#messier 7

[quiltofstars]

The Ptolemy Cluster, M7 // Matthew Peters

[klimkovsky]

Open star cluster Messier 7, also known as the Ptolemy Cluster

Open star cluster Messier 7, is drawn by the Grok AI

Messier 7, also known as M7, the Ptolemy Cluster, or NGC 6475, is an open star cluster in the constellation Scorpius. Here's some key information about M7:

Basic Information:

Type: Open Star Cluster

Constellation: Scorpius

Catalog Numbers: Messier 7, NGC 6475

Right Ascension: 17h 53m 51.2s

Declination: -34° 47' 34"

Distance: Approximately 980 light-years from Earth

Physical Characteristics:

Age: Estimated to be about 200 million years old.

Number of Stars: Contains roughly 80 to 100 stars, with some estimates going up to several hundred.

Diameter: The cluster spans about 25 light-years across. Visually, it covers about 80 arcminutes, making it one of the larger and more prominent open clusters in the sky.

Visual Appearance:

Magnitude: M7 has an apparent magnitude of about 3.3, making it visible to the naked eye under good viewing conditions. It's one of the brighter objects in the Messier catalog.

Color: The stars in M7 vary in color, with many being blue and white, indicative of hotter, younger stars.

Historical Observations:

Discovery: M7 was one of the first objects known to ancient astronomers. It was cataloged by Ptolemy in his "Almagest" around 130 AD, thus sometimes called the Ptolemy Cluster.

Messier Catalog: Charles Messier added it to his catalog in 1764 as M7.

Observing M7:

Visibility: It's best observed in the summer months in the Southern Hemisphere or the late spring/early summer in the Northern Hemisphere, when Scorpius is well placed in the evening sky.

Telescopic Observation: With binoculars or a small telescope, M7 resolves into a beautiful cluster of stars, with many individual stars visible even in modest instruments.

Scientific Significance:

Study of Star Formation: Open clusters like M7 are crucial for understanding stellar evolution since all stars within such a cluster formed at roughly the same time from the same molecular cloud.

Astrophysical Research: Measurements of the brightness and color of stars in M7 help in determining their ages, distances, and evolutionary paths.

Source: Grok AI

Addition to brief information from AI

In the middle northern latitudes, the Ptolemy cluster is not observable. There, it either does not rise or does not rise to a height sufficient for confident visibility. And only starting from the latitude of the subtropics can it be observed with light optics, and even further south - in the tropical zone of the northern hemisphere - with the naked eye.

Claudius Ptolemy conducted his observations from Egyptian Alexandria. And more northern astronomers of antiquity did not notice this cluster. Because its integral brightness - 3m - decreased significantly as it approached the horizon due to atmospheric absorption.

A small remark regarding the number of stars in this cluster

There are about a hundred identified participants. Why do astronomers talk about several hundred stars possibly included in the cluster?

Because for the stable existence of a cluster of 25 light years (moreover, the radius of gravitational dominance for this cluster is estimated at 40 light years), its mass must be at least 800 solar masses. On average, each visible star must have a mass of about 10 solar masses, and this is a fairly large mass - the mass of a supergiant star. But such are not observed in the cluster - there are mainly stars of medium masses and luminosities. Consequently, a significant part of the cluster is represented by dwarf stars, like the Sun or less massive.

By the way, if we place our Sun at a distance of 1000 light years (approximately this distance is removed from us by the Ptolemy cluster), then without taking into account the absorption of light by the interstellar medium, it would have only 13 stellar magnitude, and such stars - background and not only - in the visible limits of this cluster are a great number. But the amount of light absorption in the direction of the center of the Galaxy (and this is the direction we are looking when observing the Ptolemy cluster) is significant. And the main part of the stellar population of the cluster is most likely weaker than the 15th stellar magnitude. All objects of such brightness have not yet been studied by astronomers.

But astronomers have studied the distribution of stars by mass in open clusters, from which we can draw a simple conclusion: If we observe a certain number of bright and clearly visible stars in a particular open cluster, then most likely the total number of all stars in the cluster is at least 10 times greater.

New image from the Wide Field Imager on the MPG/ESO 2.2-metre telescope at ESO’s La Silla Observatory in Chile, shows the bright star cluster Messier 7, aka NGC 6475

Image source

[anothercloudynight]

Ptolemy Cluster M7, NGC 6475

Constellation of Scorpius

Distance:��800 / 1000 ly

Aug 04 2023 -Montcada i Reixac

[nebuloracle]

The Stars Combine! - Constellar XYZ monsters

Yu-Gi-Oh! artwork © Konami.

[sapphicsparkles]

A piece I did awhile back for @hanamizine 🌸

[maxwell-grant]

Every conversation I have with her listening to her foreboding choir music makes me feel like I'm in a cutscene conversation with the Final Boss, except that conversation never ends, and the Final Boss won everything before I was even born, and it couldn't be bothered to show up so it just sent one of it's teeth after me to make small talk, if only to have me recoil before it's pleasing sharpness. I adore talking to her and it makes me feel sick and hollow. why is this game so horribly addicting.

[astragatwo]

[jinglejails]

That feelin' when a clown ate your little brother.

[vaultsixtynine]

sighs. im probably not ever going to replay dai but i would probably make a milf elf (melf.) and reinvent instead of going with my old inq. however i would also probably stand by my solas romance decision purely for the potential / appeal of what it couldve been. i need them insane and unwell

[ohgodsalazarwhy]

This weekend I:

Washed and hung all my laundry

Washed all my dishes

Stripped, washed, and then made up the clean sheets

Vacuumed and swept the floor

What I still need to do:

Clean the bathroom

Empty then put fresh litter in the boxes for the kitties

[johniac]

Attention-Worthy Links for November 27th, 2024

[endosexual]

One thing about fabinho? Topped by his wife in every aspect of his life

[gojover]

nice boys don’t kiss like that.

when your former rival chances upon your diary and reads all the unpleasant things you’ve written about him, he takes it upon himself to change your mind.

— pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader — contains: fluff, developing relationship, former rivals to lovers, kind of suggestive, making out, profanity, posted as a mingyu fic on my main account but i want an excuse to post pining gojo on my birthday :) — word count: 3.3k — note: inspired by this scene from bridget jones’ diary. thanks for reading!

It is on a twilit Saturday evening, at precisely 7:01 P.M, that Gojo Satoru is accosted by a notebook for the first time in his life.

He lets out a startled grunt and finds himself with an armful of things—a denim jacket, a crumpled grocery shopping list, an empty box of Tic Tacs, a woollen beanie with a questionable brown stain he thinks is ketchup; all presumably from whatever depths of your drawer he can see you hunched over, searching for something that remains stubbornly elusive. The offensive projectile whizzes past his shoulder and lands on the polished wooden floor with a thud.

Satoru stands at the doorway to your bedroom, having bypassed the living room and hallway that leads to the kitchen in favour of pressing heated kisses to your cheeks and collarbones. He watches you, bemused. A few weeks ago, he might’ve laughed at your frazzled state with derision. Now, he still wants to laugh, but more in an affectionate way.

You turn around swiftly, nearly tripping on a stray stocking on the floor, and he bites back a smile when you mumble a string of curse words under your breath. 

“Hi,” you say, breathing heavily. “I’m really sorry.”

Then you slam the door shut on his face.

Well, Satoru thinks. This is the first time a girl’s closed the door when I’m in her apartment.

Faced with nothing else to do except wait for your arrival, he drops the Tic Tac box on the floor, hangs your jacket and beanie on the back of the sofa, and almost stubs his toe on the corner of the notebook.

Wincing at the close call, Satoru glares at the book like it’s the cause of all his troubles. DIARY, it reads, embossed in ornate gold letters. The cover is a rich shade of red, rough and leather-bound. He picks it up; it’s rather heavy, and judging by the frayed corners and the random bits of paper poking out of the sides, it seems to be quite old too. Regardless, it is well-cherished—he knows this because he knows you, and you’re the kind of person who wears your heart on your sleeve.

Which is why he knows opening it is a bad idea. 

Satoru shrugs and places the book on the coffee table, taking a seat on the plush, olive green sofa opposite it. He leans his elbows on his knees and interlaces his fingers under his chin. From the inside of your room, he can hear muffled screaming—should he be worried? The screaming stops. Satoru lets his tense shoulders relax.

His eyes zero in on your diary once more. He shouldn’t open it—he really, really shouldn’t. It would be a horrible breach of your privacy. Your trust in him would be broken forever, and even if he somehow manages to win it back, it will always be a stain in the fabric of your still-developing relationship.

But.

One tiny peek can’t hurt, right? He’s only waiting for you to come out of your room, after all. Just one little look, and then he’ll close the book immediately. It can’t possibly hurt. Curiosity is both a blessing and a vice, he figures, and since he’s already stacked up on vices, there is no harm in adding to his karmic points.

So he picks up your diary and flips to a random page, freezing momentarily when he hears an irritated grunt and the sound of something hitting the floor from inside your room. Your handwriting is a lot messier than it usually is; you probably save your best penmanship for official things, and your personal diary is not one of them. That, or you were just frustrated.

12th June

I fucking hate Gojo Satoru. I hope I never have to see him and his stupid handsome obnoxious face EVER AGAIN. I’m so DONE with him.

Satoru’s cheeks prickle with heat. He’s thoroughly invested now. He turns to another page.

14th June

Ran into G.S again today. He spilled coffee all over me what else is new but. he actually apologised!!! Crazy. Maybe he was just in a good mood. Either way, my new blouse is ruined so fuck him.

The strangest thing is that Satoru actually remembers that day vividly. You were wearing a gorgeous cream-coloured blouse, and he was so caught up in staring at you talking animatedly with your supervisor that he zoned out completely and accidentally spilled his coffee on you because he tripped over his shoelaces. Now, knowing that your blouse was new at the time brings up a slight twinge of guilt. He’ll ask you about it later.

22nd June

G.S is actually…… kinda nice? He supported me in the meeting today with the clients when they were being so tiresome. He has a nice smile I guess.

Satoru smiles widely. 

23rd June

Nevermind. I take back everything I said. Gojo Satoru is a prat with zero social skills. I mean, would it kill him to say hello back??? I get that he’s busy but i thought we’d made progress. One thing is for sure. Gojo Satoru is NOT nice. Not even a little bit.

His smile falters.

The next page contains a similar anecdote—something about how he always vehemently disagrees with everything you say, and how despite his good looks he was a complete and utter asshole. Further investigation reveals the same thing: you hate Gojo Satoru with a burning passion.

And… Well, he couldn’t lie and say the feeling wasn’t mutual at one point in time—but it has mellowed down since then, gently and slowly, like a fallen leaf being carried by a soft wind. There came a day where Satoru found himself glaring at you, not with disdain in his eyes, but with a steady thrum in his chest where his heart lay. Later, he would realise that he didn’t hate you—not even a little bit.

He assumed you felt the same way. Why else would your smirks, so full of malice, melt into grins that could light up a whole town? Why else would you agree to go on a date with him when he asked you out, one day, after work, tripping over his words like an elementary schoolboy? Why else would you invite him home and ask him to spend the night?

Of course, it doesn’t explain why you’ve locked yourself up in your bedroom currently (frankly, he’s a bit befuddled about that). But the sentiment must still be there.

It’s a diary, he reasons. 

It’s your diary, his brain screams back, and that’s the real issue here, isn’t it?

Diaries are full of crap, anyway, he thinks to himself.

Diaries contain the Real Thoughts And Emotions of a human being, his brain hollers back.

Mind swirling, Satoru closes the book and places it back on the coffee table, barely aware of his movements. Have you been lying to him? No, there’s absolutely no way—he trusts you far more than that, and besides, what would you even lie to him about? There are no benefits to stringing him along, and you’re not the kind of person who would do something like that, anyway.

You must have had a change of heart, then. That’s the only conclusion he can think of. Your diary entries come to a standstill after 27th June, which means you haven’t opened it in a while. It’s also around the same time you stopped picking fights with each other. Something must have changed by then; Satoru is glad it did.

Satisfied with his deduction, Satoru stuffs his hands in his pockets and crosses his ankles together. Behind your bedroom door, you remain suspiciously silent. He considers knocking on the door once to make sure you’re okay—or if you need any help, because staying put inside your room for over twenty minutes is certainly not normal when you have a guest and potential boyfriend over. 

Almost as if you’ve heard his thoughts, the door to your room swings open. You stand at the doorway, breathing heavily.

“Hey,” Satoru says, quickly standing up. “Everything good?”

You beam at him. “Perfect. Sorry to have kept you waiting, I—”

Your gaze drops to the coffee table, landing on your diary. Satoru keeps his gaze fixed on you. You look back at him, lips parted. 

“Um,” you begin. “It’s— It’s just a diary.”

“Clearly.” Satoru fights back a smile.

You chew your bottom lip nervously. “Did you read it?”

“I did,” he confirms, nodding. “I’m sorry. I was just curious—”

You groan, lifting your hands and covering your face with your palms. “Fuck.”

Satoru reaches out and encircles your wrists with his fingers, gently tugging your hands away from your face. He finds it oddly endearing. “It’s only a diary. I’m sorry I read it. I shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t care about that. You… you probably read all the horrible, mean things I wrote about you.”

“Well,” he says, shrugging a little, “some of the entries were definitely… interesting.”

You blink. Unable to help himself, Satoru drops a light kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” you tell him.

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Mhm.”

“Satoru.”

“I’ll tell you what I think about your diary later, ‘kay?” he says, hooking his pinkie finger with yours. “Come with me.”

“What? Where?” Confusion paints your features.

Satoru huffs out a laugh. “Just trust me.”

Satoru places the brand-new diary he’d bought for you on the dining table with a flourish. “D’you have a pen?”

You eye him suspiciously, gaze darting between him and the new, dark green notebook on the table. He grins, carefree and indulgent. Still wary, you hand him a blue ballpoint pen from the pen stand placed above the drawers to the left. He hums and uncaps it.

Flipping open the book to the first page, he bends down and writes slowly.

This book belongs to Gojo Satoru and

Satoru stops writing and holds the pen out expectantly to you. “Here. Write your name.”

Confused, but curious, you oblige. Your name, written in your handwriting, next to his own semi-legible scrawl, makes a warm, affectionate feeling bubble up inside his chest. He wonders what it would look like when both your names are signed next to each other on a marriage certificate. Then, he wonders when and where your wedding would take place. A summer wedding sounds nice, but the sweltering heat might be a bit of a problem. Winter weddings are beautiful for sure, but neither of you is a big fan of the cold.

He’s in the process of thinking of names for your children and pet dog when you break him out of his daze. 

“Hey. What’s all this about, hm?” You nudge his shoulder lightly with yours.

Satoru says, “It’s a diary, but for both of us.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. He swings an arm over your shoulder and draws you closer to him, smiling when flyaway strands of your hair tickle his cheek. 

“In your old diary, it was pretty obvious you, uh, didn’t like me much,” he explains, holding up his free hand when you open your mouth to protest. “I don’t blame you. We were assholes to each other most of the time. But we’ve moved past that. At least, I hope we have.”

Your reply is instantaneous. “Of course. Of course, we have.”

Satoru trails his fingers absent-mindedly over your arm. “Right. And… It’s kind of silly, I guess—I don’t know—but I thought—if we kept a new diary together, one that we could use to document our journey, with both our perspectives in the same place—I thought it would be nice.”

Your mouth parts and you look at him, an indiscernible expression on your face. He shifts from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly nervous. You don’t betray any hint of emotion on your face, but Satoru’s heart hammers inside his chest. What if you think he’s being silly and overly sentimental? What if you find the idea ridiculous?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he quickly backtracks. “I know we’ve only just moved past the idea of being more than friends, but—” He stops himself.

“But…?” you gently prompt him, twisting around to see him better.

Satoru swallows. “But I can’t imagine not being with you.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, and in the next moment, the breath is knocked out of his lungs when you throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a tight, rib-squeezing hug.  Automatically, his arms circle your waist, and he presses a light, barely-there kiss to the junction of your neck and jaw. 

Eyes shining happily, you pull back slightly with a wide grin on your face. “You’re so hopelessly romantic, it makes my chest hurt.”

“Consider this your trial run. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He sighs, content. “Okay, I won’t.”

“What should our first diary entry be about?” you ask, loosening your hold on him.

“About how you ditched me inside your house for almost half an hour after you invited me over.” He’s only half-joking.

You look away, embarrassed and sheepish. “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“I’m being serious, Satoru.”

“So you’ve said,” he agrees breezily.

“Actually,” you begin, a tad shy, “I was thinking it could be about this—about how you bought us a diary and then kissed me in front of the dining table after we christened the book.”

Satoru’s eyes widen, but before he can get a word in edgewise, your lips are already centimetres away from his. “May I?” you whisper.

“Yeah. ‘Course,” he murmurs back.

The kiss makes him feel dizzy, like he’s had one too many bottles of soda—fizzy and light-headed. Your lips are soft, mouth warm; you taste like chocolate, and he licks into your mouth desperately. His fingers dig into your waist, bunching up the material of your t-shirt, and you run your hand through his hair, tugging gently. He’s kissed you before, of course, but something about this time feels important, a core memory sort of thing. Later that night, he’ll sit beside you on your bed and watch as you write in your shared diary, and he’ll make fun of the way you chew on your pen cap when you’re thinking of what to write next and you’ll shut him up with a kiss.

But for now, he indulges himself whole-heartedly. You let out little gasps which he swallows with his mouth. He tilts his head and kisses you deeper. Only when his lungs are burning does he pull away, and even then, not without a parting peck to the space in between your eyebrows.

“Satoru,” you say, breathless. 

“Yeah?” he responds, unable to tear his gaze off of your kiss-bitten lips.

“I really am sorry about what I wrote about you,” you apologise, looking down once and then back at him. “It’s only a diary—everyone knows diaries are full of crap.”

“I know.” Satoru smiles tenderly. “I’m not mad.”

“You should be. I would be, if I was in your place.”

His eyes dart back to meet yours, and he grimaces. “If you really think about it, I’m the one who should be apologising, not you. I shouldn’t have read your diary, no matter how curious I was.”

“I… don’t really care about that, weirdly enough,” you say thoughtfully. “I was more worried about the fact that you thought I hated you and you were gonna leave me. Not so much about you reading the diary itself.”

“Pfft,” Satoru says, affectionately condescending. “If I left you, where would I go?”

Your mouth parts as you stare at him, dumbfounded. “Jesus. How do you say things like that unironically?”

“I could compose whole sonnets about you and it wouldn’t be enough.”

“That’s ironic, I hope.”

He tilts his head and pulls you close. “Only one way to find out.”

When he captures your lips with his this time, it’s with colliding bodies and biting teeth. He runs his tongue across your bottom lip, and you shudder in his arms, moaning. Somehow, you stumble back into the living room, a mess of tangled limbs.

Briefly pulling away, Satoru sits down on the same sofa he’d occupied earlier and clumsily pulls you onto his lap. You brace your hands on his shoulders for support, lifting your head up when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.

“Fuck, Satoru,” you gasp, eyes falling shut.

He hums against your skin. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

“I was—ah—it’s embarrassing.”

Satoru stops his movements. “I won’t judge you.”

“I know,” you say, teeth worrying your lower lip. “I’ll tell you someday.”

When you purse your lips, ready for him to kiss you again, Satoru lets out a soft laugh. “Sweetheart.”

“What?” 

“I think I need to correct some of your… perceptions of me,” he murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m sorry about your blouse,” he whispers. “You looked really pretty wearing it, you know. Got distracted. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“Satoru, I don’t know what you’re talking—” You gasp when he kisses the column of your throat.

“I’m sorry for being obnoxious,” he continues, lowering his head and pressing his lips to the pulse point on your neck. “But I’m not sorry you think I’m handsome.”

“Only your face,” you mutter, but you tug on his hair to get him to tilt his head up. When he does, you kiss him again, your hands warm and placed on the junctions where his neck meets his shoulders. 

“I’ll support you in more than just meetings,” he says, pulling back. His breath ghosts over your lips, prompting a shiver to pass through your body. Your eyes widen when you finally, finally realise what he’s talking about. “I’ll tell those stupid clients to shut up and take it.”

You laugh, bright and happy, and Satoru wants to bottle the sound up greedily. “That sounds kinda wrong,” you say.

He shrugs, his smile turning lopsided. “I’m sorry for ignoring you when you said hi to me. I won’t do it ever again.”

You laugh again, teeth flashing in the warm glow of the living room lights.

There’s an odd feeling in Satoru’s chest—something warm and golden—something he can only describe as being terribly, hopelessly lovesick for you.

He whispers your name again, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

You groan again, your previous amusement turning into embarrassment. Your next words are muffled by his shoulder, your lips warm against his clavicle as you mumble something only you can understand.

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you,” Satoru says mischievously.

 Another sound of mortification.

“I won’t laugh,” he says. “Promise.”

“Underwear,” you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. “I was searching for a better pair of underwear than the one I had on.”

To his credit, Satoru really doesn’t laugh. It takes a lot of effort, though, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent his giggles from escaping. 

You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, go on. I know you’re dying to laugh.”

He shakes his head, cheeks blown out like a pufferfish. You stare at him quietly.

Minutes later, he exhales shakily. “See? I didn’t laugh. I’m a nice guy.”

His lips find yours again, slower and more languorous this time. After all, he has all the time in the world now—to hold you like this, kiss you gently—and he plans to cherish each second. Your tongue swipes his lower lip, and he parts his mouth willingly. He feels like putty underneath you, as he uses one of his hands to cup your face and deepen the kiss. Your lips move against his, already familiar, but he could never stop craving it.

When you pull back to breathe, your eyes are wide and your lips are swollen—a fact that Satoru notes with pride.

“Nice boys don’t kiss like that,” you breathe out.

“Oh, yes, they fucking do.”

[wonubby]

obsessed - k! bakugo

masterlist

synopsis - despite knowing you've successfully bagged katsuki bakugou, aka pro hero dynamight, his fans are still shipping him with his ex. so what's a better way to claim him than leaving little trails of your love on him? specifically, his body.

status - ongoing

taglist - open

intro (chapter 1)

HOW TO GET BACK AT HER - to do list

make sure katsuki leaves the house in a questionable state

2. hire someone to 'leak' crude pictures of the two of you on holiday

3. go on an interview show together

4. flaunt your proposal in her face.

5. recreate a moment from their relationship, and i mean the same place, similar outfit and same pose.

6. heated and messy livestream on Instagram

7. do tiktok trend ft obsessed by olivia as the sound

8. even messier podcast

9. soft launch the wedding, in a colour that she claims is hers.

© 2025 wonubby— All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[cbeargyu]

7 minutes - jeno

cw: explicit sexual content, rough sex, dirty talk, spitting kink, spanking, domination/submission dynamics, power play, non-consensual elements implied (pressure/coercion in game context), oral sex, degradation, orgasm denial/edging, bodily fluids, language, public setting, alcohol use, breath play (light choking implied), emotional intensity.

wc: 1991

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 🔞

the party had been a mess from the start.

someone spiked the drinks, the living room was trashed, and half the people had already passed out on the floor, shoes still on. what was left was a circle of survivors, all flushed cheeks, glossy eyes, and dirty minds. and of course, someone had to say it:

“truth or dare.”

you had laughed, shaking your head, but ended up joining anyway — too drunk to care, too bored to leave. the dares had started simple. lick someone’s neck. take off a shirt. kiss your ex. harmless. stupid. messy. but then haechan decided to turn things up.

“y/n,” he grinned, leaning in with that look that never meant anything good. “dare.”

“of course,” you muttered.

“sit on jeno’s lap. and stay there for five rounds.”

there were hoots and whistles, someone fake-gasped. your eyes flicked to jeno — quiet, respectful, the kind of guy who always avoided eye contact too long. he looked... surprised. and kind of nervous.

you walked over and sat down anyway.

at first, it was stiff. awkward. your back barely touched his chest, your legs tense. he didn’t move, not even a breath out of place. you almost rolled your eyes. but with each round, something shifted.

maybe it was the way your hips subtly adjusted on his thighs.

maybe it was how his fingers twitched when your weight settled just a little deeper.

you felt it before you wanted to believe it — the way he tensed under you, the unmistakable hardening between your thighs. his jaw locked. you felt it when you leaned back a bit more, just to test.

oh.

definitely not as innocent as he seemed.

by the fifth round, the room had gotten louder, messier, hazier. your body was warm, buzzing with every tiny movement jeno didn’t make. his hands were gripping the couch now. his breathing was slow, deep. focused.

you didn’t dare turn to look at him.

then haechan stood up again, wicked and way too excited.

“alright, new game,” he announced. “seven minutes in heaven.”

you barely registered it before he pointed straight at you and jeno. “you two. go.”

before you could protest, someone grabbed your wrist, someone else opened the bathroom door, and suddenly you were being pushed inside, jeno right behind you. the door slammed shut.

click.

locked.

“seven minutes,” renjun yelled from outside. “don’t waste it!” jaemin added.

you turned to jeno, heart pounding.

“this is stupid,” you muttered.

“yeah,” he said quietly, leaning back against the door. “we’ll just wait. it’s fine.”

but just as the silence started to stretch, chenle’s voice rang out like a goddamn gunshot:

“don’t come out till you’ve fucked.”

the room went still. jeno froze behind you. you turned around slowly — ready to roll your eyes, maybe laugh it off.

but when you looked up, he was staring at you.

not nervous. not shy. not innocent.

his jaw was clenched, eyes dark and heavy, like he was holding something in for way too long. like he’d finally decided he was done pretending.

“you think this is funny?” he asked, voice low, rough.

you opened your mouth to speak, but before you could even form a word, his hand grabbed your throat and pinned you against the cold tile wall.

your breath hitched.

“you’ve been fucking teasing me all night,” he hissed, his body pressing into yours. “shifting your hips like that, grinding on my dick like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

you swallowed, lips parting, eyes wide. “i wasn’t—”

“shut up.” his grip tightened just enough to make your thighs press together.

“you knew what you were doing. you just didn’t think i’d do anything about it.”

his knee forced itself between your legs, spreading them, lifting you slightly until your back arched against the wall. the tile was freezing, but his body was burning — every inch of him hard, tense, controlled.

“so i’m gonna make it real clear for you now,” he growled, leaning down until his mouth brushed your ear.

“you wanted to play? fine. but this isn’t a fucking game anymore.”

his hand left your throat only to drag down your body, rough and fast, yanking at your waistband, fingers slipping under your panties without hesitation.

“i’m gonna ruin you.”

his fingers slipped past your folds like he owned the place. no teasing. no warning. just a low grunt from his throat when he felt how wet you already were.

“fuck,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “you’re dripping.”

you gasped, but his hand clamped over your mouth before any sound left you.

“don’t make a noise,” he growled. “unless you want them all to hear how much you love being used.”

his fingers thrust into you, deep, rough — two at once, curling just right, moving with no hesitation. your knees buckled, but he shoved his thigh between them again, keeping you upright.

“i’ve been hard since you sat on me,” he muttered, lips brushing your neck. “and you just kept moving… like a little slut who wanted to get fucked in front of everyone.”

you whimpered under his palm, hips jerking as he started fucking his fingers into you faster, harder, your whole body rocking with the rhythm.

“look at you,” he sneered. “you act all quiet. innocent. cold. but your cunt’s begging for it, isn’t it?”

he pulled his fingers out, wet and glistening, and shoved them into your mouth.

“suck.”

you obeyed without thinking — lips parting, tongue wrapping around them as he watched, eyes dark, hungry, like he was holding back a storm.

“good girl.”

jeno turned you around without warning, one strong hand on your hip, the other fisting your hair. he bent you over the bathroom counter, your cheek pressed to the cold surface.

you heard the sound of his zipper. the thick weight of him pressing against you.

“you’ve got seven minutes,” he growled. “and i’m gonna spend every second fucking the brat out of you.”

he slammed into you in one brutal thrust, no hesitation — just the full, overwhelming stretch of him filling you up all at once. you cried out, voice muffled by the counter, and jeno just grunted behind you.

“yeah,” he muttered. “that’s what i thought.”

his pace was merciless. hips snapping into yours, hard enough to make the counter rattle. your nails scratched at the surface, eyes rolling back as he fucked you like he hated you — like he’d been waiting too long to be gentle anymore.

every thrust was a punishment.

“take it,” he growled. “you wanted this. take every fucking inch.”

he yanked your hair, forcing you to look at the mirror. your eyes met his in the reflection — wild, dark, raw.

“look at yourself,” he hissed. “look how wrecked you already are. and i’m not even close to done.”

your cheek pressed to the counter, breath fogging the mirror as jeno slammed into you over and over — each thrust deeper, filthier, rougher.

you were shaking, moaning, barely able to hold yourself up.

and then he grabbed your jaw.

his hand wrapped around your face, forcing you to lift your head just enough to look at yourself. your eyes were watery, lips swollen, drool clinging to the corner of your mouth.

“open.”

you hesitated, lips parting slowly.

“wider,” he snapped.

you obeyed — eyes locked on his through the reflection, mouth wide open like a good little toy.

jeno leaned forward, spitting directly onto your tongue. the thick wet sound made your whole body jolt.

“don’t swallow yet,” he growled, pulling back just to spit again — this time on your face, the slick strand dripping down your cheek. “look at you. fuck.”

he gripped your jaw tighter, forcing your head back down as he thrust even harder into you.

“this is what you wanted, right? to be fucked like a filthy little thing in a stranger’s bathroom? to be used?”

you moaned, hips jerking back against him, needing more — needing everything.

“swallow it.”

you obeyed, the taste of him sliding down your throat as he slammed into you harder. the sound of skin on skin was loud, wet, disgusting. the room smelled like sex. your mind was a blur of pleasure and shame and need.

jeno reached down, fingers rubbing your clit roughly, circling fast.

“gonna cum?” he growled. “already? fuckin’ pathetic.”

you nodded desperately, sobbing out a yes, a please, anything.

he spat again — this time on your ass, then rubbed it in with his palm, leaving a hot slap in its place.

“then cum,” he ordered, voice low and dangerous. “cum all over my cock like the messy little whore you are.”

jeno’s hands didn’t just grab and push — they owned you.

as he fucked you hard against the counter, one hand slipped down to your ass, squeezing it firmly. you gasped, but before you could catch your breath, his palm came down hard, smacking your cheek with a sharp slap that echoed in the small bathroom.

“you like that, don’t you?” he growled, fingers digging into the flesh as he pulled your hips back to slam into him again. “how good it feels to be controlled, to be marked?”

another smack, slower this time, teasing. your skin tingled, heat flooding through every nerve ending.

“say it,” he ordered. “say you want me to keep spanking you.”

you bit your lip, words catching in your throat — but his grip on your hip tightened, fingers trailing down to pinch your skin.

“louder.”

“please, jeno,” you finally whispered, voice trembling. “spank me.”

a wicked smile spread across his face.

“you asked for it.”

smack.

your whole body jerked, the sting raw but delicious, like fire and ice all at once.

his hand moved fast, alternating between hard spanks and firm squeezes — building a rhythm that matched his thrusts. each hit made you shiver and moan, your pussy clenching around him tighter every time.

“you’re mine,” he said, voice low and rough. “marked. bruised. wrecked. and i’m not stopping until you’re begging.”

you cried out, the pleasure mixed with pain overwhelming, your world reduced to the feeling of his hand on your skin and his cock deep inside you.

“that’s it,” jeno encouraged, voice rough with need. “let it all go. show me how much you want this.”

the last hard smack landed on your burning skin, your body trembling, wet and sore in all the right ways. jeno’s thrusts slowed, but he didn’t stop — not yet. his fingers still kneaded your bruised ass, his grip tight, possessive.

“cum for me,” he growled, voice rough, eyes dark and wild.

you cried out, your walls clenching so tight around him it felt like your whole world shattered. jeno didn’t let up, pushing you over the edge harder than you ever thought possible — raw, dirty, demanding.

when you finally collapsed against the counter, panting, tears mixing with sweat, jeno pulled out slowly, lips pressing a bruising kiss to your shoulder.

“you okay, baby?” he asked, voice low but soft just for a second.

you nodded, barely able to speak.

he gave your ass one last rough squeeze, then grabbed your hand, pulling you up.

“let’s get out of here.”

you followed him out of the cramped bathroom, legs weak, hair a mess, cheeks flushed and red from his hands — totally undone.

but jeno? he looked calm, untouched — like he’d just stepped out for a breath of fresh air. his shirt was perfect, his hair neat, that cocky smirk still playing on his lips.

as the door opened, the room fell silent.

all eyes snapped to you — disheveled, flushed, breathless, vulnerable.

“what the fuck?” someone whispered.

“did they seriously just…?” another voice trailed off.

jeno caught your gaze, winked, then turned back to the group.

“yeah,” he said with a slow grin. “we’re definitely capable.”

you wanted to sink through the floor, but he just laughed, pulling you close again.

“don’t worry,” he whispered in your ear. “they’ll never forget tonight.”

[blasphemyandbackshots]

Choso Kamo

1. gentle until he snaps

Choso starts soft. Hands shaking. Eyes wide. He asks, “Can I?” Like touching you is sacred. But once you moan his name? That switch flips. And then he’s fucking you like he’s never going to get the chance again.

2. obsessed with your pleasure

He wants to learn every inch of you. What makes you squirm. What makes you cry out. What makes your thighs shake. “Is this good?” he asks, breathless, desperate. “Tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”

3. groans so pretty it hurts

Deep, needy, helpless sounds. He buries his face in your neck, panting your name like a prayer, hips stuttering and falling apart in your arms.

4. always makes love like it’s the last time

Every time feels like a goodbye. He’s so slow, so intense, holding your face like he might lose you. “Stay with me,” he whispers, like he’s scared you’ll vanish mid-thrust.

5. big strong arms, shy little heart

He lifts you like you weigh nothing. Holds you up, lays you down, cages you beneath him, but if you call him “handsome” while he’s inside you, he blushes. And then he fucks you harder.

6. face buried in your chest

Constantly. Between your breasts. Pressed against your skin. He wants to be close. Wants to hear your heartbeat. He’ll fuck you slow while whispering, “You feel like home.”

7. adoring to the point of delirium

He treats your body like something divine. Kisses every stretch mark, worships your softness, mouths at your thighs like he’s starving. “You’re beautiful,” he moans. “You’re everything.”

8. loses control when you beg

You say “please,” and he snaps. The thrusts get rougher, the grip tighter, his mouth messier. “You want it that badly?” he pants. “I’ll give you everything.”

9. cries when he finishes

Just a little. He trembles in your arms, tears spilling while he’s still inside you, overwhelmed and wrecked. “I love you,” he whispers, over and over, as you hold him.

10. aftercare that makes you sob

Hot bath. Warm towel. He brushes your hair. Feeds you water and chocolate. Presses kisses to your forehead while you lay on his chest. “I’ll protect you forever,” he promises. He means it.