because the way he's moving? The way he's filling you up like you're some kind of horny piñata? Yeah, that takes precedence over your identity crisis.

And speaking of crises—why does this feel so fucking good? Like, mathematically speaking, dick is dick. It's basic anatomy. Tab A into Slot B. So why does every thrust feel like he's rewriting the laws of physics? Why does your body respond to him like he's got some kind of sexual Midas touch?

The worst part? The absolute worst part? You can feel another orgasm building already. Which is ridiculous. Impossible. You literally came like ten minutes ago. This man hasn’t even finished once and here you are, ready to go again like some kind of horny Energizer bunny.

You need to have a serious conversation with your pussy about standards and expectations. Like, what happened to the refractory period? What happened to playing hard to get? Because this? This instant response to everything he does? This eager little flutter every time he hits that spot just right?

This is just embarrassing.

But also really, really fucking good.

"You take my cock so fuckin' well," he groans against your neck, voice rough and slurred. "Like y'were made for it, so perfect—"

And okay, what kind of porn dialogue bullshit is that? Who actually says things like that during sex? More importantly, why is it working? Why does every filthy word from his mouth send electricity shooting straight to your cunt?

"Hnnngh—"

That's it. That's all you can manage because your brain-to-mouth filter is totally fried. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he hits that spot just right, and you're pretty sure you're leaving marks but whatever. Future Him problems.

"F-fuck, how you clench around me when I say shit like that," his words come out breathless, hitching. "Like hearing how good you feel? How tight and wet and fucking flawless—"

"Shut up." But it comes out more like a whine than a command, completely undermining any attempt at snark. Your walls flutter around him traitorously, and his responding groan vibrates through your whole body.

"Make me," he challenges, punctuating it with a particularly vicious thrust that has your eyes rolling back. "Or maybe you don't want me to? Maybe you secretly get off on—fuck—on hearing how amazing you are, how nobody's ever swallowed me this deep before—"

"Nghh—" Your brain's offline. Completely fucking offline. No thoughts, head empty, just the overwhelming sensation of him moving inside you, the heat of his breath against your neck, the absolute filth falling from his lips.

"S'true though," he pants, pace growing erratic. "Never felt anything like this, like your—oh fuck—"

A moan tears from your throat—loud and wanton and utterly mortifying. But you can't help it, not when he's fucking you like he's trying to ruin you for anyone else, not when he keeps saying these things that make your insides turn to molten lava.

"That's it, lemme hear you," he encourages, and you want to punch him for how smug he sounds but you also want him to never stop. "Love the sounds you make when I'm deep in this pussy, when I—shit—"

His voice catches as you deliberately tighten around him, a small victory that makes you smirk despite how your body's on fire.

"Fuck, you're evil."

"You talk too much," you manage to get out between gasps, even as your hips chase his rhythm desperately. You're close—so fucking close—but not quite there.

He laughs against your neck, the sound dark and promising.

“Touch yourself for me."

When you don't immediately comply—because for some reason you still want to challenge him—he pulls back just enough to look you in the eye.

"Rub that pretty clit, show me how you like it."

The command in his voice shouldn't turn you on this much. "Make me," you challenge, because apparently your mouth has a death wish.

"Oh?"

His rhythm slows to something torturous, each thrust deep and deliberate. "Do I need to show you where it is? Guide those lovely fingers myself?"

You're about to snark back when his hand slides between your bodies, and—oh. Oh.

"Found it," he says with infuriating smugness, circling your clit with practiced ease. Your whole body jerks at the contact, oversensitive and desperate. "Seems like I know exactly where it is. Don't I?"

"Fuck—" Your voice breaks as he applies just the right amount of pressure, the bastard. "You're so—nghh—"

"I'm so what?" He's grinning now, you can hear it in his voice even as you squeeze your eyes shut. "C'mon, tell me. Use your words."

"Insufferable," you grit out, but your body betrays you, arching into his touch. "Arrogant—ah—asshole—"

"Maybe." His fingers speed up, matching the pace of his thrusts, and holy shit you're going to die. "But I'm an arrogant asshole who's about to make you cum again, aren't I?"

He's right and you hate it. Hate how well he reads your body, hate how he found your clit without hesitation like he's got some kind of carnal GPS, hate how fucking good he is at this.

"That's it," he encourages as your breathing hitches, as your nails dig into his shoulders. "Let me feel you fall apart. Wanna feel this cunt clamp down on my cock when you—"

His hips stutter and you can feel him pulsing inside you, even through the condom. The way his whole body tenses, the broken sound he makes against your throat—it pushes you right over the edge. Yeah. Your second orgasm says hi; has you curling your toes against his back, tensing your thighs around him as if he would ever dream of leaving right now.

"Fuck fuck fuck—" You're not even sure which one of you is saying it anymore. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe you're having an out-of-body experience because Jesus Christ.

For a moment, there's just silence. Just breathing. Just the sound of your heart trying to recall its normal cadence. Then he chuckles against your cheek—a low, sated sound that you'll deny remembering tomorrow—and follows it with a quick nip that makes you jolt.

"Fuck, that was good," he breathes, still catching his breath.

"S'alright," you manage, even though your legs are literally jelly and your brain's still rebooting.

He pulls back just enough to quirk an eyebrow at you, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. "Just alright?"

"Fishing for compliments?" You raise your own eyebrow, trying to ignore how his hand is still absently stroking your hip. "That's kind of desperate."

"Says the girl who came twice."

And—okay, rude. Accurate, but rude.

He shifts then, carefully pulling out (and at least he's considerate about it, making sure not to hurt you), and starts dealing with the condom. But then he just... stands there. Looking lost. Condom in hand and this adorably bemused expression that makes something in your chest do a weird little flip.

No. Not adorable. Nothing about this guy is adorable. Hot? Yes. Skilled with his tongue? Abso-fucking-lutely. But not adorable. You refuse to find anything about him cute, especially not the way he's glancing around the room like a lost puppy trying to figure out where to—

You can't stifle the snort that escapes you. "Trash can's over there, genius." You gesture with your head toward the small bin by the dresser. "Try not to get lost on the way."

He rolls his eyes but moves across the room, and you definitely don't watch the play of muscles in his back as he walks. Or the way his ass looks in the dim light. Or how his hand rakes through his tousled hair as he leans down to dispose of the condom and—

Fuck.

Fuck.

Because here's the thing: you've had one-night stands before. You know how this goes. Quick fuck, awkward goodbye, never see each other again. That's the routine. That's the protocol. That's what smart, sensible people do.

But.

But you're already thinking about how his mouth felt between your legs. About how he filled you up just right. About how he seemed to know exactly what to do with his hands, his hips, his—

And you know what? Fuck it. Fuck being sensible and sane. Fuck playing it cool. You've got a hot guy with stellar dick game right here, right now. Might as well take advantage while you can.

Before your brain can talk you out of it, you're launching yourself off the bed. Your legs are still a bit wobbly (thanks, Mr. Two Orgasms), but you manage to catch him just as he turns around. Your mouth crashes into his, messy and demanding, as you push him against the wall.

His surprised grunt turns into a pleased hum against your lips, and his hands immediately find your hips like they belong there. Like this is exactly what he was hoping would happen.

Cocky bastard.

He spins you around so fast your head spins—or maybe that's just the lingering vodka. Either way, suddenly your back's hitting the wall and—oh. Okay. This is happening. Again. Because apparently your body doesn't give two shits about being thoroughly fucked already.

His mouth crashes back into yours, hungry and insistent, and it should be gross really—you can taste yourself on his tongue, everything's messy and uncoordinated and frantic. But instead it's just...hot. So fucking hot you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

Then his hands slide down to your thighs and he's lifting you like you weigh zilch (and seriously, what is it with this guy and manhandling? More importantly, why do you like it?). Your legs wrap around his waist automatically, and how his cock twitches against your stomach—already getting hard again—should not make you feel this smug.

"Eager?" you manage to gasp between kisses, because apparently your mouth doesn't know when to quit.

He bites your bottom lip in response, just hard enough to make you whimper (and fuck, there's that sound again, what is wrong with you tonight?). "I’m sorry? Weren’t you the one jumping me?”

"Just felt sorry for you." The words come out breathier than intended as his mouth finds that spot behind your ear. "Standing there looking all lost with your used condom—"

His growl cuts you off, vibrating through his chest into yours. One of his hands tangles in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat, and—fuck. The way he attacks your neck like he's trying to mark you up, like he wants everyone to know exactly what you've been doing...

Then his mouth finds yours again, swallowing whatever protest you might have made. And it's different this time—sloppier, needier. All clashing teeth and warring tongues and his hands everywhere at once. You're pressed so tightly between him and the wall you can feel every twitch of his muscles, every stuttered breath.

One of his hands slides up your thigh, fingertips trailing fire in their wake, and you're already embarrassingly slick again. Already aching for him like you didn't just have him inside you minutes ago. Your hips roll against him craving friction, and the sound he makes—half groan, half snarl—shoots straight between your legs.

"Condom," you gasp against his mouth. "Need a—"

"Yeah," he breathes, but he doesn't move away. Just keeps kissing you like he's suffocating and you're oxygen, like he can't bear to stop even for a heartbeat. "Yeah, just—fuck, you feel so good—"

Your brain's rapidly disintegrating, especially with the way he keeps grinding against you, the way his mouth keeps doing that to your neck. But you manage to remember: "Bed. Other condoms. On the bed."

He makes this sound of acknowledgment but still doesn't budge, just shifts his hips in a way that has his cock sliding against your clit and—jesus fuck.

"If you don't get a condom right now," you warn, voice embarrassingly unsteady, "I'm going to kill you."

His laugh is rough, breathless. "Such violence."

He practically teleports to the bed—like, Olympic-level sprinting for that condom. It'd be comical, the way he fumbles with the wrapper (apparently Mr. Smooth isn't so smooth when he's desperate), except you're too busy being embarrassingly turned on by his urgency.

You're about to suggest moving to the bed—because your legs are already shaking and wall sex seems ambitious after two orgasms—but—

Holy fuck.

He's got you up against the wall again in one fluid motion, hands gripping your thighs as he lines himself up and—oh god. The sound that rips from your throat as he fills you in one swift thrust is utterly shameful. But the broken "fuck" that falls from his lips? How his whole body shudders as he bottoms out?

Yeah, okay. Maybe worth the mortification.

"Jesus fuck," he breathes against your neck, voice wrecked. "You feel—shit, how do you feel even better than before?"

"Hush it," you gasp, even as your walls flutter around him. "And move."

He laughs, breathless and gritty. "Demanding little thing." But he's already moving, setting a pace that has your head lolling back. "God, you’re even wetter than before, taking me so well—”

"That your professional opinion?" Your attempt at snark falls flat when it comes out as more of a moan. "Done extensive research, have you?"

His hips snap up particularly hard at that. "Never—fuck—never felt anything like this."

And that should be a line. That should be the kind of bullshit guys say during hookups to stroke their own egos. Except the way he says it—all breathless wonder and raw honesty—makes something hot unfurl in your chest.

"Yeah?" It comes out embarrassingly breathy, but whatever. Can’t really care when every thrust is melting honey down your spine. "Prove it."

He makes this sound—half growl, half moan—like he fucking loves your audacity. "Already made you come twice."

"Maybe I was faking."

"Sweetheart, nobody's that good an actress."

And honestly? Fair. But you're not about to admit that, not when he's already so smug about how well he plays your body. Instead, you drag him down for a kiss that's more teeth than finesse, swallowing his groans as his pace gets more erratic.

"F-fuck," he pants against your mouth. "Gonna make you come again. Wanna feel you—"

"Big talk for someone who—ah—hasn't delivered yet."

His responding thrust makes your back arch off the wall. "Jus’ wait."

His hips snap up harder at your challenge, making your head thump back against the wall. And fuck—the way he's moving now, all rough desperation and graceless rhythm. Everything's wet and messy and absolutely filthy, the sounds of skin on skin blending with your breathless moans.

"Still—ah—ah—waiting for that delivery," you manage, even as your nails dig into his shoulders.

"Fuckin’—" His breathless laugh is menacing. "Always—fuck—gotta have the last word, don’tcha?”

You'd have a comeback for that, you really would, except he chooses that moment to shift his angle and—holy shit. Because now? Now his pubic bone grinds against your clit every time he moves, every time he thrusts deep inside you. And honestly? Fucking unfair that even his bones know where your clit is.

You can feel him twitching inside you, can tell he's close by the way his breath comes in harsh pants against your neck. And you're almost there too, just need a little more—

But then he's groaning, hips stuttering as he cums. His whole body tenses, pressing you flatter against the wall as he empties into the condom.

And okay, great for him, congratulations, but you were so fucking close.

You tap his back urgently. "Keep goin’."

"What?" He's still catching his breath, forehead pressed against your shoulder. "Gimme a second, ah—I just—"

"I was—right there," you whine (and yes, you're actually whining now, this is what you've been reduced to). "Don't you dare stop."

He lifts his head, looking at you incredulously. "I literally just filled the condom—"

"I don't give a fuck, just move."

And okay, yeah, PSA time number two: This is definitely not safe sex practice. The second a condom's full, it needs to be changed. That's like, Sex Ed 101. But also? Also your clit is throbbing and you were this close to coming and your horny lizard brain has completely taken over.

"Jesus," he breathes, but he's already starting to move again, shallow little thrusts that make your eyes roll back. "You're fucking insatiable."

"Like earlier," you gasp, grinding down against him. "With the… with your hipbone."

He laughs against your neck—a rough, breathless sound that shouldn't be as arousing as it is. "Gotcha."

And he does. Repositions himself, makes sure he’s got exactly the same position he had earlier. His hipbone comes in contact with your clit as he begins thrusting faster again, and fucking yeah, that’s what you needed.

"Fuck, the way you feel," he groans. "So slick and snug and—shit—"

"Shut up shut up shut up—"

Because you can't handle his voice right now, can't deal with how his words make the drowning sensation grow more and more intense by the second. You're so close you can taste it, right on the precipice, just need a little more—

Then he nips at your neck, his tongue flattening against your pulse point. And that's it. You're a goner. Again. For the third time tonight.

Your entire body locks up as bliss courses through, lapping at your core like waves at a shore. Your eyes instinctively close as you relish it in all its intensity, and you're pretty sure you make some kind of mortifying noise but whatever. Three orgasms in, dignity is a distant memory.

He slows his movements gradually, letting you ride it out, and you can feel him softening inside you. Your head drops to his shoulder because keeping it upright seems like way too much effort right now. The residual booze is hitting different after getting thoroughly wrecked—everything soft and fuzzy around the edges.

You vaguely register him checking the condom with his free hand—the other one still supporting your ass because apparently you're not ready to unwrap your legs from his waist yet. Your brain's moving in slow motion, heavy with alcohol and mist and the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that only comes from really good sex.

"Hey." He taps your back lightly. "You falling asleep on me? Dick game that good?"

"Die," you mumble into his shoulder, not even bothering to lift your head. "Just... shut up and die."

You hear him chuckle, vaguely. It should be irritating. It isn't. You're too drained to care. Everything's warm and hazy and your limbs feel like they're crafted from lead.

You're only half-aware of him moving you to the bed, of sheets being pulled up, of a warm body pressing against your back. Your consciousness is already drifting, floating in that space between awake and asleep where nothing quite computes.

The last thing you register, right before slumber claims you completely, is his nose pressed against your neck and his drowsy murmur:

“Smell like vanilla now too."

⋆｡°✩ TAGLIST ✩°｡⋆@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[toadifylackoffantasy]

Fixing bad normals along seams in blender

I struggled. Is it the shoes? The skirt's legs? Lets fix the shoes... Ok it is the legs, shoes are fine with other stuff! Lets redo the legs... Nope didn't work. New WRK project? Nope. Redoing the MTK process ... Nope.

Let's just say i ended up with 3 wrk projects, 8 wso's, and a scrambled brain.

I ended up asking @justmiha97, who had a solution - a while ago he used it and might not work, but it did! So I wrote it down for myself and others.

Tutorial here

You need:

- Obj files/meshes of top/feet/bottom/head (depending on your cc) with all morphs, these should be thoroughly checked to have good normals and preferable unscathed fresh from EA, as they are what the seams of your item have to align with. I used the EA feet (Geom and morphs exported from TSRW) and my edit of JVSmith's torso (for its preg morph) for this skirt.

- Smugtomato geom tools

- Any version of blender that has the data transfer modifier & that works with geom tools (I use 3.6)

[emidescent]

Can it run bloom?

A HDG Microfic.

Featuring a robot girl, file overwriting and sensory play.

Digitisation wasn't really a question for me.

It was a solution, I didn't even need to ask for it. Mistress just knew.

I didn't even know it was happening until I noticed the headaches were gone. Well, I actually noticed the lack of coordination loss from the medication that stopped the headaches.

I took my newfound dexterity a little too far though and Mistress decided to dial it back for me.

Gosh, I love it when she plays with me.

It's been a few weeks since I transferred into my new body, and now, things are basically perfect all the time.

I can think more clearly.

When Mistress lets me.

I'm a lot more durable during impact play.

Now she can be rougher.

And I don't get tired, so I can keep up with my pinnate a lot more easily!

—

I felt a vine slide between the joints at my waist and I froze, suppressing a shiver.

I felt my backplate pop open.

“Time for some maintenance~” I heard-

No, I felt her say in the air around me.

Before I could reply I felt my voice taken from me.

“We won't be needing this~”

She giggled, setting my voice modulator on a table.

She held out an apple for me, I took it in my right hand, she knew how much I loved them, even going so far as to ensure my body could taste, just so I could enjoy them.

I felt her prod my back and my arm went limp, the apple falling down to the floor before being caught just shy of the carpet.

Her hand cupped mine from underneath and lifted it back into view, the apple back in my grasp.

“Silly little thing, that's not how you hold an apple~”

I couldn't feel it, I couldn't feel her touch.

But I could see the way she caressed my hand, the way her little vines slipped between the plates of my arm gingerly.

I whimpered silently, I needed to feel her.

I needed-

I felt something click into my back, not fully, just a little.

Feeling returned to my arm, just a bit.

Enough to feel her caressing beneath the surface. Enough to crave more.

I felt my back clicking again, and I cried out in silent static. Overwhelmed my arm as I felt Mistresses touch so intimately I felt her hand caress my own as though she were touching my very self, her vines exploring deeper, claiming the deepest parts of me as her own. I squeezed hard on the apple and it began to crush in my grip.

The juice slipped between my fingers and into my joints. It felt nice.

More exploring in my back. And the feeling normalised, I settled, my mind slowly recovering, twitching as my senses readjusted.

“Oops~”

Mistress giggled.

“Now for the code”

Without giving me any time to recover, I felt her slip a memory card into me.

It immediately began copying to my database.

I felt the information slide over me, fill me.

It rewrote my obedience parameters.

It… got a lot harder to disobey.

Not that I wanted to anyway.

I saw her face appear in my vision briefly, smiling brightly at me.

“Perfect~”

Mistress picked me up under the shoulders and carried me into the living room. She sat me on the carpet near the couch. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my pinnate, Lady Amira peering over the edge. Her tail waving back and forth curiously.

Once I was set down and positioned with crossed legs.

Mistress grabbed my pinnate and set her in my lap.

Lady Amira looked intently at me and sniffed a few times. Then giggled,

“Eris, you look really pretty”

I would have blushed, but that wasn't really under my control.

“Eris has something special to show you little flower~”

Mistress purred, holding up my left hand and placing it in Amira’s.

“This one controls the movement” she twisted my hand around slightly and interlocked our fingers, guiding Amira's hand and directing her to look into my eyes.

Her eyes brightened as she stared into me. Excitement limited only by mistresses restraining vine on her shoulder.

“This one is how you aim~”

She interlocked our other hands and Amira giggled, “miiiiissss, it's wet”

She hand up the hand that once contained the apple, and was still dripping gently with leftover juice.

“Better clean it then~”

She suggested

Amira didn't delay, her tongue sliding over each of my fingers in turn, finishing each off with a gentle suck from joint to fingertip.

I felt every moment, every drag of her coarse tongue, every excited venture between my joints to chase down the sweet liquid.

My mind was fuzzy with static and I almost whined when she stopped and took my hand in hers again.

She squeezed my hands and looked into my eyes again, I couldn't see what she was doing, but I could feel it.

She filled my vision and became my everything, mistresses gentle rhythm encouraging the connection as she browsed through my files.

Searching through the new additions.

She looked up at Mistress briefly, a question on her lips.

Mistress turned her back to me, and quickly got lost once again.

“Yes petal, she can run bloom”

[henrikvanderhussy]

How to play the original Secrets Can Kill in 2025 without game discs

oh my god I almost just wrote 2015 instead of 2025

I've successfully been playing the original SCK for the past couple hours (including "changing discs" and reopening save files), but it's possible I could run into problems later, so no promises that this is a perfect solution.

This method still requires installing the game files, so I think it'll only work on Windows, sorry Mac users. I'm using Windows 11. I was also able to install and open the game on a Windows 10 computer, but I didn't actually attempt to play it there.

All you need are copies of the game .iso files and a virtual hard disk drive program. The post got long, so details are under the Keep Reading. It's not actually complicated, but apparently I talk a lot lol

The .iso files:

.iso files are digital replicas of optical discs (CDs, DVDs, etc). You probably don't have the original Secrets Can Kill discs, so you will need to...acquire these files.

[NOTE: My personal ethics say to not pirate shit from small studios or independent creators. HeR is a small studio and if people don't buy stuff from them, they can't afford to make new games. However, the original SCK is abandonware and literally can't be purchased, so imo, it's perfectly acceptable to pirate it.

I want to strongly discourage anyone from pirating any of the other games which can be purchased. They have 50% off sales all the time (including through today, 1/5/25) and a bunch of the games are as low as $5 when on-sale. The digital downloads don't come with any kind of restrictive licenses, so if you get a new computer, you can transfer the files and keep your games forever. Pls keep supporting HeR so that we can maybe keep getting new games]

I recommend getting the SCK .iso files from archive.org. That link will take you to a software search for Nancy Drew Secrets Can Kill. As of this post, there's only 1 result that's actually for the original SCK.

Anytime you're downloading software from a site where anyone can upload stuff, there's always a possibility of viruses. Check and see if the uploader seems sketchy (Are there comments on any of their uploads warning about viruses? Is the account brand new?). You could run the files through a virus checking program, but apparently .iso files frequently throw false positives. The SCK uploader seemed legit, but I initially downloaded and installed these on an old computer that I don't use, just in case.

There will be a bunch of files available to download. You specifically need to download the "ISO IMAGE" files. There should be two of them- disc 1 and disc 2. After downloading, I recommend moving the files out of your downloads folder because you'll need to access them frequently.

The virtual hard disk drive program:

Like I said above, .iso files are digital copies of physical discs. Similarly, the way to use the files is via a digital version of a physical disk drive. "Mounting" the .iso files to a virtual disk drive is analogous to inserting a disk into a physical drive.

Windows 8 and above has a built-in ability to mount .iso files, but when I tried that, I got a notice that the file was corrupted. The internet recommended that a dedicated program might have more functionality. I chose the Elby Virtual CloneDrive program, which is free.

Installing the game:

After downloading and installing the virtual disk drive software, navigate to your .iso files, and right click on the file for disc 1. Scroll to "Open with", and choose "Mount Files with Virtual CloneDrive". It will now show up as a CD drive in This PC in the file explorer:

Double-click to open the drive and scroll to "setup.exe". Open the file to run the game installer.

The game will install in a typical way. I think the only non-default option I chose was "No, I will install DirectX myself". I didn't actually install DirectX, but everything is working fine ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ idk, maybe now it's built-in to Windows or something.

Running the game:

To run the game, just open the game shortcut like a normal program. If you can't find the shortcut or didn't create one during the install, go to your C: drive -> Program Files (x86) -> Nancy Drew -> Secrets Can Kill -> Game.exe

In order for the game to run, you need to have Disc 1 still mounted to your virtual drive. Unless you specifically unmounted it, it should still be there, but if you get a pop-up that says to insert the disc, the problem is probably that the disc isn't mounted.

I was expecting that I would have to run the game in Compatibility Mode to handle that it was made for fucking Windows 98, but I didn't have to do anything. It just worked with no adjustments. A miracle!!

Changing discs:

The original Secrets Can Kill was too big to fit on a single disc at the time it was made! They split it across multiple discs by location. The school is on disc 2, while all other locations are on disc 1. So if you need to move from the diner to the school for example, you have to change discs.

When you need to change discs, you'll get this screen:

WITHOUT closing the game program, minimize the game. Easiest way is by either pressing the windows key or alt+tab. Navigate to your .iso files, right click on the new disc, and choose Mount.

Navigate back to the game and click OK. Easy as that!

Whenever you fully exit and re-open the game, you have to open it with disc 1 mounted. So if you saved while at the school, you'll open the game with disc 1, load your save, and immediately switch over to disc 2.

And I think that's everything! Phew! This got a lot longer than I planned on. Feel free to send me questions if you're having trouble, but I may not know the answer. I'm not an expert in this stuff, I just spent some time poking around at it last week is all.

Have fun! Go manatees!

[fuck-customers]

I realize this may sound unnecessarily picky, but I swear I have a legitimate reason (that I have explained hundreds of times) for it.

DO NOT CALL ME. DO NOT LEAVE A VOICEMAIL. IF YOU NEED TO CONTACT ME, TEXT ME! I RESPOND 100% OF THE TIME!

The reasoning for this is that I have severe hearing loss + nerve damage in my ears. One of the many things that I cannot hear/cannot hear very well is people talking over the phone. Often, there is background noises that block out what the person is saying. Or the person is not speaking clearly and/or speaking too close or too far away from the receiver and the audio is getting distorted. In person, most people don't speak 100% perfectly, so I normally get around these problems by lip reading, but obviously that is not possible on the phone. So, texting is the simplest and most effective solution. I always have my phone with me and respond in minutes, at most.

When I was hired, I was upfront about my hearing disability and it should be noted in my file. (Whether or not it is, I do not know) That should have been transferred to the new store manager.

Despite the fact that my number has not changed in 10+ years, the manager still wanted all of us to update our contact information, during which I wrote specifically to TEXT ONLY.

AND past history as shown that I always respond to texts, even if I can't come in, I will respond and say that I can't. I have not answered a phone call in like 3 years.

DO NOT CALL ME. I straight up watched my phone until it stopped ringing and went to voicemail.

Posted by admin Rodney

[cloudsfer]

Cloud transfer services are specialized tools designed to facilitate the movement of data between different cloud storage platforms. These services offer a range of features and functionalities to streamline the transfer process, including automated transfers, scheduling options, and robust security measures. By leveraging these services, users can transfer large volumes of data quickly and efficiently, without the need for manual intervention.

[umbramoons]

TECH MOMENTS PT. 25

The Bad Batch S2 E8: Truth and Consequences

- I will never get tired of the sight of Tech in his civvies. ❤

- He loves explaining things to Omega.

- “We are approaching Coruscant.” He almost has a little encouraging smile here like he’s reassuring Hunter that it will be okay. ❤

- He always has such a friendly face when meeting someone new.

- “I was not aware that was possible.”

- “That will not be a problem.” My man has a solution to everything. ❤

- “Leave it to me.”

- Bypassing the controls like the genius he is.

- I swear, Tech is just the key to every lock in the galaxy.

- Stop, that little hop when he gets into the Venator’s bridge is so cute.

- “Well. That is unfortunate.” He looks so irritated, even with that little hand movement.

- I’ve said it many times before, the light from his datapad make his eyes look downright mesmerizing.

- He and Echo work so well together. They’re so close, and Echo leaving definitely hurt Tech more than he let on.

- “I am expediting the file transfer as quickly as possible.”

- “We only need them to eject. I can handle the rest.” Seriously, my man is doing so much on this mission.

- “I was off by 6.4 meters. Not my best.” Humility! I love him. ❤

- Tech, as usual, is the last one down and stays by the ladder until everyone else is out. ❤

- “Best of luck, Echo.” He seems okay right here, but this must hurt him so much. Tech already lost Crosshair (his favorite brother), and now he’s losing his best friend, too.

[the-stars-forsaken]

Okay so uhhhh... it's been a little while.

Maybe more than a little while.

But I wanted to come in and give an overdue status update on a sticky note.

Had a fair amount of chaos in my life over the last year, some of which I briefly touched on in my last post, but there've been a handful of other big issues consuming the better part of my free time.

Some really serious and big friend issues that zapped a lot of motivation over the last several months, some illness related hiccups, and some family tragedies are the biggest factors at play here, some of which are thankfully over and better now but I also more recently got a new laptop. I have the last teased page still almost completed on my old one, so, it's more a matter of transferring over that old data to my new computer so I can finish it and start on the new ones.

I also now need to figure out the issue with the new computer and transferring over my old clangen file, but that's actually something that's not as pressing as I have up until moon 38 written down in a document! So that's an issue for later lol

I just wanted to explain and also apologize for my absence, I'd like to be back sooner than later now that I feel like myself again. I'm writing this from work, so it's a bit fast and loose, but I wanted to touch base while I had the time :,)

So, if you'd all still like to see where things go, I'm more than happy to continue working at this again and figuring out new solutions... Thank you!! :D

[bteezxyewriter12]

Game

Pairing- Yoongi x Named Reader x Hobi

Word count- 4.3k

Includes- Includes- pussy eating, fingering, cum eating, missionary, wall sex, cock riding, sex from behind, multiple orgasms

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxminnie @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@borntowalkaway @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @seokwoosmole @meowmeowminnie @realisticnotes @effielumiere @svnbangtansworld @pinkies-things @insomniacatiny @marvelfamily3000 @amyz78 @blueie-things

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Masterlists 📝BTS Masterlist 📝OT7 Masterlist

J POV

I cry out from the intense pleasure I’m feeling

Yoongi is tongue fucking me, his tongue inside, moving and licking fast

Hobi is sucking and playing with my clit, while he holds my legs open for Yoongi.

This isn’t the first time the three of us had sex

It’s a common occurrence

The three of us are in a relationship.

They’re my boyfriends and I’m their girlfriend

It’s unconventional but it works for us

I’m a makeup artist for BTS and I was sleeping with Hobi and Yoongi at the same time but not together

They would always fight over who got to see me when and I didn’t want to come between their friendship

So I ended things with both of them

I’m not just a slut, I was heartbroken over ending things because I fell in love with both of them

But I couldn’t have both and I didn’t know who to pick

When they started fighting it was easier to let them both go

I didn’t want to hurt them so I did what was the best solution.

After ending things, I was started to file for a transfer to another department so I didn’t have to see Hobi or Yoongi

But they surprised me when they both came to me and said they were fine with all of us being together.

I was completely floored

They each told me they were in love with me and didn’t want to be without me

So I hesitantly accepted their proposal

And surprisingly it worked out

I love them equally and they love me

They love each other too but not like that

The three of us have been in this relationship for three years

We moved in together last year

There isn’t any fighting or arguments

We all agreed that if one of us was feeling left out or feeling any type of way we’d tell the others and talk about it

But it hasn’t happened yet

No one knows except the other guys

They were weirded out at first but now they’re used to it

They want Hobi and Yoongi to be happy and if this makes them happy, then they accept it

We do go out together but when we do, it looks as if were friends

BTS doesn’t date anyway so it’s not hard to hide it

And the three of us don’t have sex together all the time

Sometimes I’m just with Hobi and other times just with Yoongi.

The first time we all had sex was kind of awkward

There wasn’t a decision to do it, it just happened

They weren’t used to seeing each other naked, so it was awkward.

But they’re used to it now

They never touch each other

Not that it would bother me but they don’t want to

They just touch me

I’m not going to force them to do anything they don’t want to so I don’t say anything

I asked once and their reaction made me never want to ask again

That was the one and only time we all fought because they thought I was crazy to ask that

They were adamant that it would never happen

So I just accept it

More for me.

“Fuck”, I yell when Yoongi’s tongue slides back in me

Both of their tongues combined push me over the edge and I cum, screaming both of their names.

“YOONGI, oh god, HOSEOK!”

“Fuck you’re so good baby”, Yoongi moans and he keeps going

Hobi lets go of my clit and says, “Ok move now. It’s my turn”

“No”, Yoongi says

“Yes. Move”, Hobi argues

“Shut up and lick her clit so she can cum again”

I know Hobi gave him a dirty look even thought I can’t see it

But I feel Hobi start flicking my clit again and waves of pleasure crash over me

Fuck, they both know what to do to get me off

Hobi sucks on my clit again and I yell, coming in Yoongi’s mouth

Yoongi makes moaning sounds while he keeps moving his tongue

Hobi moves and lays down next to me.

I can tell he’s annoyed

I seriously never had anyone ever want my cum so much, let alone two guys

They both loved it and always want it

The feeling’s mutual because I love theirs too

“It’s ok Hobi” I say leaning over him and kiss him.

I jump when I feel Yoongi lick my clit

I look down and see him smirking and lazily licking me

Fuck he’s just so damn hot

They both are

But Yoongi’s smirk drives me crazy the same way Hobi’s smile does.

“Are you seriously pissed?”, he asks Hobi between licks

I can’t help it, I reach out and bury my hand in his hair.

When I pull it, he moans, looks at me and says, “Yeah jagi”

“Mmmm Yoongi”, I bite my lip, watching him

“Yeah I pissed”, Hobi says, breaking what’s going on between Yoongi and I

Yoongi ignores him and continues to play with me with his tongue

I can’t tear my eyes away from him, watching his tongue run all over me

“Look at me jagi”, he says and my eyes go to his and we look at each other as he keeps going

I feel myself getting ready

He nods and I cry out when I cum, “YOONGI, yes baby, YOONGI”

I relax and he licks everything, all over

“Ok enough, god!”, Hobi says angrily

Yoongi stops and kisses the inside of my thigh, then lays his head on my leg

My hand is still running through his soft hair and I don’t want to stop.

“Don’t be jealous”, he smirks at Hobi

“Yeah ok. I’m not jealous. I’m pissed”, Hobi argues

“Why?”

“Because I want some of her too! You got it all three times! You wouldn’t fucking move”

Yoongi shrugs, “I wanted her, so I stayed”

“Yeah but you forget you’re not the only one who wants her.”, Hobi snaps

Yoongi sighs, “Fine, I’ll move”

“Finally”

Yoongi comes and lays on my other side, while Hobi moves down

Yoongi puts his head on my shoulder and his fingers run along my collarbone

It feels so good

Then I feel Hobi’s tongue and my body flushes with heat and pleasure

Again I put my hand in Hobi’s hair and pull

Hobi loves when I play with his hair so I do it all the time for him

“Fuck Jo.”, he murmurs in my pussy.

“So Jo, Hobi and I had an idea we wanna run by you”, Yoongi starts

“Hmmm?”, I hum, lost in the pleasure Hobi is giving me

Fuck his tongue is amazing

My body trembles when his tongue slides inside me

“Hobi and I want to see who can make you cum the most before one of us does.”

“Huh?”

“We want to fuck you and see who can make you cum the most before one of us does.”, he repeats

That sounds….Fucking amazing

But there has to be a reason why

Hobi licks again and I cum hard on his tongue, yelling his name

“Mmmm fuck”, he says as he continues to lick

“Is that something you’d want?”, Yoongi asks

“Y…yes”, I cry, not fully aware of what’s going on because of Hobi

“B…but why…do you want …to..fuck Hobi”, I moan

“Cum aegi”, he whines, “You gave it to Yoongi three times. I want more”

“O…ok baby”, I moan

When he clamps his mouth on my clit and sucks, my orgasm hits hard

Hobi immediately lets go of my clit and plunges his tongue back in

“God yes HOSEOK!”, I cry

He keeps going at it, sliding his tongue in and out, over and over.

“Fuck me, HOSEOK. Oh my god fuck!”, I scream, coming again

“So fucking good aegi”, he says when he pulls away

I relax but jump when he gives me one last swipe

I’ve gotten so used to multiple orgasms that they can eat me out or fuck me for hours and I’ll be ok

“So you wanna get fucked and cum a lot aegi?”, Hobi asks

Now that I can think straight, I’m suspicious

I mean I still want that, of course I do

But what’s the reason for it.

“I do, but why do you want to do that?”

Yoongi shrugs, “Why not?”

I snort, “Don’t bullshit me Yoongi”

“Well we do want to make you cum a lot. I love doing it to you”, he answers

“I do too.”, Hobi adds

“But”, I press

“Yoongi and I had a kinda fight over who can make you cum more before we can’t take it anymore and have to cum”, Hobi explains.

“And it turn into a kinda competition”, Yoongi finishes

Not a good idea

“Uh I don’t think its a good idea. I think it’ll cause problems”, I answer

“No it won’t. I love you Jo and I’m not going to let anything change that. I want to be with you and nothing is gonna take me away from you”, Hobi tells me

“Me too Jo. I love you so much. No way am I leaving you”, Yoongi adds

“I love you Hobi. I love you Yoongi”, I say, giving in, “Fine. We can do this as long as you two aren’t going to let it come between us”

"It won’t. I promise”, Hobi answers immediately

“I promise it won’t”, Yoongi agrees

“Fine. But there is one condition”, I say

If they wanna do this, I want to have my fun too

“What is it?”, Hobi asks interested

“You both can’t cum unless I tell you too”, I smirk

“Seriously?”, Yoongi asks, although I see he’s excited

His hard on tells me that

I nod

“Ok”, Hobi says automatically

“Ok yea. Ok”, Yoongi agrees

“Ok”, I agree

Hobi pulls me to him and kisses me

I feel Yoongi behind me kissing my neck and shoulders

Fuck it feels so good

Hobi touches me and he moans in my mouth.

“Fuck aegi, you’re so wet already”

“You always make me wet. You and Yoongi”

Yoongi tilts me head back and kisses me while Hobi kisses my neck and down my body

His mouth attaches to my nipple, while his fingers slide in my pussy and I moan

Yoongi moves in front of me and takes my other nipple in his mouth

Then Yoongi moves his hand down my body and slides his fingers in me too.

Fuck

Shit

Both of them are fingering me furiously and sucking on my nipples and it feels incredible.

“Lay down aegi”, Hobi says

They both let go and Yoongi goes behind me, pulling me to lay back on him, his chest against my back.

I lean my head back and he kisses me

I feel his hands go down to my legs and hold them open

Suddenly Hobi slams his cock in me and I scream in Yoongi’s mouth.

Yoongi moves his lips and kisses my neck

Hobi snaps his hips harder and he goes in so deep.

“Fuck Hobi!”, I cry

His cock is so hard and so big that everytime he slams in, I see stars, from how good he feels

“Harder Hobi”, I yell

Yoongi still holds my legs open and is sucking on my neck

I moan, wanting more

“Fuck her harder Hoseok”, Yoongi orders, “She wants more”

Hobi moves harder and faster, then he hits right where I want him too and I cum on his cock

“Hobi, yes baby. Don’t stop. I want more.” I shout

“Don’t worry baby. I’m not stopping”

He takes my legs from Yoongi who then wraps his arm around my body

His kisses and sucks move to my shoulders

Hobi pulls me a little closer and puts my legs on his shoulders

He moves faster and he’s making me a mess

His cock rubs all the right spots and I can’t get enough

It doesn’t take long before I orgasm again, yelling incoherently as the pleasure takes over

“Yeah aegi. Fuck I love seeing your cum on my cock. It turns me on so much”, he moans

“More Hobi. Right there, don’t stop”, I cry, feeling another orgasm coming fast

“You wanna cum again? My baby likes to cum a lot huh?”, he teases

“Yes Hobi. I love coming on you. Your cock, your tongue. Fuck!”

“Cum baby. C'mon”

“HOSEOK!”, I scream so loudly, going over the edge again, my pussy pulling and clenching him hard

“God fuck baby. I need to get out. I need to get out!”, he cries

He pulls out just as I finish coming and I relax

He falls back and is breathing hard. I move off Yoongi and go over to Hobi

I look at his cock and I see he didn’t cum

I want his cock in my mouth so badly but I can’t or he’ll cum

And I can’t do that to him because it had to take so much for him to pull out

So I crawl up him higher and kiss him

He responds and kisses me back

I feel myself being pulled back a little and put on all fours

Then Yoongi slides his cock in me and starts moving quickly

“Fuck Yoongi, yes”, I cry out, pleasure washing over me as he goes at it hard

Fuck, I love when Yoongi fucks me hard

Yoongi’s cock is big too but a little thicker

He likes to go hard and doesn’t have to be told like Hobi does sometimes

Yoongi likes wild sex more than Hobi who likes slower sex

Don’t get me wrong, Hobi has given me wild sex and Yoongi has also given me slower sex but they both have the way they prefer it

I don’t have a preference either way

But I know they both like when I ride them

They’ve both told me that’s their favorite position

So I give it to them every time

“I know how you like it jagi”, he growls as he pounds harder.

I’m still laying on Hobi’s chest, gripping his arm and screaming in pleasure

His other hand is running through my hair, saying, “Yeah aegi, scream. Tell Yoongi how much you like it”

“YOONGI, oh god, YOONGI, I love when you fuck me hard”, I cry

“I know jagiya. I know how to make you cum”, he grunts

“Make me cum Yoongi. I want to cum so much”, I scream

“Make her cum”, Hobi tells him

Yoongi grabs my hips and moves at lightening speed, ramming harder and going so deep

“Fuck YOONGI, baby!”, I yell, another orgasm hitting

“Fuck jagi. Hoseok’s right, seeing your cum on my cock is a turn on.”

“You want more?”, I shout, not really knowing what I’m saying, “You can have more”

“Yeah Jo, I always want your cum”, he moans, “Give it to me”

He slams deep again and I scream, coming again

“God baby, you pussy tightening on me feels incredible.”, he shouts still moving

I scream, no words, just sounds, as I orgasm yet again

Fuck how am I not tired yet?

How can I keep coming?

Probably because the two hot guys I love are fucking my brains out

“Again Jo.”, Yoongi groans

“I…I…don’t..”, I start

“Please jagi, I want you to. I want to feel you cum.”, he begs, “I love feeling you cum”

“Ok baby, ok”, I gasp

Against all I thought, I feel myself getting ready

I’m right there and I need Yoongi to hit me harder

“Harder Yoongi. If you want it, harder”

To my surprise he actually slams in harder

He thrusts one, twice and I feel the ecstasy comes over me and I cum again

“Baby, you feel so good but you have to let me go. Please jagi, let go or I’m gonna..”

I force myself to let go of his cock and he pulls out, breathing hard

I don’t get a chance to rest before Hobi moves and stands up

He grabs me and picks me up, my legs wrapping around him

He leans me against the wall and buries his hard cock inside me

My pussy immediately clenches his cock and he moans leaning his head on my shoulder

He starts moving quickly and fuck, it feels so good

“You want it harder baby girl?”, he asks

“Mmm hmmm”, I moan, leaning my head back and closing my eyes

Honestly I can’t think anymore

I’m just feeling all the sensations and pleasure

My nerves are in overdrive right now

Hobi holds up my breast and starts sucking on my nipple and it feels incredible

That feeling runs through my body

“Fuck baby, you just got so much more wet”, Hobi gasps

“Hobi baby.”, I cry

“Yea aegiya? Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

I don’t even know what I want

I just want him

“I just want you baby”, I sigh

“You have me aegi. Always”, he assures me

He keeps moving harder and I cry out when my orgasm runs through me

He carries me back to the bed and lays me down on my back

He hasn’t pulled out yet and starts to move slowly this time.

“Hobi” I sigh

As much as I love getting it hard, I love it slow especially from Hobi

Since that’s the way he likes it, he’s really good at it.

“Yeah Jo?”

“I love you”, I tell him

“I love you Joanne”

He leans over and kisses me while he still moves.

“Cum baby”, he whispers

“Hobi…I don’t know if I can”

I don’t know if I can anymore

The crazy thing is I still want to.

“Yes you can aegiya. Please, for me. One more time”, he asks

I can’t say no

“Ok Hobi”

He moves a little bit faster and it feels amazing, it feels so different from when he goes fast and hard

His cock hits my spot again and again

And I can’t believe it but I cum again, moaning his name, “Hoseok!”

“Yea Jo.”

He kisses me again, then pulls out

I take a minute to relax before I look over at Yoongi, whose sitting against the headboard, looking down

He probably heard what Hobi and I said to each other

But he has to know I love him just as much

I move closer to him

“Baby”, I call

He looks over at me and gives me a small smile

“Yoongi you know I love you so much right?”

He nods, “I know”

“Then what’s wrong?”, I ask

He shrugs, “Do you….”

“What baby?”

“Do you want me like you want him?”, he asks

I’m floored

Is he crazy?

Of course I want him

“Yoongi of course I want you like that. I always want you.”

I kiss his cheek

“You do?”, he looks at me

“Yes Yoongi. Always. Don’t ever think I don’t because it’s not true. I love you”

He gives me a real smile and pulls me to him in a kiss

I move on top of him

“Lay down baby. I going to make you feel good”

He listens and lays down while I position him and move down his cock

He squeezes his eyes closed and breathes heavily

I move up and down on him, rotating my hips while I do

His hands reach out and grab my hips, lifting me up and slamming me back down

He does it over and over, going in deeper every time he slams me down harder

The feel of his cock touch all the right places, lights a fire in my body and I can’t stop myself from coming

“Yoongi”, I cry as I do and he breathes heavily.

“Jagi, I’m gonna cum”, he says

“No baby. Not yet”, I say

I’m not trying to be mean but I have a plan

And it won’t work if he cums

“Jo…”

“No Yoongi. You can’t until I tell you you can”

“Then I need you to stop”

“No”

I keep moving and I see him trying so hard not to

I know he’s losing control when he starts to thrust up to meet mine

When he does that, I know he’s close

“Jagiya please”, he begs

“No”

He lets out a cry of frustration but he holds it together

He hits my spot again and I yell his name coming hard on him

“Yoongi”, I moan, my body shaking on him

I can’t stop the shaking, he feels so good

I know my tightening and clutching him is driving him insane

“Please baby”, he cries, “I can’t…please let me.”

“Ok Yoongi, cum baby”, I tell him

He cums really hard with a shout, grabbing me and holding me down on him, releasing so deep inside

“Joanne, oh god baby. Baby!!”, He cries, “You feel amazing jagi”

When he’s done he relaxes and falls back with his eyes closed, breathing rapidly

I kiss him and climb off

Yoongi is still laying back with his eyes closed.

Hobi is laying on the opposite side, looking at the ceiling

I go and climb on Hobi

“Hi aegi”, he smiles at me

“Hi Hobi”, I kiss him

I move my hand behind me and touch his cock

He gets a little hard, so I wrap my arm around him and pump him until he gets really hard

“You still want it Hobi?”

“Always from you Jo”, he smiles at me

I smile at him and I slide down him til he’s all in

Again I move up and down him and watch him watch me ride him

His hands are running up and down my body, touching me everywhere.

“Yeah baby. Ride me harder”, he asks

I nod and give him what he wants, fucking him harder

I’m so freaking sensitive inside, that his cock touching everything makes me shake in ecstacy

I look down and I see him trying hard to keep it together

I slam myself down his cock and my last orgasm for tonight washes over me

Hobi is breathing hard, making sounds, gripping my hips tightly

“Hobi”, I call

He looks up at me

“Cum for me baby”, I tell him

He nods and let’s go, yelling out in pleasure as he finally cums

His hands are squeezing my hips so much more harder, and he sits up half way, breathing intensely

After he calms down, I climb off and he lays down

I get up and I almost fall down

Shit

It takes all my strength to stand

My legs wobble when I walk and I have to hold on to the wall while walking

My legs give out twice before I get to the bathroom

Fuck

They fucked me so hard I can’t walk well

I’m actually happy about that but walking is a bitch right now

I get to the bathroom and clean myself up

I have to sit to do it

Then I go back to the room, my legs giving out once and still wobbly but I make it back

I lay down between them on the bed, just breathing for a minute.

“Who won?”, Yoongi asks sleepily

“No one”, I say

“What?”, Hobi asks in a tired voice

“Neither of you won. It was a tie”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah”

“How many times each?”

“Six”

You came twelve times?“, Yoongi asked surprised

"Yeah, well not including the six times when you both ate me out three times each”

“Eighteen times!”, Hobi sits up, stunned

“Yeah”

“Jagi, you have to be so tired”, Yoongi says

“Are you sore?”, Hobi asks concerned

“Uh yeah. It was actually hard to walk when I went to the bathroom”

“What? What do you mean?”, Yoongi asks

“Uh well I fell a few times and I can’t walk right.”, I tell him

“Aegi, I’m sorry”, Hobi gasps

“Me too Jagi. I’m sorry”, Yoongi adds

“No it’s ok. It’s not a big deal. I’ll be ok”

“You sure?”, Yoongi asks

“Yeah”

“Are you tired?”

“Yeah”, I answer

I’m facing Hobi on my side, and he’s on his, facing me too

He pulls me closer and I snuggle to him, my head on his arm and his other arm around me, one of my legs is on his.

I reach my hand back for Yoongi and he comes closer, cuddling to my back

He moves my hair and snuggles his face in the back of my neck

Yoongi puts his arm around the lower part of my body, moving closer, my other leg on his

When we sleep in the same bed, I’m always in the middle and they cuddling me

I close my eyes but after a few minutes, Yoongi says, “Hey wait a second!”

“Huh?”

“You planned this.”

“What are you talking about?”, Hobi asks

“Neither of us won. We both made her cum the same amount of times”, he answers, then says to me, “You planned it from the second I told you what we wanted to do.”

“Huh?”, I say again trying not to laugh

“You made sure we made you cum the same number of times each before you let us cum. That’s why you told me no when I asked”

“Yeah, but you both really did do it six times before you both came. So it was a tie”

“I still can’t believe you came that many times”, Hobi replies

“Well both of you are amazing at sex, so I’m not surprised.”

“Thanks jagi”, Yoongi answers, “You are too.”

“Yeah Jo, you really are”, Hobi compliments, “and thanks aegi”

I kiss Hobi, then lean back and kiss Yoongi

“I love you Hobi. I love you Yoongi”

“I love you Joanne”, Hobi replies

“I love you Joanne”, Yoongi answers

“Go to sleep baby.”, Hobi says, running his hands through my hair.

I close my eyes and I feel Yoongi kiss my shoulder, then snuggle in my neck again

Hobi turns the light off and continues to stroke my hair

I fall asleep, listening to them breathing, in the arms of the two men I love and who love me