#High-Performance Springs

[portrait-paintings]

Portrait of Sarah Harrop as a Muse

Artist: Angelica Kauffmann (Swiss, 1741–1807)

Date: 1780–1781

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Princeton University Art Museum, Princeton, New Jersey, United States

Description

Angelica Kauffmann’s portrait of the renowned singer Sarah Harrop (Mrs. Bates), arguably the artist’s masterpiece in portraiture, is a rare representation of a self-made woman, the great Handelian performer Sarah Harrop (1755–1811), by one of the very few professional women artists of the period. Kauffmann, one of two female cofounders of Britain’s Royal Academy, shows Harrop seated in the wilderness, a lyre at her side and a rolled sheet of music in her hand. The mountain, Mount Parnassos, is the home of the Muses, and the waterfall issues from the Hippocrene spring. The lyre most likely identifies Erato, the Muse of lyric poetry, and while the instrument is based on ancient types, the sheet music grounds the portrait in the eighteenth century, for it is recognizably an aria from George Frideric Handel’s opera Rodelinda, Queen of the Lombards (1725).

The picture, first exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1781, dates from around the time of Harrop’s marriage in 1780, a marriage to which she brought a substantial personal fortune made through her talents as a performer. The music hints at a personal meaning. The aria "Dove sei, l’amato bene" is sung not by Rodelinda but by her husband, whose longing words must have been chosen specifically for their personal significance in what was almost certainly a marriage portrait. That Kauffmann the artist was also married at about this time, to a fellow artist of more pedestrian talents, Antonio Zucchi, only deepens its resonance.

[annabelle--cane]

re: new sprawakening spanish translation: so sorry for the confusion i am going off the video/reel posted on their instagram of the boys singing mama who bore me reprise (would link it but alas i can't in an ask but it was posted june 4th) which I noticed is a new translation, for transparency I don't know for certain that the entire libretto is a new translation but I figure it most likely. i was not super clear with the previous ask my bad

OH yeah yep that's def a new translation! really hope they post some more song clips, I'd love to hear what they did with the rest of the music

[gayson-voorhees]

Actually. sharpie lore. He is a nrc alumni, but he hates taking about it because even though the prestige of it alone would open a lot of doors for him, he actually spend almost the entire 4 years crashing out because he didn’t get to go to a performing arts college. Screaming crying throwing up every time he has to talk about it. “THEY RUINED MY CHANCES OF GETTING INTO JUILLIARD, SO THEN I HAD TO GO TO NRC!!!” … Isn’t that one of the most prestigious magic academies in the twisted wonderland? “YES, AND???”

[supercantaloupe]

okay don giovanni review from last night. under the cut bc it's me. tldr the vocal performances were great, leporello carried the show, one of the most insane productions i've seen thus far but somehow in a new bizarre direction from normal. good snacks.

first of all i don't care how much wine you offer i think it's kind of ridiculous to charge $165 for a base ticket price for a performance that 1. isn't even in a concert hall or theater 2. is a concert performance rather than a staged performance (which was not advertised ahead of time) and 3. was not even a full production because they made the absolutely mind boggling decision to cut 100% of the recitative and replace it with Some Guy sitting on the stage narrating the plot between every 1-3 numbers

i did not pay that much gd bless. the student ticket was way cheaper.

the narration wasn't even good it was weirdly ungenerous to the women (like how do you even make elvira out be a "women, amirite" thing and also vaguely imply anna was into it in a production with zero acting? well they figured something out) and i don't think it even explained well enough what happens between each number to truly give a first time watcher a good idea of what's actually going on. not to mention that it absolutely kills any sense of momentum in the plot and makes the entire show drag like hell, because you have to wait between every single aria for either Some Guy to talk at you for three minutes straight, or wait awkwardly while people onstage walk off and people offstage walk on. it was so painfully clunky

they had a piano up there but since there was no recit it's not like she was accompanying much of anything. in practice what it ended up being used for was 1. the mandolin part for deh vieni (acceptable in the absence of a mandolin player; they were working with a limited chamber ensemble of musicians so i get it) 2. the party music at the end of act i (egregious fault imo because it absolutely kills the vibe of the scene and completely obfuscates the way the music is supposed to be adding to the tension and chaos with its different instrumental groups playing in different meters)

and 3. used to give singers their notes when the vocal line of their arias start on beat 1 measure 1, which they otherwise would have been able to get from the preceding recits (which is imo painfully amateurish for an ostensibly professional production)

all the numbers in act i were there although the narration was so bad i got jumpscared by fin ch'han dal vino because i forgot it was supposed to be there and thought we had skipped over that point in the plot. act ii had some really bizarre additional cuts made, notably they just entirely skipped over meta di voi and vedrai carino. it was like masetto and zerlina fuck off for the entirety of act ii save for, like, mille torbidi (they VERY briefly mentioned masetto getting beat up in the narration and i don't think they mentioned vedrai carino at all, they just skipped straight from deh vieni to sola sola. and also there was a painful awkward pause before deh vieni because i think the pianist forgot she was supposed to play there and the narrator jumped ahead to the next chunk of plot explanation too early). kept both dalla and tesoro (i'm fine with this ottavio was quite good though could've used a bit of ornamentation imo), kept mi tradi, kept non mi dir (more on that in a bit). no per queste which is probably a good thing not only for the show itself but also my head would have absolutely and irreversibly exploded if they had, probably

the whole thing kind of felt underrehearsed. like a quarter of the time it seemed like people didn't know what they were doing or had to be reminded where to be at that point in the show. and there were a few moments throughout where the orchestra struggled to keep up with the singers, but i really don't think they had much time to rehearse together, honestly.

and then, to my utter shock, the finale was actually really good?? like. insane compared to the rest of the show thus far. though it helps that 1. i absolutely love the harmonieband arrangements of cosa rara/i litiganti/non piu andrai, after possibly the draggiest non mi dir i've yet experienced it was like a breath of fresh air to hear that (and non mi dir was actually well performed i liked this anna but considering how much the Entire Show was dragging, the fact that they cut meta di voi and vedrai carino, AND the fact that they promised this act would be short, it felt crazy to me to keep it at that point.)

2. leporello and the don were by far the best performers of the night. so much so that i sought them out during the post show reception to tell them how great they were and enjoyed their performance. which i usually do not do, but in this like, high school recital ass production value. unbelievable relief that the final scene is dominated by the two actors in the show who most remembered that they can, and in fact Should, be acting. so much more movement and physicality and expression from those two compared to most everyone else. leporello especially, his actor apparently specializes in comedic bass roles and it shows, he was the standout all night

and 3. for the first time in the entire production they made an interesting decision regarding the physical space and staging! they had the commendatore sing from up on a balcony overlooking the audience in the foyer. the bar admittedly was set very low in the previous act and a half but the finale reminded me that i actually like this show again which is appreciated

though they then threw another curveball at me by Cutting the sextet at the end. which like didn't even piss me off at that point i was just baffled. like the don sinks down in agony and leporello sinks down whimpering in fear and the orchestra cuts off. and i'm expecting an awkward pause while they quietly get up and shuffle off so the rest of the cast can come back but nope. big orange title slate appears on the big screen behind them and the audience breaks into a roaring applause and the announcement of the wine and dessert reception. felt like i was in a fever dream

i will say the desserts were very nearly almost worth the bullshit that was the preceding show. they were so good. thank you austria for your dedication to pastry. and because i don't drink and couldn't appreciate the free wine offered i had to indulge in my own manner. spread contained chocolate oat bites (tasted as much like espresso powder as chocolate and coated in coconut, 4/10), almond sponge cake (classic, 7/10), cardamom apple bread pudding with caramel cream (not enough cardamom but otherwise very tasty and autumnal, 8.5/10) and honey cake (11/10. i don't know how they made this so good. i want more right now so much). i take both my mozart opera and my desserts very seriously.

anyway overall the production was. i would say frustrating. the singing quality was Really Good (leporello was the clear standout, probably followed by the don though i prefer my dons with a lighter voice but technically he was very good, then probably ottavio, then maybe masetto or anna. the commendatore was great but he's in it so little it's hard to compare)

i just wish they could have, like, actually done a full production. it would have been so great if they had gotten to tell the actual story and had been fully allowed to act. when there Was acting were the best moments of the show, and it's really unsurprising that most of that came from leporello, the absolute legend.

[website-com]

since pepper was asking for it something that girls do that always makes me think 'cool gender' is not change their names despite it being historically masculine and re-defining the name through their identity and relationship to it.

[jimmyjrsmusoems]

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[xtrablak674]

What They Didn't Know

What they didn't know, is I had always been out there promoting myself, and emphasizing my best qualities and traits. And here are the receipts in this portfolio I had put together with my collected work from nineteen eighty-eight through nineteen ninety one.

Each entry was double sided in a page protector that was stored in a golden coloured binder that said "Trevor's Portfolio" on the front of it and on the spine, usually including the cover of the Playbill or program I was involved in, and then a collage or direct page from the program that highlighted my contribution to the production, and if I was allowed, a small biography. I was centering and bringing the focus to my experience even when I barely had any.

Boomerangst

"Trevor Brown (stage manager) is a recent graduate of The High School of the Performing Arts. This past winter Trevor was an intern for the Liberty Stage Company's production of S.J. Perelman's The Beauty Part working as script prompter, properties manager, and sound board operator. Trevor has also worked at The Houseman and is currently working at The Roundabout Theatre in the telemarketing department. Most recently Trevor stage managed the female version of The Odd Couple at the H.S. of the Performing Arts Senior Drama Festival. He also has a strong interest in dance having studied as a scholarship student at the Dance Theatre of Harlem."

This biography was from I believe my first time being a stage manager outside of school for The New Deal Theater Company's production of Boomerangst by Rita Nachtmann, in nineteen ninety-one. Now I can't recall how I got connected with the Artistic Director Carl Zeliger, but I think it was related to his being an alumni of Performing Arts, and I know this now from a quick Google.

I worked on the production with my classmate Winnie Lee, I don't recall a lot about Winnie but I do remember that I liked her and was quite fond of her, and I think she was an art major. We had worked on some school productions together also, so this was just old collaborators coming together again.

Beyond that I recall nothing about the production other than I think I had a mild crush on Carl, I think it had to do with the fact that he was very caring and attentive adult figure, and at this age I didn't get a lot of positive male interaction. If my math is correct he was in his early thirties at the time, so I am sure he was very handsome also. I like to emphasize that Mr. Zeliger was NEVER inappropriate with me, I was an eighteen year old who caught feelings, nothing that was ever verbalized or reciprocated.

What I also love about my biography specifically, is it shows you how committed I was to being a stage manager, I had several internships and had worked on at least five different productions by the time of this particular bio. I was on my grind, I did all of that on my own. I may have had teachers at school help to make connections, but I was the one who followed through, and landed the positions. My drive was always there, even at such a young age, and I would like to congratulate myself for such amazing focus and passion.

United Jewish Appeal-Federation of Jewish Philanthropies

At sixteen years old I was a featured entertainer at the UJA benefit at FAO Schwartz. Now I can't remember how I got this opportunity but obviously think it was somehow related to Performing Arts, because that was how I was billed, with an obvious misspelling to my name.

I think I got a little honorarium of maybe seventy-five dollars or something, I was sixteen, this was a lot for me, but I was just excited to be "performing" at FAO Schwartz. I put performing in parenthesis because I was sort of a wedding dancer, there to encourage other people to dance, while I danced along with them.

I did start in the Arts & Crafts corner but ended up closer to the DJ and the music as the evening went on. The only thing I would have liked to change about it all was either having a shirt to change into or maybe a handkerchief to wipe up all the sweat I accumulated from dancing for hours. I think they did make me take some breaks, because if left to myself I would have danced all night.

How I got home, I can't recall, but maybe they sent me home in a car, I was a minor after all, and this event went to midnight. It was fun, I was so sad when FAO Schwartz shut down, they just had such a superior toy experience.

The Beauty Part

Liberty Stage Company's production of SJ Perelman's The Beauty Part at UBU Repertory Theatre in January of 1991. This was the production that I interned on as the script prompter, property manager and sound board operator, I mean I was free help so they used me for everything.

Once again I have no recollection of the actual production. The reason I included this one because I met someone who would change the course of my life, Ari Warshawsky, who was the light board operator. Since we were on sound and lights respectively, we sat very close to each other and obviously became quite friendly. I had applied I think to four different colleges, lets see if I can remember them all. SUNY Purchase, Skidmore, Hofstra and Ithaca College.

My dad failed gym in high school, I am not sure if he ever matriculated. And I recall my mom saying she only made it as far as I think the ninth grade. My paternal grandmother wouldn't get her associates degree until she was well into her forties, so I wasn't really well-versed on anything about college other than it was expected you go there after high school.

Ari was attending Ithaca, which due to its distance my grandmother and I hadn't visited like we did SUNY New Paltz which I ruled out just for how dingy the campus looked. But Ari was going on with how good the theatre program was at IC, and I did want to pursue stage management more formally. I think at the time Ari wanted to pursue front of house work and was attending for that program.

I would end up attending Ithaca College for about three semesters before dropping out. I was homeless and financially strapped, and just thought it ultimately best to get out in the world and pursue my dreams. Ari and I became more friendly in college, had one hook up, and just went back to being friends. He also realized he was gay, and no Mary, I didn't make him gay. My being myself may have given him permission to be gay, and I was happy for him.

The only other thing I can recall about the production of The Beauty Part was that I had a crush on the artistic director Laurence Gewirtz, now Laurence was a bit older than Carl, but also very attentive and kind, this is something that would later get me into inappropriate relationships just because someone had shown me attention. My self esteem wasn't where it would later be.

The one thing I remember about Laurence was that he was very very thin and wore the tightest jeans, I can recall quite often checking out his butt which was often on display. Once again Mr. Gerwirtz was never inappropriate, just my eighteen year old imagination and hormones running amok.

I just sent the program cover and my little made-up page to Ari, who it seems I last spoke to very briefly in two thousand nineteen. We were friends for a little bit in the mid nineties, had a small orgy with my friend Tim who he was really into. And then sort of just fell out of each others lives. I can't remember any spats or disagreement, but looking at how short the interaction was in nineteen I have to wonder if there's something up that I am not aware of. Frankly I don't really care, we weren't ever very close. I have no beef with Ari and never did, so his loss.

Nostalgia doesn't seem like the right word about my feelings about this portfolio. I feel like affirmation is better, it just affirms that I have always been who I am, using everything within my means to make sure I always appear in the best light. I would get a certain amount of hateration during my active artistic years because I was very good at self-promotion, but just like any potential ill-Ari feelings, I wasn't studying any of those folks like that. God blesses us each with different talents, its up to us to utilize them or loose them.

[Screenshots courtesy of the Brown Estate]

[primeaircare]

How Humidity Affects Your Air Conditioning in Hot Springs, AR (And What You Can Do About It)

Hot Springs, AR experiences high humidity levels, which can make your home feel hotter than it actually is. Excess humidity can also strain your air conditioning system, leading to higher energy bills and reduced cooling efficiency. In this article, we’ll explore how humidity impacts your AC and what you can do to improve your home’s comfort.

How Humidity Affects Your AC System

1. Increased Energy Usage

High humidity forces your AC to work harder to remove moisture from the air, increasing energy consumption and utility costs.

2. Reduced Comfort Levels

Even if your thermostat is set at a comfortable temperature, excess moisture in the air can make it feel warmer and stuffier.

3. AC System Wear & Tear

Constant operation due to humidity can cause faster wear on your AC’s components, leading to more frequent AC repair and a shorter lifespan.

Solutions to Combat Humidity & Improve AC Performance

Use a Whole-Home Dehumidifier: This helps reduce excess moisture, allowing your AC to run more efficiently.

Adjust Thermostat Settings: Setting your thermostat to 78°F with moderate humidity levels can maintain comfort without overworking your AC.

Improve Ventilation: Ensuring proper airflow and using ceiling fans can help circulate air and maintain comfort.

Schedule Regular HVAC Maintenance: Having your AC system checked and cleaned ensures it operates efficiently even during humid months.

Conclusion

Managing humidity levels improves both your comfort and your AC system’s efficiency. If you’re struggling with humidity-related AC issues in Hot Springs, AR, Prime Air Care can help with expert solutions.

[webism]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎HOT ROD !

After getting hooked on your taste, pornstar!satoru invites you and your pornstar boyfriend to shoot a threesome in the countryside.

pornstar!suguru x pornstar!satoru x fem!reader | part one, two

cw; ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she/her pronouns used for reader, unprotected sex, creampies, oral (m and f receiving), anal (m receiving), mmf threesome, voyeurism.

The sun has barely risen, the typical tangelo orange of a morning sky is yet to develop—instead, you watch a dull pink canvas the sky, turned more of a rose colour through the car's windshield. Suguru Geto, your lover and costar alike, keeps his hand on your thigh as he drives. Occasionally, he'll tap his fingers against your exposed flesh along to the beat of the old niche rock song blaring through the radio. You have the volume up too high—which isn't good for your ears, but is great for the soul—and the windows rolled all the way down. The wind is in your hair, which aids the setting heat of Summer in Japan. It's quite pleasant out here. You're filming at a location you can only reach through an open road that goes right past some very scenic hills, and you're having a lovely time just enjoying your lover's company. Nothing but the two of you. 

That being said—something sits at the forefront of Suguru's mind. You can tell his thoughts are preoccupied, having been with him so long gets you a sweet look into that pretty mind of his. So, when the strings of an electric guitar die out, you turn the radio down and shift in your seat to face him better. 

“Cold feet?” You ask. 

His hair is up and out of his face, save for a stand that falls over his eyes, though it’s pushed back by the wind regardless. He glances at you, smiles, and looks away.

“I don’t get cold feet," he says flatly, looking at you for half a second before his focus returns to the road. “I'm just interested to see if he'll fuck as good with me there, of if the poor guy will get performance anxiety."

Ah, jealousy it is. The flat kind, because your sweet-boned lover never gets openly jealous. You have to settle for half-bitten quips. You smile, "he didn't seem like the type to get performance anxiety."

Suguru hums in a noncommittal way, his lips pulling inwards. He squeezes the fat of your thigh and taps a finger against your skin.  Your skin heats under his touch, it always does. You might earn your living through the most sensual of touches, but none of them quite set you alight like Sugurus does.

Well, except for Satoru. You try to avoid closing your eyes, in fear of being met with the memory of his cock sinking into you rather than the darkness of your closed eyelids. You feel half-guilty, despite Suguru's obvious itch to see you laid out for Satoru Gojo of all people. You know him, you wouldn't be driving forty minutes through the countryside if Suguru wasn't at least a little bit obsessed with the fantasy.

Satoru Gojo, a known name in the porn industry, got to fuck you stupid only a week ago. He had asked you out for drinks after, and though you rejected him verbally, you’re starting to fear that your mind didn’t reject him in the same regard. You had come home that night to your sweet Suguru, and told him all about being hit on by your co-star, to which he laughed.

And oh the irony, that your Suguru was balls-deep inside of you that night when the two of you got an email from Satoru’s agent– an offer, an expensive one. One shoot, a week from then, a threesome between his new favourite love birds and, of course, him.

Suguru remembers Satoru like he was the season prior, like the winter that bled into you, the spring. They did a few films together, Satoru got a little too stuck in Sugurus mind and then, once their contracts were up, they never spoke again. 

The rising sun makes him squint against the road— he almost misses the turn off to the countryside estate you had been told to meet at. The place is nice, big, and you’re starting to wonder just how widely distributed this porno will be if the producer is shelling out so much money just for an estate to rent out for half a day. 

“With how much they’re paying us, I half expected the budget for location to allow for a crack den at most,” Suguru snorts as he pulls in through the large paved driveway. 

“No kidding,” you hum. With this paycheck, you’d just be greedy looking for work in the next few months. 

Suguru parks and undoes his seatbelt with a sideways glance in your direction. “We’re a bit early,” he notes. “But it never hurts to get a feel for the place, talk to our co-star for a minute or two.”

You smile. “Mhm, talk.”

“Ready to get fucked for cash?” Suguru snorts, and opens his door to get out of the car. You follow suit, rolling your eyes at his crude words when your feet hit the ground and you’re closing your door behind you. 

You walk around the car to meet your boyfriend, and he greets you with a pinch to your ass and a kiss to your temple. You’d recognise something poetic in the contrast of his actions if your mind wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of performing for him in only a few moments. 

Despite both being pornstars, you rarely take scenes together. Threesomes aren’t a frequent venture— this is something relatively untapped for the both of you. And though you’re sure it would never jeopardise your relationship at all, you can’t help but entertain the worries that creep in. Will Suguru really not mind sharing? 

You aren’t sure what’s worse— the thought of him getting overly jealous of Satoru and cutting the scene short, or the thought of Suguru not minding in the slightest as you get fucked stupid by another man. A little possession never goes unappreciated on your end. 

“Hey,” Suguru’s silken voice brings you back to the now. “You okay? We can turn around and speed off into the sunrise if you want to leave.”

You grin. “I’m good. Excited, even.”

Your boyfriend nods and leads the way to the estate's front door. It’s closed, which is a little odd considering the production crew will be coming in and out with equipment and the such. You furrow your eyebrows and realise your car is the only one here—maybe you’re earlier than you realised. 

“You checked the shoot time, right?” you ask. 

“Yes, love,” Suguru makes it to the front door and tries the handle only to find it locked. “Fuck, maybe I should have triple checked.”

He presses a thick finger to the doorbell button and glances to you as the sound of an overly upbeat chime echoes through the estate. Maybe it’s the wrong place, too lavish to be true. Maybe it’s the wrong date, even. Maybe—

The door swings open, and standing to greet you with a knowing grin is Satoru Gojo. 

His eyes meet yours first, and then drop to take in the rest of you. Something soft flashes over his face. Lust, perhaps, or appreciation, maybe both.  His arms cross over his chest, leaning his body weight on the doorframe as he flits his gaze to your boyfriend, and his eyes return.

“Long time no see, lovebirds. Just on time," he chirps, stepping aside to let you in. "Excuse the mess, I just moved in."

It takes a moment for your brain to register his words, and Suguru is right behind you in thought. "This is your place?" he asks, appraising the foyer as he walks in. 

“Mhm,” Gojo replies, and though you expect his lilt to be more cocky, he speaks smooth like silk. “The city is too… busy for me. Plus.. saves a dollar on renting out a house to film in, right?”

You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips: from the looks of his home you doubt he’d blink an eye at paying rent for a night of filming. Still, you don’t know if he’s just trying to show off, or if he really wants his home to play backdrop for the shoot. But whatever the case, he definitely thinks it’s clever on his behalf to lead the both of you here. It worked, you give it to him, but damn.

You look around, taking in everything that catches your eye – the sleek furnishings, a wide kitchen to the left, and an elegant living room straight ahead. All of it feels clean and welcoming. You wonder, idly, what it's like for Gojo to live in a space like this all alone – if he is alone, that is. The question remains unanswered as Gojo leads the two of you down the hall until you reach another door and slip inside.

The bedroom you end up in is stunning; a double bed dominates the centre of the room with fluffy duvets thrown haphazardly over top, whilst the walls are painted a warm, calming shade of grey. The carpet is plush and dark brown in colour, the curtains hanging at either side of the grand windows allow for plenty of natural light to flood the room. There's a tripod set up with a very expensive looking camera pointed directly at the bed: Satoru points to it and grins at you and Suguru, "our camera crew."

You furrow your eyebrows, but Suguru speaks up before you can. "It's just us?" 

Satoru nods, crossing his corded arms and he flits his gaze between the two of you. "Yes. I did specify it was a private shoot, lovebirds."

Your boyfriend settles in closer beside you than before, you can feel the heat from his body as he crosses his own arms, a mirror of the white haired man in front of you. "I figured it was a private production shoot," he speaks cautiously. "The email I got was from an agent, not you directly."

Satoru looks unperturbed. "'Course," he says languidly. "She handles all my correspondence."

Gojo turns to the dresser and, from the top drawer, pulls out two white envelopes. Your eyes linger a little too long on his slender fingers as he hands them over to you, one each. As you peek into the envelope handed to you, you find an obscene amount of cash neatly sat inside. 

"As agreed, plus... a little extra for the commute," Gojo shrugs. "You can take it and go, if this isn't what you want. If it is, well..." He gestures to the bed. "I'm kinda dying here."

You glance down at his insinuation and find that he's beyond hard. His pants are tight and tented, making his arousal painfully evident. You have to force your gaze elsewhere – to Suguru, who is staring almost shamelessly at Gojo, his brows creased in the middle as he thinks.

The silence is deafening, you can feel the tension rising between the three of you, vibrating off the surface of your skin and permeating the air itself. Suguru seems to have made his mind up, because he turns to you with an awfully familiar look on his face: desire.

"Thoughts, darling?" he asks, and your stomach flips. 

There's no point in pretending that there aren't things wrong with how your mind still reels after Satoru's touch. This entire thing has been confusing and disorientating; you're confused about everything – your feelings, your career, your sexual desires – and now, in your current situation, you’re downright torn. And yet, despite that, despite all the questions swirling around in your mind, as soon as your eyes land on Satoru's again – you know you'd die without another taste of his pink glossed lips. That feeling, the desire, the forethought of how he'd pant and whine after you've fucked him senseless – you'll do anything to achieve it. 

This doesn’t feel like work anymore, not with the way these two men are looking at you. The camera isn’t even rolling yet, and yet you find yourself ready to fuck them both to the brink of oblivion.

So, without so much as a second of hesitation you pull away from your train of thought and turn to press your lips to Suguru's in a searing kiss. The action, so swift, causes Gojo's breath to hitch in his throat at the sight. Suguru kisses you back, of course, the hand that isn't holding his envelope quickly makes its way to your waistline and pulls you flush against him, leaving nothing but your clothes between the both of you. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck as Gojo watches the two of you intently, gaze burning into the meeting of your lips. You can feel him watching you, his spectatorship dizzying, and you bite Suguru's bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the moan bubbling up your throat.

“Jeez, didn’t know this was a cuckolding shoot,” Satoru sounds whiney, threadbare with lust. “Though I wouldn’t mind that… another time maybe.”

You place a hand on the planes of Suguru’s chest as you disconnect your lips and turn your head to the white-haired pervert with heart-shaped pupils. Your grin is sweet, sultry - "another time, huh?"

You pull apart from Suguru and move past Gojo, making a point not to glance in his direction, until you're crawling onto the bed and turning to rest with your elbows propping you up. Both Suguru and Satoru standing, your observers - admirers, is a sight for sore eyes. The camera sits between them, propped up and set on you. In spite of it, you feel oddly at home. The same sweet excitement builds within you that you normally feel when it’s just you and Suguru at home. You didn't know the air could weigh so intimately in front of a camera.

It takes a moment of staring at you, jaw slack, for Satoru to finally spring into thought. He steps towards the camera, makes sure everything is looking good, and then clears his throat as he presses record. He almost looks nervous, and if he weren't so cocky in his usual demeanour you'd think he's getting cold feet. But you remember the way his eyes glossed when he pushed into you, how that confidence of his melted into carnal need in just one thrust. You know what you do to him, and god does it seem amplified tenfold with Suguru here.

And your black-haired lover must know it too, because the second Satoru makes a move to speak, Suguru cuts him off with a step towards him and a burning kiss pressed to his lips. Satoru's sound of alarm at Suguru's lips on his is almost enough to send you dizzy, but the true aphrodisiac is the sight of your lover taking charge with him; lips locked onto one another, the lewd noises they make as Suguru cups Satoru's face with one hand and scratches into the back of his hair with the other. Satoru's moans become louder and more desperate, as Suguru's tongue explores the recesses of his mouth, sucking hungrily upon the flesh of his lower lip. When the two break apart they're both breathing heavily, panting as they catch their breath. An undoubted look of longing is etched into every last one of their handsome features.

You feel your stomach roil with anticipation as you watch them, realising the camera is only pointed at you, capturing your wanton expression. But then, it snaps, and suddenly your lovers are pulling apart to instead lay their gaze on you, resting back on Satoru's wildly comfortable bed sheets with a lust-driven smile pulling at your lips.

“You’re a fucking lucky man, Suguru,” Satoru coos, blue eyes raking over you in appreciation. You’re hardly undressed, and yet you feel naked under his gaze. “Don’t know how you can do porn when you’ve got such a pretty thing waiting for you at home. It’d ruin my performance.”

“I know,” Suguru says plainly, truly. "You've never been good at multitasking, have you Satoru?"

"Harsh words," Satoru pouts, giving his best imitation of an overly dramatic frown. "I can multitask just fine, do you need me to prove it?"

Without a word further, he plucks the camera from its tripod and points it at Suguru. "For example," he sing-songs, "I can fuck and film at the same time."

“Can’t do it dressed,” you point out, to which both men turn to find you already stripping yourself of your clothes. Satoru turns the camera onto you, finding it a sin to not capture you revealing yourself with such delicate fingers. You look into the lens, eyes sultry as you’re known for doing, and wonder just how many people are going to slip their hands under their waistbands at the sight of you. 

Once you’ve laid yourself bare, your naked skin feels static with the tension in the air, you reach your hands out and make grabby-hands at Satoru. “Pass the camera,” you hum. “It’s your turn.”

A glance between themselves, and then Satoru is leaning over the bed to slot the camera in your hands. It’s heavier than you’d thought it would be, but feels nice and cooling against your otherwise sweaty palm. Satoru’s fingers brush over yours as he hands it over, something electric stills the room for a moment, and then he pulls away with a cough.

He hadn’t realised that Suguru had fallen into place behind him, because when he steps backwards and his back hits your boyfriend's chest, Satoru gasps. You capture the pink blush that speckles at his cheeks, and the beautiful way in which Sugurus hands snake around his body to caress down his chest.

Suguru has always been gifted in the way of sparking intimacy. It’s why the porn he shoots is usually so artistic, he’s sensual. And Satoru, not for the first time, is falling victim to his seductive ways. The gentle traces of his fingers down Satoru’s chest is testament enough to just how narcotic Suguru’s touch is. When he reaches the hem of his shirt and starts lifting upwards, unwrapping his next meal, Satoru can’t help but lift his arms and help move the process along — he’s feeling beyond restless. 

Now exposed, Satoru’s chest and torso are now at the mercy of Suguru’s searing touch. Each trail of his fingers down the white-haired man’s chest, each tweak over his surprisingly sensitive nipples, each rough kiss against the column of his neck, they all elicit the most pornographic moans from Satoru Gojo’s throat. You study them both through the camera’s screen, and watch as Suguru presses his lips against Satoru’s ear.

He speaks in hushed tones, enough so that you know the camera isn’t going to pick up on his words. You can hear them though, only just, they're low and sensual and entirely full of sin. "You're lucky I'm letting you fuck my girlfriend for a second time," he purrs. "You know, she hasn’t stopped thinking about your last shoot. We watched it together the other night, I matched your rhythm, let her pretend it was you. She’s obsessed."

You're almost embarrassed by the confession, a burn sheens your skin, but the way Satoru's eyes darken impossibly further calms you. Suguru grins, catching your gaze from over Satoru's shoulder, and presses a kiss to his earlobe. "It brought me back, too," he says. "To when I got you to myself. You remember our films, hm? You're just like she is." 

Satoru nods, the tips of his ears turning redder. His breathing is shallow, ragged, needy; and in a split second he's turning around and returning his lips to Suguru's. Desperate hands lift at your boyfriend's own shirt, exposing his tattoo-laden skin underneath. His jeans soon follow, and then so do Satoru's pants.

For a moment it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Satoru's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Satoru takes Suguru's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Suguru's throat.

And when they part, it's obvious just how much heavier the air has gotten. Suguru turns your white-haired tryst and pushes him towards where you sit on the bed. "Move your ass before I fuck that too," he deadpans.

Satoru doesn't blush like you expected he would. Instead, he grins. "That would be a big change from last time, don't you think?" he sing-songs, eyebrows raised as he steps further towards the bed. "Or maybe you don't remember crying from how well I stretched you out, I sure do, all pretty and—"

This time Suguru does flush crimson, and you laugh out loud at this revelation. "I didn't know you bottomed for him," you shake the camera a little with your laughter, capturing the way Suguru glares at Satoru from beneath long eyelashes, "that's something I've got to see."

"Hah," Suguru climbs onto the bed and snatches the camera from you, settling on his knees as he points it down at your form. There, his fingers graze lightly against your bare skin, making you arch your back in anticipation. "Tough luck, pretty."

His black boxers are beyond tented, and he slips them off easily enough, allowing his cock to spring free, perfectly poised and ready for your hand. The sound of Suguru's moan as your fingers wrap around his length is paired with the shuffle of Satoru climbing onto the bed too. He hovers above you for a moment, watching you stroke Suguru through the camera, before taking it from him with a grin. 

Satoru returns the camera to its stand and checks its positioning before climbing back onto the bed and settling himself just behind you. You turn to smile at him, and then gasp as his hands tentatively find your shoulders. He peers over you, to the sight of Suguru’s drooling cock in your hand, and presses a kiss to the skin just under your ear.

“You know I’m fucking obsessed with you, right?” He purrs, glancing down to your boyfriend's cock before pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you. I dreamt of breaking you and your boyfriend up until I found out it was Sugu, here. Wanted you all to myself, pretty thing, but I think I’m happy enough to share now, because god do I want to see your lips wrapped around his cock.”

“Mm,” you hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you’re making demands?”

Satoru smiles, his lips glossy and so perfect you could cry. “I want to taste him on you.”

His words light a fire in your core that licks through your body, ravenous. You can't help but oblige at his words, returning your gaze to sweet Suguru before dipping your head down and pressing a chaste kiss to the weeping tip of his cock. Suguru and Satoru both inhale sharply when you do so. You wet your lips with your tongue and then meet his cock again, drawing lazy circles across his tip before closing your lips slowly, reverently around the shaft of Suguru's cock.

Satoru's hand pushes down a little on your shoulder, and you're forced forward onto your lover's length. Your moan betrays you and sends narcotic vibrations down his shaft, making Suguru grunt and buck his hips forward a little. Satoru, who remains behind you, gently takes hold of your hips and manoeuvres you into more of a doggy-style position — your fingers splayed over Suguru's thighs to try and find purchase as Satoru leans over you. 

Gojo's chest presses against your back, skin-to-skin intimacy broken by the feverish kisses he presses to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, your spine, His kisses become hotter, wetter, open-mouthed as he moves down to your waist, large hands playing with the flesh of your ass as he kisses a path down. You moan and shift against his grip, moving your hips in an effort to push yourself back against his boxer-clad erection, but Satoru only snaps you forward, and you choke a little as you're forced to take Suguru's cock even deeper down your throat.

"Fuck," Suguru hisses, pretty purple eyes meeting yours as you look up. Drool glosses his length, slick and hot and heavy against your tongue when he finally gives you a moment to breathe. 

Your mouth immediately goes back to work again once your breathing steadies, hollowing out your cheeks and dragging him down, deeper, faster, more desperately. The receipt of pleasure etched into Suguru's tight-wound face is enough to spur on your own needs, but you nearly choke when Satoru Gojo bites into the fat of your ass. Your body arches up and you squirm and whine, but Satoru is relentless, licking over the indentations left behind as Suguru snaps his hips into your open mouth over and over again.

You barely have room to move before Satoru is pushing your knees apart with a strong hand, the heel of his palm firm against your ass as he spreads you open. He takes a moment, heavy breaths fan against your exposed slick, and you’re suddenly all too aware of yourself. You’d protest, tell him not to stare if your mouth wasn’t full with your heavy-lidded lover's cock. You don’t even know why you’re embarrassed — you’re a pornstar, your job is to lie subject to the most intimate of ogling.

Your thoughts melt into the bedsheets, however, when Satoru groans and connects his lips to your pussy. Stupid off the taste of you alone, he whines against your slick heat, enamoured. His tongue flicks over you, circling your clit repeatedly and making your insides burn. You moan, and it comes out muffled and breathless around Suguru's dick.

"You taste so fucking good," Satoru speaks against your cunt. One hand slips between your legs, running two fingers through your folds in collection of your arousal, whilst his other hand tugs down at his own boxers, pulling his cock free and growling against your pussy as he starts to stroke at himself. "Fuuuuuckkk..." He pushes two fingers into you, easy with just how wet you are, and curls them in tandem with each pump of his cock.

Each thrust of his fingers pushes you just that little bit further onto Suguru's length. And you're thanking god that he's there, because without his muscled thighs to hold onto, you fear you’d be fucked too dizzy to keep yourself upright. You figure you must look a mess now, hair mussed and eyes bleary and drool rolling down your chin and all over Suguru's pulsing cock. 

You feel pathetic with how quickly your orgasm crests. Satoru must feel it too, how you clench around your fingers, the subtle tremor in your thighs, because his tongue only speeds up in its assault.  He's still stroking himself, keeping you open and willing as he sucks your clit harshly. Once you're right at the brink, teetering off the edge of ecstasy, Suguru pulls out of your mouth and leans down to crash his lips against yours. 

"Come," he orders into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. "Come for us, darling, come on now."

You're overwhelmed by Suguru's rakish lips over yours, and Satoru's relentless tongue over your sex. Before you can even try to present yourself for the cameras, you're cumming, hard. You writhe against Suguru, and your nails scrape across his thighs until you can hardly draw breath. The world slows down around you, leaving nothing but pleasure to consume.

"Holy shit," Satoru’s breath comes out in a hitched sort of laughter as he pulls back, not bothering to wipe away the sheen of your lust that coats his mouth and chin. “My head’s spinning, I think I’m in heaven. Do I still have a pulse?”

He makes a show of checking his pulse, despite the way you roll your eyes. You’re still coming down from your climax as Suguru peppers feather-light kisses over your face. Satoru, feeling more hungry than doting, brings his two fingers to his own mouth, licking them clean. Suguru catches sight of the action and gently pulls back from you, something knowing in his eyes.

You assume he’s going to redirect your head back to his cock, let you finish your job, but instead he tuts and nods his head to your shared tryst, who is still diligently working at tasting you some more on his fingers. 

“Think someone’s a little pussydrunk,” Suguru grins, and you do too at the sight of Satoru Gojo so blatantly desperate for more. Your eyes drift down to his cock, long and hard and weeping with precum. 

Though, you don’t want to neglect Suguru, so you turn back to him — “you didn’t finish,” you make a move to reach for his cock, still rock hard and achy-looking, but your lover shakes his head gently. 

“Got other plans,” he nods subtly to Gojo. “How about we show our stalker here just how much better the real thing is?”

You grin, catching onto his drift, and watch over your shoulder as Satoru rolls his pretty blue eyes. “You know, I’ve had the real thing, from both of you.”

“You haven’t had both of us,” Suguru shrugs. “And I know you’ve fucked your fist to the thought of it. Don’t lie, or you won’t enjoy this as much as you could.”

Satoru’s loaded remark gets stuck in his throat as Suguru pulls away from you entirely, though not without a gentle kiss to your forehead first. He stands by the bed, rolls his shoulders and nods to Satoru — “go on,” he gestures to you, still on your hands and knees. “Taste me on her lips.”

Satoru would probably blush if he weren’t so dedicated to the promise of a taste, because he’s got a hand under your stomach and is flipping you onto your back with ease in only half a second. You sigh at the reprieve of the strain on your hands and knees, and revel in how soft Satoru’s mattress is, when he’s collapsing on top of you with a strangled growl and his lips are meeting yours.

It’s a strange thing, to taste both Satoru, yourself, and Suguru at the same time. You taste Satoru in the way he kisses, hungry and listless, with knocking teeth and exploratory tongues. You taste Suguru in the remnants of his cock in your mouth, the precum that has coated your tongue, mixed with your saliva that now mixes with Gojo’s. And you taste yourself glossed on Satoru’s lips; your climax, the buildup of pleasure he had gifted you with both his mouth and fingers. 

A strange mix, maybe, but a perfect one nonetheless. You have to close your eyes to stop yourself from growing too dizzy, and also partly to stop yourself from worrying too hard — how were you meant to enjoy anything to its full potential now that you know how this tastes?

Satoru’s cock presses against the inside of your thigh; you can feel the gentle thrum of its pulse — a testament to his aching need. His arms box you in on either side, settled comfortably between your still-shaky legs. When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips to his, and his eyes are darker than you remember. 

“I need to be inside of you, need. You’re fuckin’... god I can’t think.”

As if by instinct, your legs part further, allowing him the access he so craves. It’s a fluid movement, the way he moves one hand down to direct his cock to your slick folds. He rubs himself against you, his tip kissing your clit teasingly. You suck in a shaky breath between parted lips, and when he doesn’t hurry up despite his desperation, you feel like you could cry.

Though, before a complaint can leave your lips, you're watching as Suguru joins you two on the bed, kneeling behind Satoru and running his long fingers gently down the white-haired man's bare back. Satoru's head falls forward at the touch, and as your boyfriends hand runs lower and lower on his back, you realise exactly where this is going. 

"You're gonna fuck her good," Suguru purrs, graceful in his touch. "Because I'm going to help you -- that okay?" He reaches back up, brushing his knuckles from between his shoulder blades, down the curve of his spine until he reaches his tailbone. 

Satoru's eyes are locked on yours as he answers your lover. "Yes," his exhale is beyond needy. "Please, god. Yes."

And from there, things move with practised ease. It feels normal to submit yourself, your body, to Satoru. As Suguru takes hold of either side of his waist and guides him into you, the stretch is searing. You remember just how hard it was to adjust to his size the first time, having to try and keep your face melted neutral for the cameras. You don't feel that same pressure now, despite Satoru still filming, and your nose scrunches up at the feeling of Satoru inside of you.

"You're..." you try, words stuck in your throat as Suguru pushes Satoru's hips into yours a little more. "Please."

Satoru takes control of the pace, his breath hot and heavy on your cheek, his body moving in sync. You moan as he starts thrusting slowly in and out, stretching every muscle in your body as you get used to the feeling. With every thrust, you feel him getting harder and deeper within you, and his mouth dips down to trail along the sensitive skin on your neck.

It's a narcotic, the way he fills you. He's longer than Suguru, though not quite as thick, but he reaches depths that aren't typical for you. As he sheathes himself deeper and deeper inside of you, with the help of Suguru's hands on his waist, You slowly become spineless; relaxing into the pleasure of his sweet push and pull.

Sweat beads at your skin as Satoru quickens the pace, pulling out and plunging back in again with unbridled whimpers as Suguru works on taking his fill. Your boyfriend, domineering though still gentle, starts working your tryst open with one of his fingers.

"Ah- fuck," Satoru's words are heady with need, the initial discomfort of Suguru's fingers pushing into his ass are quickly forgotten, replaced with a deep yearning for more sensation. It sends his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out inside of you at such depths you can't help but cry out. It's a symphony of wetness and gasps of air, each syllable punctuated by Satoru's frantic movements. Your body grows tighter and tighter around Satoru with every pass as he gets worked open so beautifully by Suguru.

Your mind is clouded by everything Satoru has done to you and by the sheer force of him filling you with his cock and all that comes with it. You're completely and utterly lost in the moment, consumed by Satoru, who is consumed by Suguru, who is consumed in the pleasure of serving you both in turn. 

"More," Satoru is barely able to get the word out as he slams deeper and deeper inside of you. "Fuck, more."

And Suguru isn't one to deny a pretty thing like Satoru such pleasures; he's pulling his fingers out of him in seconds and replacing them with the head of his cock at his ass. Suguru is gentle, but unrelenting as he thrusts himself into Satoru in one fluid motion. The pressure is enough to prick tears at Satoru's pretty blue eyes, which you reach up and wipe away from underneath him. 

A moment is shared, a chance for Satoru to breathe the best he can, before he's testing the waters and pushing back a little, onto Suguru's cock, before thrusting his hips forward, into you. 

This is ecstasy incarnate. The two men seem to merge together, their bodies melting as they meet. Suguru fucks you through Satoru, each thrust into him is a thrust into you, into the both of you. It almost hurts, you'd wager, the way your whole body throbs in synchronization with theirs, the way Satoru moans as Suguru drives you both to insanity. It's a weird way to connect with your lover, but one that works nonetheless, the both of you seem to share an awful yearning for the man sandwiched between you, fucked mindless. 

And then he's driving your entire being towards the edge, and you feel the orgasm coming on, the rush of blood to your head, your muscles tightening around Satoru. It's a strange feeling of being connected to something bigger than yourself, a system working in tandem with each other to chase climax, but it's a feeling you're quickly growing addicted to. It's warm, it's comforting, and most importantly, it's yours. This man right here, his body pressed tight between yours and Sugurus, is yours. Even if only for the early morning.

"Gonna cum," you whine, lips ghosting against Satoru's. He nods, eyes locked onto yours. 

"M—fuck—me too, baby. God, you have to let me come inside of you, doll, can't deny me, please. You—"

"You better," Suguru cuts in, his voice biting from behind Satoru. He thrusts sharply into Satoru, sending him keening forward into you, pressing right into your sensitive g-spot as Suguru hits his prostate in a mirrored pleasure. "Wanna watch you claim her," he bears down, "gonna fill you up, you fill her — watch her face, Satoru. Watch what you do to her."

You gasp as Satoru's fingers dip down to rub frantic circles over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm with each knock of his hips into your, of Suguru's into his. the room is filled with a chorus of moans and whines and desperate pleas for more and more and more. You know you'll never recover from this level of arousal if you don't come soon, but before you can find purchase in your body and begin your descent into bliss, Suguru is first to come undone.

His hips snap forward into Satoru, head craning into his neck, biting down on the muscle of his shoulders for some sort of physical gag — ever the one to stifle those beautiful noises of his. And the feeling of being filled in such ravaging volumes must be enough to send Satoru over the edge, too, because he's knitting his eyebrows together and cumming ropes into you in only moments.

"Fuck," he whines, once again tears prick at his eyes, overwhelmed by the duality of his pleasure, of you and Suguru, so close to you but also never close enough. He wants to be one with you, a complete unit, bound by sex and soul and the sweet sounds of the most powerful orgasm he's ever had in his life. 

You come in tandem with him, it's completely blinding. Your legs fall apart as you cry out, nails scraping across Satoru's bicep as the world melts away and the sensations start swirling about in your mind's eye and the last thing you register is Satoru collapsing forward, breathing raggedly into your ear. 

You catch the salty flavour of him as you suck in a lungful of air and smile in response, fucked stupid and blissful and never ready to give this feeling up. Never ready to give anyone else this feeling- god, you already despise whoever gets to taste Satoru Gojo next. 

Suguru has to pull out of Satoru slowly, and you wipe at his face with the pad of your thumb when it scrunches up in protest of the loss of Suguru’s stretch. Before he can truly call the scene over, though, Satoru leans down and presses the most gentle of kisses to your lips. A myriad of ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’s spill from his tongue as he does so, each word cut by a kiss to the expanse of your face.

And when he pulls out of you a sickening gush of his cum follows. It spills from your aching pussy and onto the bed sheets beneath you, though Satoru doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He swipes his finger through the mess he’s made of your sex, smiling when you hiss at just how sensitive you are, and brings his cum-coated finger back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. 

Your stomach flips at the sight. Great, he’s gone and fucked you lovestruck.

“Satoru,” a clean voice cuts in. Your head constricts in your fucked out daze when you turn to see Suguru standing by the tripod, his eyebrows raised and pretty purple eyes beyond amused. “It’s not even fucking recording.”

Instead of being confused, Satoru looks sheepish. He flops down onto the bed next to you, eyes glossy and cheeks blushed pink. “I…. can explain? I think I’d rather die than share the two of you with the world. But I’d really die if I didn’t get my hands on you both.”

You meet your boyfriend's gaze. Something passes between you, something knowing. In a weird, probably unhealthy way, you both feel the exact same. This was never a scene for the cameras, anyway— not when such strong… feelings are involved.

“I’m not proposing marriage here,” Satoru huffs when he catches onto your shared gaze. “I just, you enjoyed it, right?”

You giggle from beside him, your sweat-soaked skin cool against the air. Suguru chimes in with his laughter, melodic and beautiful. He folds his arms and watches the two of you laid across the bed. 

“Let’s get you both cleaned up, then,” Suguru hums. “I’m not fucking either of you again until we’ve shared a shower.

TAGLIST: @sugurubabe @fullbelieverheart @starrysho @meowforluv @ch3rryistheg @miizuzu @okayiamkassandra @inconcise @sexcults @hotgirlgoob @mistalli @ourfinalisation @graceloveslanadelrey @blessed-princesa @plinkuro @pe4rl-diver @sugojosgf @beachaddict48 @chimmysoftpaws @blendingcaramal @dongh9e @caramelised-onions @kyluskaye @sammywo @4evrglow @hiraethwa @stinkinstuffie @tomiokasecretlover @ser0t0nln @yuzu-ku @lagataprrr @dear-fifi @hel-lhound @kensqueent @sserafin @dabisdolly @zoroisminty @angelkazusstuff @reinam00n @kaeyakaikai @bunny416 @littletittygothgirl @glitterbitch1 @saccharine-nectarine

cont in comments !

[reasonsforhope]

"Morningside Park, a beloved neighborhood park in Miami with sweeping views of Biscayne Bay, will soon pilot an innovative approach to coastal resilience.

BIOCAP tiles, a 3D-printed modular system designed to support marine life and reduce wave impact along urban seawalls, will be installed on the existing seawall there in spring 2025. BIOCAP stands for Biodiversity Improvement by Optimizing Coastal Adaptation and Performance.

Developed by our team of architects and marine biologists at Florida International University, the uniquely textured prototype tiles are designed to test a new approach for helping cities such as Miami adapt to rising sea levels while simultaneously restoring ecological balance along their shorelines...

Ecological costs of traditional seawalls

Seawalls have long served as a primary defense against coastal erosion and storm surges. Typically constructed of concrete and ranging from 6 to 10 feet in height, they are built along shorelines to block waves from eroding the land and flooding nearby urban areas.

However, they often come at an ecological cost. Seawalls disrupt natural shoreline dynamics and can wipe out the complex habitat zones that marine life relies on.

Marine organisms are crucial in maintaining coastal water quality by filtering excess nutrients, pollutants and suspended particles. A single adult oyster can filter 20-50 gallons of water daily, removing nitrogen, phosphorus and solids that would otherwise fuel harmful algal blooms. These blooms deplete oxygen levels and damage marine ecosystems.

Filter-feeding organisms also reduce turbidity, which is the cloudiness of water caused by suspended sediment and particles. Less water turbidity means more light can penetrate, which benefits seagrasses that require sunlight for photosynthesis. These seagrasses convert carbon dioxide into oxygen and energy-rich sugars while providing essential food and habitat for diverse marine species.

Swirling shapes, shaded grooves

Unlike the flat, lifeless surfaces of typical concrete seawalls, each BIOCAP tile is designed with shaded grooves, crevices and small, water-holding pockets. These textured features mimic natural shoreline conditions and create tiny homes for barnacles, oysters, sponges and other marine organisms that filter and improve water quality.

The tile’s swirling surface patterns increase the overall surface area, offering more space for colonization. The shaded recesses are intended to help regulate temperature by providing cooler, more stable microenvironments. This thermal buffering can support marine life in the face of rising water temperatures and more frequent heat events driven by climate change.

Another potential benefit of the tiles is reducing the impact of waves.

When waves hit a natural shoreline, their energy is gradually absorbed by irregular surfaces, tide pools and vegetation. In contrast, when waves strike vertical concrete seawalls, the energy is reflected back into the water rather than absorbed. This wave reflection – the bouncing back of wave energy – can amplify wave action, increase erosion at the base of the wall and create more hazardous conditions during storms.

The textured surfaces of the BIOCAP tiles are designed to help diffuse wave energy by mimicking the natural dissipation found on undisturbed shorelines.

The design of BIOCAP takes cues from nature. The tile shapes are based on how water interacts with different surfaces at high tide and low tide. Concave tiles, which curve inward, and convex tiles, which curve outward, are installed at different levels along the seawall. The goal is to deflect waves away from the seawall, reduce direct impact and help minimize erosion and turbulence around the wall’s foundation.A

How we will measure success

After the BIOCAP tiles are installed, we plan to assess how the seawall redesign enhances biodiversity, improves water quality and reduces wave energy. This two-year pilot phase will help assess the long-term value of ecologically designed infrastructure.

To evaluate biodiversity, we will use underwater cameras to capture time-lapse imagery of the marine life that colonizes the tile surfaces. These observations will aid in documenting species diversity and habitat use over time...

In the coming year, we’ll be watching with hope as the new BIOCAP tiles begin to welcome marine life, offering a glimpse into how nature might reclaim and thrive along our urban shorelines.

[avengersnewb]

The guild’s insistence in achieving a minimum guaranteed staff level for episodic TV was considered an extreme long-shot when the contract discussions began in March.

They achieved a new-model streaming residual formula that should help fellow striking union SAG-AFTRA in its quest to achieve a revenue-based residual. The WGA’s formula amounts to a bonus system based on pre-determined, high-bar performance benchmarks for individual titles. But it’s nonetheless more than industry dealmakers predicted the guild would secure when the first round of WGA-AMPTP talks began in earnest last spring.

The nitty-gritty details of language around the use of generative AI in content production was one of the last items that the sides worked on before closing the pact.

They did it.

Solidarity works.

Unions are our only tool against capitalistic greed.

[x]

Fact: To be completely precise, the agreement is tentative and the strike will end when the members vote. The guild has allowed the writers to go back to work from Wednesday 27th 12:01. All members still need to vote for the new contract to be final but the strike is officially over. [x]

Opinion: However it’s very unlikely to be any hurdles because the same people who called for the strike are calling for it to be over.

Hence: wga strike ENDS and not ENDED.

[kunareads]

brat | track three

club classics

producer!suguru x popstar!reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 4k

content: drug/alcohol use, angst, emotional distress + kind of spiral, jealousy + insecurity

taglist is closed!

18+ please <3

Billboard — FESTIVAL SET OR CULT INVITATION? CLUB CLASSICS DEBUT PROVES THE BRAT MOVEMENT HAS NO CEILING

Pitchfork — THE CHURCH OF CLUB CLASSICS: GETO AND YN TURN A PERFORMANCE INTO A POP CULTURAL RELIGION

Complex — IN THE ERA OF THE RELATABLE POP STAR, YN AND SUGURU GETO ARE SEALING THEIR LEGACY INSTEAD

LOLLAPALOOZA NIGHT TWO HEADLINER: YN AND SUGURU GETO

vroom vroom / i love it / speed drive / hot in it / 360 / club classics

your breath comes short as you spin into the final chorus of 360. the bass shakes the barricades. your hair sticks to your neck and your feet ache, but it doesn’t matter. nothing does when sixty thousand people are screaming their favorite song back at you in unison.

when you're in the party b-b-bumpin' that beat 666 with a princess streak

they finish it for you. you take the moment to turn toward suguru—lit in strobes and stage smoke at the boards behind you. his hands stay on the mix, but his eyes are locked on you. shining and a little disbelieving.

and for one strange second, you can’t believe it either.

because not too long ago, the two of you were bottom-row filler on this very lineup. you were the set they tolerated while waiting for someone more famous. now it’s your faces on the livestream banner, your names on the wristbands. the two of you burning bright in front of the biggest crowd you’ve ever seen.

it’s so good it scares you a little.

the last loops of the track dissolve into the night as you take your place next to him. “lollapalooza,” you call into the mic, catching your breath as suguru adjusts your mic cord. “still with me?”

the answer is deafening.

the lights drop.

then they strobe white—blinding, baptismal. your smile glints on a dozen screens like a warning shot.

it starts as a pulse and a warped right now vocal.

“alright,” you say, pacing to the end of the catwalk. “if you came to stand around and look pretty—” you grin. “get the fuck out of my pit.”

screams.

“if you came here to dance to us,” you raise your free hand. “make some fucking noise.”

they do. loud enough to startle you. loud enough to rattle the stage. you crouch down, mic to your lips, voice low and threatening against the bass.

when i go to the club, i wanna hear those club classics club classics—club, club classics

by the third repeat, they’re screaming it back like they’ve known it for longer than twenty seconds. you spring into the post-chorus, bouncing loose and electric, your pulse loud in your ears. when you catch suguru’s eye again, he’s mouthing it back to you with a wink:

yeah, i wanna dance to me i wanna dance to SG

you spin back toward the crowd, catching flashes of smeared eyeliner and poppers and arms outstretched. they’d follow you off a cliff right now.

sweat marks all on my clothes, tight like mike kinda flow yeah, i wanna be blinded by the light, lights, lights

a phone appears, shoved toward stage. security hands it up. you grin, flip the camera, and run.

the lights smear in your vision as you bolt. your heels almost betray you when you toss yourself into his space, but suguru catches you easily, one arm wrapping around your waist to steady you with a laugh. the video catches both of you beaming into the lens with the knowledge that the world is turning exactly how you asked it to tonight.

he builds the bridge. you pass the phone back without looking, hips still moving, one hand up high.

put your hands up and dance yeah, i’m gonna dance all night, that’s right

and they obey. ten thousand hands. then thirty thousand. then all of them reaching, dancing, worshipping.

the outro detonates—bass pulsing, strobes slicing, bodies surging like tide. and center stage, shoulder to shoulder, you and suguru shine like myth.

the sound cuts. the lights drop. your heart keeps sprinting.

in the dark, suguru kisses the top of your head in benediction. and you believe it. that the two of you were born for this. that every eye on you is a prayer you deserve.

@/ynsdaughter: “i wanna dance to SG” i don’t care if it’s fake i need them to get married like yesterday

@/angelbrat: huge day for bisexuals and music historians everywhere

@/suguruscream: suguru always so serious on stage until she gets close. then it’s just ☺️❤️‍🔥

backstage is chaos.

a manager shoves a water bottle into your hands. production assistants bark about press. security yells about routes and crowd control. stagehands blur past in neon lanyards with too much urgency.

but all you see is suguru.

backlit by the stage, hair plastered to his temples, chest rising fast under a sweat-soaked t-shirt. and he’s smiling. just for you, like he knows everything’s changed.

you don’t realize you’re laughing until he pulls you in—arms tight around your waist, lifting and spinning you once.

“i told you,” he murmurs against your ear. “you fucking killed that.”

you’re still giggling when he kisses you. quick and dizzy, one hand cupping your jaw. your makeup’s a mess and his hair’s undone. but the world feels perfect in that distorted, glittery way.

everything moves in fragments around you. voices come from too many directions, hands pulling you in and out of outfits you don’t remember picking, your face wiped and redone with practiced hands. and then, just as suddenly, it’s quiet.

the car feels like a haven. cool and comfortable, sealed from the noise outside. city lights strobe past tinted windows in slow motion. your legs drape over suguru’s, his fingers tracing light lines on your thigh. neither of you say much. just the occasional whisper, the occasional kiss.

you can still hear it—i wanna dance to me, me, me, me, me. he looks at you like he doesn’t want it to end.

and you don’t wonder if he’s distracted.

you don’t ask what was bothering him on his phone all morning after that night with satoru. or if it even mattered.

you don’t think about it—because this is easier. his undivided attention feels like resolution. like you were right to let it go.

the car slows to a stop. outside, the afterparty’s already a circus—paparazzi this time, not fans. velvet rope, flashbulbs, a security perimeter.

you blink back into the present as suguru leans in, pressing one last kiss to your temple.

“ready?”

you nod. smile. take his hand when he offers it.

flashes go off the second your heel hits pavement. someone shouts your name. someone else yells his. suguru doesn’t let go of you.

the room changes when you walk in together.

or maybe it doesn’t. maybe it was always tilted toward you, eyes snapping to where you entered and refusing to look away.

you’re the last ones on the list to arrive. everyone that matters is already here.

a couple of execs nod from a booth. someone starts a wave of applause. a drink is pressed into your hand—“fucking unbelievable,” someone says. **you don’t know who, and it doesn’t matter. people keep coming—hugging you, whispering praise, passing joints. you let it wash over you. revel in the feeling of being known and wanted.

the high has softened, gone warm and syrupy. everything feels elastic. expansive. your body’s still catching up to the size of your name.

somewhere in the back of your mind, something claws at the edges—soft and stupid and scared. but you smile wider. drown it in praise.

suguru stays close.

his hand rests low on your back, thumb dragging over exposed skin. you glance at him over your shoulder and catch the look in his eyes. it’s not professional. a little admiring, but mostly hungry.

he leans down, lips barely brushing your ear. “everyone loves you,” he says. “gonna tell them who you belong to?”

you turn around fully to meet his gaze, lashes heavy, smile dangerous. “you want me to make a scene?”

he laughs, low and sharp. he doesn’t care if you’re bluffing. he wants you to try.

“come.”

he doesn’t wait for an answer—just takes the drink from your hand, sets it down without looking, and tugs you by the wrist into the center of the room.

the music thickens as you follow—slow, syrupy, slipping into something obscene. he spins you into him, your chest brushing his as you fall into sync. his fingers drag down your spine, the other hand settling at your lower back, guiding you like he has a hundred times in his head.

you show off a little. hips fluid, eyes teasing, smile pure. you sway close enough to breathe each other in. close enough for him to feel you. close enough that it’s obvious to everyone watching.

he just studies you at first—your jaw, your lips, the slick line of your collarbone. you get the sense that he’d drop to his knees right now if you asked nicely.

then he leans in, voice rough. “you don’t know the kind of thoughts you put in people’s heads,” he says. “in mine.”

and maybe you don’t. but you can feel it in the way his hands flex. in the way the room spins around you and not the other way around.

you laugh, lazy and lethal, drunk on the way he watches you. then you twist in his hold, press your back to his chest. his arms lock around your waist. he inhales at your neck, mouths at your jaw like he wants it branded. doesn’t care who sees. someone snaps a picture on film. someone else whistles.

it takes a few songs before you both drift off the floor—laughing and tangled in each other. your section is tucked in the far corner of the lounge. it smells like weed and expensive upholstery and bottle service tucked into ice. a bouncer lifts a velvet rope to let you in.

suguru drops into a low couch, gaze climbing your legs in a habit he hasn’t even tried to break. as far as he’s concerned, you’ve always belonged in his lap.

he offers a hand.

you take it. step between his knees and let him guide you down until your weight sinks onto him, legs draped across one of his. he exhales immediately, relieved and possessive.

his hands find your waist first. then your thigh. then the bare stretch at your ribs. each touch is slow, sunk, claiming.

you loop your arms around his neck. feel the sweat at his hairline, the chain at his throat. he’s warm—in his lap, his chest, the fingers dragging up your leg with a pace that’s not quite innocent. you kiss the corner of his jaw, grinning when he turns into it automatically.

“i should take you home,” he murmurs, voice thick with reverence. “take this dress off you. thank you for tonight.”

you laugh, light and breathy and buzzed. wanted. chosen. undisputed. “are you asking?”

his grip tightens. he presses a kiss below your ear.

“i’m telling you,” he says. “let’s leave.”

thank god, you think. the yes is already forming on your lips. but before you can say it, a voice cuts in, too loud and too close.

“sorry,” someone says. “i hate to interrupt—fuck, you guys were unreal.”

you blink up, disoriented by how quickly the moment unspools. a label rep—important enough to recognize, intrusive enough to resent.

“i just—can i steal you for two seconds? a couple people want to talk VMAs. logistics stuff. you’re the only person who can actually speak to it—”

suguru’s head drops to your shoulder with a low groan. you kiss his temple before sliding off his lap. he catches your hand before you go.

“go do your thing,” he says, lifting your fingers to his lips. he presses a slow kiss there, a little smug. “i’ll be right here.”

@/cultyn (story) 📸 : wide shot of the audience from stage 💬 : you had to be there

@/cultgeto (story) 📸 : black and white photo of reader twirling at the afterparty 💬 : i wanna dance to me 💿

the MTV reps are all smiles and champagne, talking lighting setups and impact and career-defining moments. someone calls you visionary. you lead the conversation and it feels easy. the kind of thing that would’ve paralyzed you three years ago but now feels like momentum. you could do this all night.

but you don’t really want to.

you want to go back to him.

it’s all humming inside you now—the things you used to dream about. the performance. the power. the boy. your set still rings in your teeth and the heat of his hands still aches in your thighs. your body’s drunk on it. your mind, too.

you round the corner. everything tastes like sugar. someone calls your name. someone else reaches for a hug. you smile, brush shoulders, keep moving. you’re thinking about his lap. the way he said let’s leave. his hands on you.

you expect to find that lazy grin as you near your section. the sprawl. the suguru-specific pull he doesn’t seem to notice.

but what you see first isn’t him.

it’s her.

sugar-pink nails on suguru’s tattooed arm. a giggle too bright for the hour. mila hart—pastel and perfect and glowing like a bad omen. laughing at something he said and easing into his space like she belongs here.

and she doesn’t.

you saw the guest list three days ago—she wasn’t on it. this velvet-roped, bottle-service corner of the lounge isn’t for surprise guests*.* no one’s here by accident.

at this hour, in this fucking room? that kind of access has a signature.

your eyes move back to suguru and your mouth goes dry. her hand drifts to his chest. she’s standing too close. she’s breathing the air you were in less than ten minutes ago. the air that belongs to you.

the music feels weird suddenly—dissonant and too sharp at the edges. your fingers buzz, and the base of your neck aches. you recognize it—you’re coming down too fast. you missed the cue to slow it down.

and suguru—

he doesn’t look caught. doesn’t lean away. doesn’t seem to notice at all. just stands there, drink in hand, smiling like he’s immune to consequence.

maybe he is.

because this is what power looks like, isn’t it? the casual kind. the kind that lets things slide because it can fix the mess later.

you recognize it. you have it too.

maybe he’s done this before. maybe he wants her there.

or he hasn’t noticed. he’s too polite to move her hand. he’s caught mid-conversation.

none of it holds.

because the cruelty isn’t mila’s hand or her dress or even the way she looks at him like she won something. the cruelty is the sudden, yawning absence of what you thought was clarity.

your brain starts slotting the night together again. the way he looked at you like he’d bring the stars down if you wanted them. i should take you home. the kiss to your hand. i’ll be right here.

and now this.

now her.

and still, you enter.

you thank the bouncer for lifting the rope. your smile slips back into place like nothing at all just broke in your chest.

suguru doesn’t see you at first, too focused on the story he’s telling to someone else in the circle. one hand loose at his side, his drink in the other. that easy grin. that relaxed, commanding posture.

you’re surrounded before you can think harder—girls you’ve danced with, recorded beside, shared stylists and secrets and cigarettes with. one lifts your hand like a trophy, another kissing your cheek.

there’s a flash of recognition, of celebration, the room itself seeming to brighten just because you entered.

you fucking murdered that set. you’re unreal. i think hot in it is my new favorite—

you laugh. thank them. tilt your head just right for instagram stories you’ll end up reposting. someone hands you a drink. someone else plays a shaky clip of the crowd screaming, and you pretend to be surprised like you didn’t watch it happen from the stage.

somewhere in the excitement, it hits: you weren’t high on triumph.

it was him.

the warmth you’ve been riding all night? it was his hand on your waist. his voice in your ear. the way he looked at you.

you glance behind you instinctively.

he’s already watching. not cold. not distant. that same familiar softness—sure and centered. he smiles, and it feels like a lie he doesn’t know he’s telling.

and it might have helped—might have grounded you—if mila hadn’t brushed imaginary lint off his shoulder in the exact same moment. casual and intimate, like it’s her place to do that.

he doesn’t look at her. doesn’t notice, because his eyes are on you. and it hurts anyway. because you know you’re not making it up.

the girls pull you for one last round of photos. digital cameras flash, drinks clink, someone calls your name for a video that ends up blurry and chaotic. and when the moment finally starts to dissolve—when the conversation shifts to the next thing—you turn back toward the couch.

you see her leaving.

mila blows a kiss to someone—maybe no one in particular. says goodbye like this was her space all along. suguru gives her a half-hearted wave, doesn’t pause his conversation. she vanishes just as easily as she arrived. like she was never really here.

like you imagined the whole thing.

you want to feel better about it. you really do.

but you don’t.

you lower yourself into the seat, fingers closing around the chilled neck of a bottle before you’ve even settled. you pour a shot of something clear, movements measured, like control can be reclaimed in ounces.

and then he’s there.

no delay, no hesitation. as if he’d just been waiting for you to finish your conversations so he could take his place beside you.

he sinks down, knees brushing yours, and reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with careful fingers.

“missed you,” he says softly.

you tip the shot back. “wasn’t gone that long.”

he doesn’t respond. just watches you for a second too long, his thumb grazing gently against your cheek like he’s realigning both of you. like it matters to him that you’re still with him, still here.

you don’t say anything. neither does he.

and that’s the pattern, isn’t it? both of you knowing, never naming.

he takes the empty glass from your hand and sets it down for you before shifting closer. his mouth tilts—not quite a smirk. something gentler. almost shy, if he were capable of that.

you feel him waiting for the moment to settle.

so you let it. you lean in.

you want to feel the ease. you want the consistency of him, the way he always finds you in the noise.

he tucks your knee over his and rests his hand there, thumb pressing into the soft part of your thigh. you settle into the warmth of him. his cologne, the rise and fall of his chest. close enough to convince yourself that maybe this is still the version of the night that made sense.

for a second, it works.

he murmurs something into your hair. a private thing. low and fond, and probably dumb. you don’t catch all the words, just the stupid softness that makes you want to kiss him despite everything.

you’re already turning your head to ask him to repeat it when his phone lights up on the table.

mila you looked good tonight. thanks again for the invite. wish i stayed <3

your stomach turns. not violently, just enough to make your spine go rigid.

he doesn’t see it. he’s too close to catch the screen, his undivided attention back on you. right where you’d wanted it a few minutes ago.

you stand slowly.

“be right back,” you murmur.

his brows draw in slightly. “you okay?”

you nod too fast. “mhm.”

and you go.

you don’t rush, but you don’t look back either. you smooth your dress as you walk, smile ready to spring back into place if anyone looks too close. the hallway’s freezing. or maybe it’s just the warmth bleeding out of you.

the bathroom is white tile and fluorescent light. too bright, too clean. you lock the door behind you and sit on the toilet lid, hands slack in your lap.

your skin still sparkles, but nothing’s glowing anymore. nothing’s buzzing. just your pulse retreating inward, slow and strange.

you don’t know mila personally, but you know enough. she’s what they mean by relatable. sweet and soft and easy to root for. the version everyone’s supposed to want.

including suguru. that’s why it feels like a glitch.

you were never the traditional pop girl. you’ve always known that. you never even wanted to be.

but tonight, you’d give anything to feel like someone he could explain. someone with a PR-approved personality and soft edges.

through the door, you hear it—your own voice, muffled but unmistakable.

when you’re in the mirror, do you like what you see? when you’re in the mirror, you’re just looking at me

you don’t laugh. you don’t cry. you don’t even blink.

you just sit there, perfectly still, trying to feel like the girl who meant it.

but eventually you stand. you reapply your lipgloss. fix your hair. you come back like nothing happened.

suguru lights up the moment he sees you again. you’re not sure what to make of it, but you let him touch you. hands to your waist and lips to your temple. it feels almost too easy now. and you hate that it works. that you want to let him fix it. that you’re not sure what you’d do if he didn’t.

the section’s more full than you left it—more label people, more phones, too many hands. someone clinks a glass.

“a toast to the stars of this festival. tonight changed everything,” they say. it sounds suspiciously like a warning. “that was a fucking performance.”

a cheer goes up. someone offers you another drink. you wave it off. someone else taps their phone to yours for the picture.

suguru leans closer, chin brushing your shoulder. “you were perfect,” he says.

you smile again. and mean it, kind of.

but you’re not fully here.

your mind is still hovering somewhere before the text, the pastel, the interruption by the overeager label rep.

you think about the way he looked at you earlier—how it felt like the only girl in the world. and how maybe he’s just good at that. maybe it’s not sacred, and it never was. maybe mila’s seen that look too.

the toast fades. conversations resume. you turn into his side.

“can we go?”

it comes out smaller than you meant. like a white flag.

he studies your face a second too long.

then nods. “yeah.”

you nod too.

and the worst part is—you’re not even sure he did anything wrong.

just that you feel stupid for thinking any of it meant something.

for needing it to.

@/deuxmoi BLIND ITEM: pastel princess spotted getting very cozy with a certain dark-haired hit maker at a lollapalooza afterparty. insiders say she wasn’t on the guest list.

[ratgrinders]

Ok here's an updated timeline of the Rat Grinders based on the new info we got this episode:

Freshman Year

On the first day of classes Kipperlily and the others meet and form their adventuring party. Kipperlily comes up with the name the High Five Heroes.

Kipperlily excels academically, but the High Five Heroes only go on easier adventures, presumably to ensure they will succeed rather than fail at something challenging.

Ruben is primarily an acoustic/soft rock musician.

Kipperlily begins to have childish rage and resentment towards Riz and the other Bad Kids, which start out petty but gradually grow in intensity over the next couple years.

Sophomore Year

An increase in hostility, one of the first meetings Kipperlily has this year is being jealous that Riz's dad was killed by Kalvaxus, that if a person has suffered immense magical hardship it is an unfair advantage in adventuring.

Kipperlily tries to find evidence of conspiracy with her parents and is enraged that they are boring.

A week after spring break the High Five Heroes go on their first quest to the mountains of chaos, chaperoned by Jace Stardiamond.

After this, the High Five Heroes seem to undergo a shift where their rage is amplified. Kipperlily's counselor files become much more venomous towards the Bad Kids, Ruben shifts to emo music, etc.

At some point after this Ivy and Oisin propose changing the name to the Rat Grinders. Kipperlily opposes this and Lucy is on her side, but Ruben votes against her because it makes her upset and Mary Ann also votes against her but doesn't explain her reasoning.

A piece of paperwork is submitted for Lucy to change her god, but another piece of paperwork is filed afterwards rescinding that application, presumably by Lucy herself changing her mind.

Towards the end of the year, after grades are finalized but before classes are over thus avoiding the pass/fail penalty, Lucy dies in the far haven woods near Aguefort. Presumably, she could have been resurrected in service of this unnamed rage god, but chose not to. She "stuck to her guns".

Kipperlily's rage towards the Bad Kids has transitioned from childish to venomous, she "hates them".

Junior Year

At some point between the end of Sophomore year and the beginning of Junior year, the Rat Grinders specifically request Buddy Dawn join their party as a cleric.

At 8:01 am, the first day of classes, Kipperlily goes to Ashgrove to dig up the rogue teacher's grave, thus forcing her to reveal herself and granting Kipperlily a pass for all her rogue classes for the year. Presumably she was aware of the rogue teacher's grave beforehand (information only available in Arthur Aguefort's office) but waited until the start of Junior year so she could pass all her classes for the year.

Kipperlily announces her bid to run for student council president, with a platform based on equity, equanimity, and fairness.

Kipperlily asks Jawbone about the creation of Yes! and the events of prompocalypse

Her counselor notes become extremely enraged, with her straight up wanting to kill Kristin and being angry that she can't get to her thanks to Fig's protection.

Oisin, Ivy, and Buddy are seen at Fabian's house party during the first week of classes. Kipperlily is not seen but is possibly there invisible. The Bad Kids are asked to do drugs but decline. That same night, mephits steal part of a cloud rider engine kept in Seacaster Manor.

At the school assembly the following day Principal Grix reveals he was notified of students doing drugs off campus, meaning its possible the Rat Grinders tipped him off in an attempt to get the Bad Kids in trouble.

Ruben performs presumably some kind of ritual at the Frosty Fair Folk festival, with the other Rat Grinders conspicuously absent. Simultaneously, Yolanda Badgood falls dead in the same place where Lucy Frostblade died, after Yolanda had been made aware of Lucy's change in god and was investigating it. Yolanda also refuses to be resurrected in service of the rage god.

The Rat Grinders are seen at the assembly addressing Yolanda's death and how all clerics would be moved to pass/fail. Most look bored, Mary Ann isn't paying attention, and Buddy is unconcerned.

Kipperlily and Oisin get caught trying to sabotage the Bad Kids' Last Stand exam, and Kipperlily kills Buddy. Ten minutes after the Bad Kids plane shift away, Buddy is revived by an unknown figure and he pledges his allegiance to the rage god.

Now the Rat Grinders are scheduled for another trip to the Mountains of Chaos and are on complete lockdown, hiding all of them from Adaine's divination magic.

[othernightslikethis]

SPRING LOVE

3,6k words

Smut, Bf x Gf

Kim Minju x Male Reader

Ahhhh she is so beautiful 😍😍😍

As the current centre-back for Paris Saint-Germain, you’ve become the missing piece in the squad, which now sits comfortably in Ligue 1 and advances in the Champions League after knocking out Liverpool. With solid performances and impeccable skills, the press and fans don’t hesitate to call you "the new Maldini."

But none of that mattered. Not when you were with her.

Kim Minju.

She was your girlfriend. You met through mutual friends when you were both just nineteen. Back then, she was still a K-pop idol, and you were a rising star in Korean football—much skinnier than you are now. To say it was love at first sight would be... a lie. You got along well, but at the time, you agreed to stay just friends, as too many things between you seemed too different.

But everything changed after six months of deep conversations, shared laughter, and moments that brought you closer. That was when you finally confessed your feelings for each other. Your relationship was celebrated with joy, and your teammates were incredibly kind, offering advice—some of them a bit too much.

You never got to meet the members of Minju’s group, but it was never an issue. When IZ*ONE disbanded, it was a tough time for her, but you supported her unconditionally as she pursued an acting career.However, there was a moment when your relationship became fragile: when you received the offer from Paris Saint-Germain at twenty-two. The club was restructuring after the departures of Neymar, Messi, and Verratti—brilliant players who hadn’t managed to secure PSG’s long-awaited Champions League title.

You told Minju about the offer, and she celebrated with you, but both of you knew the distance would be an immense challenge. It wasn’t just moving cities—it was continents, cultures, routines. After many emotional conversations, you decided to break up and remain friends.

But that decision didn’t last long. At the start of 2025, you rekindled things, choosing to try a long-distance relationship. You agreed that if it didn’t work out, you’d part ways peacefully, with no regrets. Since then, whenever your schedule allowed, you’d fly to Korea to see her. And when she wasn’t busy filming, she’d appear in Paris, bringing a piece of home to your life in Europe.

It was hard, yes. The long nights and hectic days tested both of your patience. But every video call, every message exchanged in the dead of night, every reunion—it was all worth it. Because, in the end, no title, no trophy, no praise from the fans could compare to her smile.

That was what mattered. Her.

Kim Minju.

That was why your lovely girlfriend was there, in your mansion in France, a few days before the match against Aston Villa.

Minju had managed to carve out a break from her hectic schedule to spend four days exclusively by your side, especially to watch the game. Everything seemed perfect—the romantic atmosphere, the breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower framed by the mansion’s large window, the cosy silence of the evening... But in that moment, none of those details mattered.

What dominated the dimly lit room were Minju’s soft, breathy moans, echoing off the walls like a forbidden melody. She was lying on the sofa, completely naked from the waist down, wearing only an oversized hoodie of yours that barely covered her delicate frame. The muted light accentuated the glistening wetness on her thighs, where a tantalising slick had begun to trickle, betraying just how aroused she was. Her fingers moved with perfect precision inside herself, curling in just the right way to draw out another high-pitched sigh.

— Baby... Just like that... — She arched her back, lips parting in a mix of pleasure and frustration. — fuck, it’s not fair, ahnn... You promised you’d let me be on top today!

Her voice was a blend of complaint and provocation, but she barely managed to finish the sentence before throwing her head back, fingers clawing at the sheets as her thighs clamped involuntarily around your hand. Her eyes, usually so sweet and bright, were now darkened with desire, locked onto you with an intensity that nearly made you give in.

She was right, of course. You had promised. But the truth was, Minju was rubbish at being dominant. There was something irresistibly adorable about the way she’d try to take control, only to crumble minutes later, whimpering and writhing beneath you. It was as if her submissive nature always betrayed her attempts at command—and you loved every second of that contradiction.

— You say that like I have a choice... — you murmured, leaning over her as your fingers deepened their movements, feeling her shudder. — But we both know you prefer it this way.

Minju let out a sound between a moan and a protest, but the shiver that ran through her body and the way her legs fell open even wider were answer enough.

— Ah! No— not like this, baby...

Minju gasped as your third finger joined the other two, pressing lightly against her entrance before sliding in all at once, filling her completely. You weren’t exactly experienced with women—Minju was only your second girlfriend—but your time in Paris had granted you a few casual encounters. Minju, however, was different. She was the only one who could take three fingers. Her soft, slender frame might have been deceiving, but you knew just how well she could handle every inch of what you gave her.

— It’s too... ahn... much— she moaned, her fingers digging into your shoulder, nails biting into your skin.

You smirked, feeling how she was already clenching around your fingers, hot and tight, even as she complained.

— Bollocks. You fit just fine.

And then you began moving your hand with a firmer rhythm, three fingers sinking deep before pulling almost all the way out, only to push back in, faster this time. Minju cried out, her voice breaking into a sharp whine, and you felt her pulse quicken, her body twisting between the urge to pull away and the desperate need to press even closer.

— Fuck, stop! Stop for a bit! — she whined, but the trembling in her legs and the way her cunt pulsed betrayed her real plea: don’t you dare stop.You leaned over her, whispering against her neck as your fingers kept working, now with a curling motion that made her shudder.

— You can take three, can’t you? Want me to take one out?

— N-no! — She shook her head, eyes glazed with pleasure. Just— ahn— slower...

But you already knew she didn’t want slower. She wanted to be pushed to the edge, even if she pretended to resist. So instead of easing up, you added a slight twist of your fingers inside her, your thumb finding her clit at the same time.

Minju screamed your name, her body arching violently, and then—she fell apart.

Her muscles clenched like a fist, hips jerking uncontrollably, and you felt the warm rush of her release spilling over your fingers as she came, desperate moans tearing from her throat.When she finally stopped trembling, she was panting, face flushed, lips swollen from biting down on them.

— You... wanker... — she breathed out, still trying to recover.

You laughed, bringing your wet fingers to your mouth and licking them slowly, never breaking eye contact.

— Promise you’ll be on top next time.She let out a weak chuckle, both of you knowing full well neither believed that.

— Shut up and pull it out, come on.

Minju was still breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but her gaze challenged you even as her body trembled with post-orgasm sensitivity. You obeyed, slowly withdrawing your fingers, feeling how she still pulsed around them—warm and soft. A trickle of desire dripped between her thighs, and you couldn’t resist—you ran your thumb over her, gathering some of that nectar before bringing it to your mouth, keeping your eyes locked on hers.

— Disgusting... — she murmured, but the blush creeping up to her ears and the way her legs shyly pressed together betrayed her words.You smirked, leaning over her, bracing yourself on your arms to avoid crushing her completely.

— You love it.

She tried to look away, but you gently cupped her chin, forcing her to meet your gaze. — Do you really want me to stop?

Minju bit her lower lip, hesitating. You knew that expression—it was the face she made when torn between what she should want and what she actually desired.

—...No.

The answer came in an almost ashamed whisper, and it was enough to make your blood boil. You captured her lips in a voracious kiss, feeling her melt against you, her hands gripping your back as if afraid you might vanish.

When you pulled apart, she was even more breathless, her eyes glazed.

— Then show me how you want it.

Minju hesitated for a second before rolling over, pushing you back against the sofa cushions. She settled onto your lap, still wearing that oversized hoodie that only amplified her aura of perverse innocence. Her hands trembled slightly as she undid your trousers, but when she finally freed your erection, her gaze darkened with desire.

— You’re... Big today. — She murmured, wrapping her hand around you experimentally.

You clenched your teeth, feeling her heat even in that minimal contact.

— Your fault.

Minju smiled then—one of those rare, wicked smiles that only appeared when she was especially confident or aroused.

— Then I should apologise properly, yeah?

Before you could respond, she leaned forward, taking you between her lips in a slow, deliberate motion. You groaned, your hands instinctively tangling in her hair. She wasn’t the most experienced, but the way she looked up at you with those big, pleading eyes as she sucked you like you were her last sip of water in the desert—fuck.

— Minju... Your warning came out more as a moan.

She ignored you, deepening the movement until you felt her throat constrict around the head. You arched your back, muscles tensing.

— If you don’t stop, I’m gonna—

Minju pulled back at the last second, letting you slip from her mouth with an audible pop. Her face was flushed, lips glossy and swollen.

— I want you inside me.

She didn’t need to ask twice.

In one fluid motion, you pulled her up, aligning her with your length. She was already so wet that she slid down without resistance, taking you all in one smooth movement. The two of you moaned in unison—her, at the sensation of being stretched open again; you, at the unbearable heat of her tightening around you.

— fuck… — Minju arched her back, her hands gripping your shoulders. — So full…

You held her hips, helping her find a rhythm.

— You can take it. You always can.

She began to move, hesitant at first, but soon gaining confidence. You watched, mesmerised—the way her breasts swayed slightly under her hoodie, the mix of concentration and pleasure on her face, the obscenely wet sound every time she sank down to the base.

It was beautiful. It was filthy. It was Minju.And when she started losing her breath, her movements growing uncoordinated, you took control, flipping your positions in one swift motion. She gasped in surprise, but you were already between her legs, lifting one over your shoulder to plunge even deeper.

— I said you could be on top… — you growled, thrusting hard. — Didn’t say for how long.

Minju cried out, nails digging into your back, but her hips were already meeting yours. She was close again—you could tell by the way she clenched around you, by the way her moans turned higher, more desperate.

— Come on. — You ordered, rubbing her clit between your fingers. — Come for me.

She obeyed with a sharp cry, her body arching violently as the wave hit her. You held her through it, drawing out every spasm until your own back tingled, the pressure becoming unbearable.

— Inside? — You asked, already knowing the answer.

Minju nodded frantically, eyes brimming with tears.

— Inside, inside, please—

That was enough. You pulled her flush against you, burying yourself to the hilt as you came, her name spilling from your lips like a mantra.

When the haze of pleasure finally began to fade, Minju lay sprawled across your chest, utterly spent, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

— Still think I don’t let you be on top? — You teased, brushing sweat-damp hair from her face.

She gave your chest a weak slap, no real force behind it. — Prat…

Minju mumbled against you, but the satisfied smile on her lips gave her away. She was exhausted, but you knew her body would still respond to touch, always so sensitive after the first climax. Your hands slid down her back, exploring every curve, before gripping her arse firmly.

— Think we’re done? — You whispered in her ear, feeling her shiver.

She lifted her head, eyes slightly unfocused. —You still not satisfied?

You laughed, rolling onto your side to face her. —Not even close.

Your fingers found her clit again, rubbing slow circles as she writhed against you.

— Let’s try it like this. — You suggested, guiding her leg over your hip.

Minju understood what you wanted and adjusted, letting you slide back into her. She was so soft and warm inside, still sensitive but ready for more. You started with slow, deep strokes, feeling every inch of her stretch around you.

— This good?

She bit her lip and nodded, fingers clutching your arm. — Slower… just a bit…

You obliged, keeping the pace steady, but after a few minutes, she began rocking her hips against yours, asking for more.

— Fancy a different position? You asked, already knowing the answer.

She shook her head, breathless. — Want you… from behind.

You didn’t need convincing. Gently, you helped her turn, positioning her on all fours on the sofa. She arched her back perfectly, and you couldn’t resist—running your hands over her curves before lining up and sliding in smoothly.

—Fuck… You groaned, feeling her even tighter like this.

Minju buried her face in the sofa, muffling her moans, but you knew she loved it. You gripped her hips and picked up the pace, each thrust harder than the last.

— More… more… — She begged between ragged breaths.You gave in, losing yourself to the rhythm until she trembled again, her body clenching around yours. This time, you didn’t hold back—letting yourself go with her—until a wicked idea struck.You leaned down, letting saliva drip onto her even tighter hole, her arse, feeling her tense and glance sharply over her shoulder.

— Wait, what? Hang on, we’ve never done anything there! You can’t just assume I’d—

You raised a brow and smirked, pulling back and lining up against her again.

— You can take it.

— Like hell I can, you’re big, really huge! I’ll die if you—

She cut off with a gasp as the head of your cock pressed slowly into her arse.

— Relax… — you murmur, holding her hips firmly as you slide just the tip inside her, feeling her initial resistance. — Take a deep breath… like this…

Minju moaned, her fingers digging into the sofa cushions, but she obeyed, inhaling slowly as her body adjusted to the gradual intrusion. You could feel the tension in her muscles, the near-suffocating heat, and you had to restrain yourself from losing control right then. Your heart pounded wildly, as if trying to escape your chest, and the air around you felt charged with electricity.

— Does it hurt? — you asked, stopping completely to let her adjust, your eyes fixed on her face for any sign of discomfort.

She shook her head, breathless, her lips slightly parted.

— No… just strange. Keep going, but… slowly.

Her voice was a silken thread, trembling faintly, sending a shiver down your spine.

You obeyed, advancing inch by inch, each movement calculated not to startle her. Until, finally, her body yielded and accepted you fully. A rough groan escaped your throat when she was completely filled, and Minju arched her back, her lips forming a perfect ‘o’ of surprise and pleasure.

— Fuck… you fit so perfectly here… — you muttered, almost breathless, the words gritted between your teeth. The sensation was indescribable—as if she enveloped you in a completely new way, tighter, more intense, as if she’d been moulded just for you.

She didn’t respond, but the flush on her cheeks and the way her muscles clenched around you said it all. You began to move, slowly at first, testing her limits, but soon found a rhythm that drew higher, more desperate moans from her. Your bodies intertwined, creating a symphony of muffled sounds and skin against skin.

— That’s it… just like that… — she whispered, tossing her head back when you hit that spot, her hands gripping the sheets tightly.

You smirked, mischievous, and repeated the motion, firmer this time, making her cry out.

— You like that, don’t you? Want me to go deeper? — Your voice was rough, thick with desire, and you felt your own pulse quicken further at her reaction to your tone.

She nodded frantically, her fingers now clutching the arm of the sofa as if it were her only anchor.

— Don’t stop… please, don’t stop…

Her plea was almost childlike in its sincerity, and a wave of possessiveness surged through your chest.You had no intention of stopping. Your hips rocked against her with increasing force, each thrust deeper than the last, until she began trembling uncontrollably, her moans turning almost tearful. The sound was intoxicating, and you leaned down to drag your tongue along her neck, savouring the salt of her sweat.

— Gonna come again? — you teased, feeling her walls clench around you. — Want to feel you squeezing me like this… all of you…

She couldn’t answer, only let out a high-pitched moan as her orgasm hit, her entire body curving as she clung to you like she was drowning. You held her steady, prolonging every spasm, until your own resistance gave way and you buried yourself to the hilt, spilling inside her with a muffled growl against her shoulder.

For a long moment, the two of you stayed like that, panting, glued together by sweat and body heat. The air around you seemed frozen in time, and you closed your eyes, committing every detail to memory—her scent, the sound of her breathing, the way your bodies fit together perfectly.You finally pulled out, and Minju collapsed onto the sofa, utterly spent, her eyes closed.

— I… hate you… — she murmured, without any conviction, her voice hoarse from moaning.

You laughed, lying beside her and pulling her against your chest. — Liar. You love me.She didn’t reply, but the small, satisfied smile on her lips was answer enough.

— You were insatiable today...

Minju breathed deeply, still catching her breath, her body relaxed and heavy against yours. You could feel her warmth mingling with yours, their skin slightly sticky with sweat. Gently, you ran your hand along her back, tracing soft lines up to her nape, where the muscles were still tense.

— You alright? — you asked quietly, your fingers massaging slow circles into the spot, loosening invisible knots.

She let out a barely-there sigh, sinking further into your embrace. — Mm-hmm… just tired.

Her voice was drowsy, and you felt such overwhelming fondness it almost hurt.You smiled, understanding perfectly. You knew that even after the high, her body would still be sensitive—especially after what you’d done. Without hurry, you reached for the hoodie that had been discarded earlier and draped it over the two of you, covering yourselves partially. The soft fabric was warm and familiar, and Minju nuzzled into it with a murmur of contentment.

— Hang on. — You got up for a moment, heading to the bathroom to fetch a damp cloth and a clean towel. When you returned, she was lying on her side, eyes half-lidded but still awake. — Come here.

Minju turned with slight hesitation, and you began cleaning her skin with gentle strokes, running the warm cloth over her thighs, her stomach, her breasts—all with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity from before. She watched in silence, but you noticed the gleam in her eyes, the wordless gratitude.

— Did it hurt? — you asked, pausing when she winced slightly as you wiped between her legs.

— Just a bit… but that’s normal, right?

She shrugged, as if trying to downplay it, but you knew every microexpression of hers.

You didn’t reply, just leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the inside of her thigh, almost paternal. — Here.

You grabbed some lotion from the coffee table and dabbed a bit onto your fingertips before applying it where you knew she’d be most tender. The massage was slow, almost therapeutic, and she let out a deep sigh, melting under your touch.

— You’re good at this… — she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut, her voice fading to a whisper.

— It’s the least I can do. — You chuckled softly, finishing up before lying back down beside her. You pulled the hoodie over both of you, creating a cocoon of warmth between your bodies, and wrapped your arms around her. — Sleep. I’ll stay here. Night.

— Mhm, night. Love you.

Her voice was so soft you almost missed it, but the words reverberated in your chest like a bell. Within seconds, her breathing slowed, her face finally relaxed. You stayed there, listening to the quiet rhythm, your fingers playing with strands of her hair as the night passed slowly. The world outside could wait.

— Love you too.

[defmaybe]

Sticky

ITZY’s Shin Yuna x Male Reader

1.9k words

Prequel to Party Police

See also: Not Shy, Bahama

A/N: I write this in two sittings for probably the only mommy Yuna fic lol - BFH-type shit. No editing, no beta-reading, just pure lust again.

–

The clickings of the keyboards displace silence. Again, you’re stuck in the mundane cycle of doing another proposal for the project you’re going to lead. Sighs and sighs don’t keep you from drowsiness building up inside. Others don’t seem to do better even, some even folded on their desks already. The chilly breeze from the conditioner really is relentless right now, so damn perfect for a nap.

“Miss Shin wants you,” the secretary says, keeping you from falling into slumber.

You quickly get up from your desk, pacing towards the glass-paned office. You see your other co-workers dreading their assignments, clicking on their keyboards with blank eyes. On the opposite side, you can see, through the horizontal blinds, the vibrant office with your boss, Shin Yuna, doing the decorations inside. She’s tall (well, taller than you, at least), often confident, and so energetic, contrary to the department she just got handed over a few weeks ago.

You knock on the transparent door, seeing her putting on her Lady Bird poster on the wall. She’s wearing a one-piece raven black dress, one that hugs her slim, otherworldly curvy body so well. You can see her wide hips being so prominent, stripping away your fatigue.

“Come in!” she says, looking over her shoulders as she’s finishing the touch-ups.

You open the door, greeted with the scent of her air purifier—spring. The white fur carpet on the floor welcomes you with the sensations on your soles. Her office is spacious, and the colorful decorations fit her attitude and personality so much.

“Please, sit down,” she says with a smile, hand pointing to the seat in front of her desk. Even the cluttering trinkets on her table never look crowded, they are so meticulously placed to give her a perfect amount of space left for her work.

You accept her invitation, walking towards the seat. Yuna also retreats from her sprinklings back to hers, sitting down in her chair gracefully—a charming boss.

The air hangs heavy for a while, as Yuna takes some time to clear her desk. You glance around the room like the other times. The crucial difference being the Lady Bird poster, of course, and a few more band posters that you can’t quite recall from your listening history.

“So…” Yuna breaks the silence, tapping a finger on her chin, contemplating. “I see that you’ve been looking a little tired. Is that true?”

You blabber out, “N-No! I’m not tired a-at all.” You even put your hands up to deny the allegation.

“Those eyes don’t lie, baby.” The utterance of the last word alone freezes you. Is she flirting?

Let’s pause for a bit. Shin Yuna just got promoted to being your department’s manager—now three weeks in tenure. Her bubbly and kind personality receives multiple acclaim from your co-workers. And combined with her insanely high performances in projects, you cannot see how she wouldn’t get the position. 

Now, that friendly personality can be a bit, to say the least, slightly invasive. Yuna has always been so eager to fire up a talk with people, even if it means robbing someone’s silence. She’s also always happy to help those around her, no matter the methods. You’ve heard some complaints about her vivacious nature, but with the results saying otherwise, you just cannot dislike her for that.

“A-Are you suggesting I should go home or s-something?” you ask, unable to register how she’s getting up to close the blinds, as if she’s asking for some privacy from the outside right now. The room seems to shrink.

“Oh, does it look like that? Not at all, baby,” there it is again, baby.

“As your boss, I have to make sure that you stay productive for the day’s work!” Her smile lights the room up, as she walks towards her chair and sits down again. “I can’t have my employees dreading their jobs and expect a satisfactory performance.”

“Y-You’re very kind, M-Miss Shin,” you stammer out, and she seems to be happy with your words.

“Now tell me.” Yuna leans in closer to you, giving you the fine details of her face—doe eyes, minty breath, rose-colored lips. “Are you familiar with… mommy kink?”

You freeze, not expecting such a question from your manager. The gears in your head are working their best to seek the best answer you can give her, let alone making sense of the peculiar situation.

“A-Aga-”

“I’m certain of what I’ve said, mister,” she cuts you off, stern. Her expression reduces into an emotionless state. “Mommy kink, yes or no.”

“Uh…” That’s the only answer you can give her. The prospect of fully submitting to Miss Shin Yuna seems too enticing. Yet, perhaps it’s your inhibition that’s stopping your desire from falling into places.

“Come, sit on my lap,” Yuna instructs.

You glance around the room—left, right, back—as if to delay the inevitable of her pleasuring you.

“Now,” Yuna now commands, her voice steps down a few notes. 

“And there’s no camera hidden here, I promise,” she says with a smile, comforting you a little.

You slowly get up from your seat. What if I don’t do well enough for her? You walk around her table to land at your destination, your back against her face. She adjusts her position on her chair a little to accommodate your ass.

Her thighs feel… strong—definitely a result of workouts she has had after work. The images of those sweaty, skimpy sessions are making your mouth quiver—the fluid dripping down her body, just for you to taste.

Her hands start from grabbing the both sides of your slutty hips, earning a small whimper from you.

“So yearning for mommy’s touch, aren’t you?” Yuna giggles, moving her frisky fingers to unbutton your blue shirt.

“Y-Yes, mommy.” Your breath comes out in a false rhythm.

With your abdomen being gradually exposed, she uses a hand to feel it a bit, sending shocks and shocks through your faltering body.

“F-Fuck.”

“Hmm, so needy for mommy~” Yuna then continues her groping, until the last button is freed. Your upper body is bare under the cold air of the conditioner right now, as she brings the fondling hand up to your throat.

“Do you want my lips on you, baby boy?” Yuna asks, breaths warming the back of your neck. You can only nod at her.

Consented, she plants her lips on your body, and you are sure that the rosy prints are going to stick with you until the end of the day. Still, is it a fact that you should care right now? Getting groped by your goddess of a manager, with her being your mommy, on top of it.

You shiver at her kisses.

She frees your throat  before drawing her hand down to play with your raging bulge. She can definitely feel your cock aching to be freed right now.

“Need a hand, baby?” again, she asks, hand fondling the tent in your pants.

You become a stuttering mess at this point. “Y-Yes, m-mommy, please.”

“Please… what, baby boy?” She’s playing coy with you for sure.

“P-Please use your hand on my c-cock, please,” you utter out.

She whispers into your ear, “Good boy.” 

She unzips your pants, hand then slithering into the hole. The sensations are even stronger right now, with your underwear being the only barrier between you and her.

She keeps kissing your moaning neck, printing roses wherever she can reach. Her hand is stuck in fondling your cock through the slim cloth.

“Mommy, p-please,” you whimper, desire burning too brightly.

“Say please again, baby boy, and I’ll touch your cock.” Yuna giggles, enjoying how you’re submitting to your boss so damn easily.

“Please, m-mommy.”

Yuna wastes no time to push all of your lower garments down in a single motion, exposing your throbbing, twitching cock in glory. She hums in satisfaction at the sight.

“Hmm~, baby boy, so hard for me already?” she asks, finger drawing a line on the back of your cock from the bottom to the top. It twitches in response.

“Ngh, y-yes, m-m-mommy.” Yuna seems to be happy with your answer as she strokes your cock leisurely.

Her slender fingers only do what they have to do: sliding up and down to make you shatter under her touch. She starts at a slow pace, only teasing you about what’s coming. Her other hand roams under your shirt, moving down onto your juicy ass.

“Ngh, mommy,” you utter, pleasure building up in your loins. The sensations become stronger as seconds passed.

Yuna giggles at your whimpering, “Yes, baby boy?”

“I-I-, ngh,” you cannot form any words under her spell. Fuck.

Yuna cannot hold her chuckle inside, clearly satisfied with her baby boy melting under her touch. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Faster, please,” you finally respond, slightly out of breath from the overwhelming sparks all over your body.

Yuna listens to your plea, quickening the strokes, bringing you closer to the edge. Fuck, your slutty moans are probably heard by the people outside now.

The squelches of Yuna’s strokes are filling the room, along with your needy whimpers and her satisfactory hums. “I just wanna spend the whole day jerking this cock~” Yuna expresses, your heart flutters at her words.

“And I mean it, really,” she continues, still keeping the moderate pace of her hand from behind. 

“The size, the curvature, the thickness, god, I’m sure it can stretch mommy’s cunt out so well,” she whispers, and your length just cannot get harder at this second.

“M-Mommy, would you berate me i-if I- fuck.” you struggle to lead your words out, stuttering everywhere you can. She’s still jerking your cock, nursing you with another hand roaming over your body to over stimulate.

“Fast cummer, baby?” She chuckles at your apprehension. “You’re doing well, baby. I think this is the perfect pace for us.”

“T-Thanks, mommy,” you say, feeling the tightening of your knot already. “M-Mommy, where c-can I cum?”

“Ooh, that’s an interesting question, baby boy,” Yuna laughs. “I don’t think the higher-ups would mind a few stains from us~,”

“W-Wha-”

“Shh, let mommy handle this,” she affirms. “Just stay on my lap and let me milk your cock, okay?”

Your mind goes feral, aching for release. Her hand relentlessly stroking your length and another traversing your compact frame just overloads your mind. “Y-Yes mommy.”

“Good boy, now, cum for me, please.”

And it hits, you become undone at her touch, like a lightning. Your sticky cum is shot everywhere—on her desk, on the floor, hell, even on yourself. You moan in the pleasure of her touch and the mind-shattering orgasm. “Mommy!” you shout. Yeah, everyone is going to hear that.

“Wow,” Yuna pants, before planting a kiss on your neck. She doesn’t seem to mind the fact that your seed is on her precious report right now. “You came so much for mommy.”

You try to catch your breath, before speaking out, “Thanks, mommy.”

–