#you don't need to follow me for anything there is no consistent content on this chaotic blog

[xiakeponz]

I just wanted to translate a lil' bit of this book I was reading, because I didn't realise just how many poems (in the case of this book, Tang dynasty poems) have been lost to the ravages of time, and what a miracle it is that we even have a 唐诗三百首 today. Short note from me about translation approach is at the end under the cut.

唐诗寒武纪

王晓磊 (六神磊磊) 著

ISBN: 978-7-5302-2250-8

The Cambrian Age of Tang Poems by Author Wang Xiaolei (ISBN: 978-7-5302-2250-8)

Chapter 1 

Do you know how fortunate you are to be able to read Tang poems today? 

我志在删述，垂辉映千春。- 李白

My ambition is as grand as when Confucius compiled The Book of Poems, so that the radiance of my poems may shine a thousand springs from now. 

At a time 400 years ago from the present day, during the Tianqi Era (1621-1628) of the Ming Dynasty, when Eunuch Wei Zhongxian’s （魏忠贤）authority could eclipse the heavens- 

In the Haiyan district of the Zhejiang Province, there was an old man who silently shed his official’s robes, and folded them neatly. This was a set of blue robes embroidered with white pheasants, signifying that he was a fifth-rank court official. 

Outside, someone yelled, “Official Hu, why haven’t you come out yet! We’re waiting to escort you to De Zhou so you can take up your post there!”

“Take up my post?” The old gentleman gave a small smile, then muttered to himself, “Goodbye,  court politics! I have long grown weary of you. I’m going back to my hometown, and spending the rest of my years completing a very important matter- to compile the most complete set of Tang poems, so that there will no longer be any left out, so that no longer will there be any lost to the ages, so that our descendents can read them all!”

Let us remember the name of this old gentleman: Hu Zhenheng （胡震亨). 

Perhaps it is very difficult for people of the present day to understand - wasn’t he just wanting to make a compilation of poems, was that really so difficult? Did he need to really go this hard? Actually, yes. Back in that time period, it really was that difficult.  During that time, there were no publishing companies, printing factories, libraries, or convenient search engines. If you wanted to look up a poem, you’d have to pore through countless scrolls, you may even need to  trek over mountains and cross rivers just to be able to make a copy - and even after all that, you may not even have been able to make that copy. 

If Ol’ Hu slacked off, and didn’t make this Tang poetry compilation, what would have happened? The answer to that is, that the consequences would have been very dire.

At that time, Tang poetry was already starting to go extinct just like how our flora and fauna species are going into mass extinction today. According to Hu Zhenheng’s estimations, at least half of all Tang poetry had already been lost. 

Perhaps you are thinking, how the hell does poetry just go missing? As long as the poet is good enough, as long as the poem is good enough, then wouldn’t such works just be passed down through the ages, and be able to endure, that way? 

It really doesn’t work like that. 

Let me ask you a very broad question: out of all of the Tang poems, which one is the best? Perhaps many people will respond, off the top of their heads, “A night of moonlit blossoms on the river in spring” (春江花月夜“). This poem is lauded as the “a singular page eclipses the entire Tang dynasty” poem of poems, after all. Well then, who is the author of this fine poem? Many of you readers can answer, Zhang Ruoxu（张若虚）. 

This Mister Zhang has written such a great work, and has made such a great contribution to Tang Poetry. Well then, how many of his poems remain today? A hundred poems? Eighty? The answer will shock you - merely two of his poems remain today. 

The only reason “A night of moonlit blossoms on the river in spring” was able to be passed down to the present day, is really nothing more than a giant fluke. It was thanks to a very accidental opportunity, that when people in the Song dynasty were compiling a book of songs and ballads for their music bureau, they recorded this very poem by Zhang Ruoxu into the compilation, and enabled it to be passed down through the ages. 

Apart from two poems, all the other works created by Zhang Ruoxu in his lifetime, do not exist today. 

Now let me ask you another similar question: out of the pentasyllabic quatrain poems (五言绝句）in the Tang dynasty , which one is the best? Many will immediately respond, “Climbing White Stork Tower” （登鹳雀楼）. Yes, the one which everyone recited as a child - the sun sets against the mountains, the yellow river flows into the sea” (白日依山尽，黄河入海流）. Its author is recognised by most people as Wang Zhihuan (王之涣）. 

So then, how many poems has the great poet Wang Zhihuan left behind? The answer will again flabbergast you as you read it: there are only six poems left behind, the rest are all gone. 

Within a thousand years, we do not know how many lines like “the sun sets against the mountains （白日依山尽）”, and “the tides of the ocean and the moon rise in tandem （海上明月共潮生）” have been lost to the ages forever. 

The misfortunes of our friends Wang Zhihuan and Zhang Ruoxu, were not mere happenstance. 

How many poems of Li Bai （李白）have lived on to see the light of today? The most pessimistic takes say that, about one-tenth of all his poems exist today. 

This great genius has been writing poetry all his life, so estimates of his total poem count sits at around five thousand to ten thousand poems. For every ten of his poems, we may never ever be able to read eight or nine of them. 

Before passing away, Li Bai had sorted out all of the drafts and writings he had made in his lifetime, and solemnly entrusted it all to his uncle （族叔）, Li Yangbing （李阳冰）, and asked that he compile them into volumes, so that it can be passed down through generations. Li Yangbing did not fail Li Bai’s wishes, and poured his heart into compiling the Thatched Cottage Anthologies （草堂集）of which there were ten scrolls … which then subsequently got lost to the ages in the Song Dynasty. 

Now let’s talk about Du Fu （杜甫）。Essentially all the poems written by this similarly great poet before the age of forty, have been lost to the ages. How long did Du Fu live? Until age fifty-eight. That is to say, that all the poems he wrote for most of his life, were all for nothing. 

Another big shot, Wang Wei, （王维）fared no better. During the Kaiyuan era alone (713-741) he wrote hundreds if not thousands of poems. By the end, less than one-tenth of the total remained. 

There are countless other examples. The early Tang poet, Song Zhiwen（宋之问）was big-name poet who established the foundations of regulated verse poetry. He had poetry volumes circulating during the Tang Dynasty, however the circulation still ended during the Jiajing era of the Ming dynasty, and was finally lost during the Wanli era. All twenty volumes of the writings of gifted female scholar-official, Shangguan Wan’er （上官婉儿）, were entirely lost in the Song dynasty, and we only have thirty-two of her poems remaining today. 

The poetry volumes written by one of the “Elite Fours” of the early Tang dynasty, Wang Bo （王勃）,the genius who famously wrote “the hues of twilight fall in line with the solitary flight of a wild mallard （落霞与孤鹜齐飞）”, were arduously able to survive for a few hundred years, however, come the Ming dynasty, they were all completely lost all the same. 

This is like saying that the complete works of Jing Yong （金庸）were all lost to the ages, and you would only be able to glean snippets and excerpts of his original writings from the column writings of Liushen Leilei （六神磊磊）to get your hit. Just the thought of it makes me want to cry. 

The great Meng Haoran （孟浩然） can be counted as lucky. Shortly after he passed away, there were already people making compilations of his poems. Even so, many of his creations have still been lost. There is also the great Li Shangyin （李商隐）, who wrote “the silkworm spins silk even ‘til death （春蚕到死丝方尽）” and “our hearts are connected through a singular nexus (心有灵犀一点通)” , who personally compiled forty-odd scrolls of his writings, however, those have all been lost, and not a single volume remains. His poems have all been scrabbled together piece-by-piece, by those after his time. 

So, do you still think that those poems which have been lost to time, were lost purely because they were shoddy poems, of little worth, so no one wanted to remember them? Not at all. Even if they made a mark in their heyday, poems that are handed down will eventually be lost to time, all the same. 

People in the Tang dynasty have recorded, that of Li Bai’s CiFu （辞赋）poetry, the poems Dapeng Fu (大鹏赋）and Hongyou Fu （鸿猷赋）were incredibly marvelous, so much so that they even surpassed the calibre of writings of the big guardians of CiFu poetry from the previous generation, Sima Xiangru (司马相如） and Yang Xiong （杨雄）. Fortunately, we can read Dapeng Fu today, but … where is Hongyou Fu? Sorry, it’s gone, lost forever to the ravages of time. 

Translator’s note:

There are many ways to do a translation, and this one is more for the vibes than for the “literal” translation - that is not to say it is inaccurate, but as someone who has translated for years from Japanese to English, or from time to time, Chinese to English (when I feel like it lol) I thought I’d state the purpose of this translation so you can get a sense of my choices here.  I am translating this very casually and more for speed / for fun, it is a very pulling-words-off-the-top-of-my-head translation than the other kind of translation I do where I sit there for hours milling over a singular word. A partial reason for why I can do this style of translation is because the prose of the book itself is very conversational and casual (I will tangentially note, this writing style is kind of controversial with the Author’s other works that discuss poetry, as some readers view it as “low-brow”, but for me, I like it. I think it makes the content very digestible and accessible to readers who are new to poetry). This translation is for my buddies in the poetry club, who are mainly diaspora and/or can read Chinese to any extent anyway (in particular, I want to thank the funny and great @fwoopersongs, for always being here to chat poem stuff and making me interested in the lives of the poets and the context surrounding the poetry rather than just the poems themselves).  As such, I will try to remember to include the Chinese characters for people’s names, so you can read it with the correct tones. I bought this book and started reading, and thought wow, this is cool, I want to share it. A lot of the Chinese terms here I’ve only thought about and experienced in Chinese, I don’t watch Mandarin-language shows with any subtitles, and I don’t typically experience other Chinese Media in English so I am not sure what the “standard” (if any) terms in English would be - it’s for the vibes, especially the parts where I am translating literal poetry. For example, the author pulls verses from poetry here to set the tone for the start of a chapter, so the goal of my translation here to make a translation that it conveys to the reader a reason why that verse was chosen, rather than the “perfect” way 千秋, 碧落，独倚 or a word like that is translated (or, for example, everyone let’s agree on a translation of the poem title 《春江花月夜》 - pain - lol). I do not think I can do any of these poetry translations justice, as poetry translations in any language is more like a feeling of the soul that you try to fit within the available confines of another language, hoping that the reader on the other side can experience something in their own individual way through your shared humanity rather than language alone. Also, I do have a lot of commentary and notes that I wanted to make but I might do that in a different place (maybe as footnotes) at another time, I don’t want to interrupt the flow of the reader by sticking my own comments everywhere.

[bravewolfvesperia]

/ Since I mention in my pinned post that this blog has some changes from canon, I'm going to make a rundown post that I'll be linking in my muse info on my blog. My timeline post covers some of this too and has other things canon to my muse that aren't here because they're timeline based and not direct changes based. I'll update this as needed.

Repede had another owner before Yuri got him in the game. I'm combining this with FS. Thus, Repede would have been basically an infant when he and Lambert ended up with the knights. From there he took to Yuri as he did in the FS drama CD so Yuri was primarily in charge of Repede during his stay with the knights, but he and Flynn raised Repede together as is in line with the game. This means they continued raising him together even after Yuri left.

In the JP version of the game, Yuri says he was with the knights for a short time but doesn't specify how long that time was, so I'm completely yeeting the "three months" dub aspect from this blog. I can't reasonably assume he signed up, took the exams, went into training, went from errand boy to battle status, then went on normal missions and left in the span of three months. So as usual, we're following the JP timeline. Generally anything the dub makes up or actively changes from the original context/tone gets yeeted here.

In the FS drama CD, Flynn is extremely repetitive about Yuri quitting the knights and with his nagging. At least with @mistralxsoul and anyone else who prefers it the following way in threads with my muse, we're toning it down because it just feels absolutely batshit to us how bad it is in the drama CD (it's worse than even the movie itself).

Since the timeline for Yuri and Flynn's knighthood conflicts super horrendously between the novel, FS/FS drama CD and the game, I'm mixing all of it together (primarily because I consider the novel more canon than the FS drama CD). Basically (for my muse), they signed their names and didn't take the exams immediately, but when they eventually did it was at least a couple years later, due to Yuri still having his teen appearance when he signed his name to join in the novel. This is because otherwise, if I average my muse's teen age out to be fifteen/sixteen and his age to be about eighteen/nineteen in the knights, it would mean he'd been with the knights (including training, etc) anywhere from 2-4 years if his sign up was immediately after the novel's events. If they were to sign up and join immediately after the novel timeline, it also makes even less sense because Flynn's attitude in FS and his relationship with Yuri (and remember, the FS drama CD comes before the movie's timeline and Flynn was even worse about Yuri's attitude in the CD) would seem like it literally 180'd overnight.

So basically, to avoid all this insanity, a short summarized timeline for my muse would be: they signed up but didn't join right away, Flynn moved away and was gone for a couple years or so after the events of the novel, both of them changed in personality/behavior drastically in that time, they met up at the exams, they went into training, they got sent to Niren's squad, they were more errand boys than actual knights when they were still super fresh newbies and Yuri was extremely annoyed with that, they were actual knights for a while (I'm going to say Yuri was a knight for at least six months or more, especially if I consider the trajectory of Flynn's behavior toward him in the drama CD through the end of FS), the events of FS were not one straight timeline and things happened between the days etc etc, then Yuri left.

Following the game's drama CDs, Yuri hesitated a lot more when Flynn was injured at Zaude. If not for Flynn nudging him to go after Alexei even while wounded, Yuri wouldn't have left him there.

Following the same drama CDs, it's Raven and Repede who find and look after Yuri when he wakes up after Zaude. That is to say, Repede was already with Raven and lunged when he sniffed out Yuri in his room (super doggo powers). Raven followed Repede in a panic, who ran to Yuri's room upon realizing Yuri was there, and Raven finds Yuri awake but right in the middle of passing back out (the sound is basically Raven's voice being distant with some ringing, so it's from Yuri's point of view that Raven is trying to get him to steady himself but he passes back out). Raven takes care of him from there until he's recovered properly enough to go back. In this time, Rita did investigating and eventually, with the others minus Raven, went to Zopheir after deciding they couldn't dawdle and just wait in their grief. While they're there, Yuri and Raven have headed out after them and show up together and reunite with the rest of the group. Raven has already been updated on what Yuri knows from Duke at this point (Duke saved him as usual, but the drama CD changes come in after that), so the two of them update everyone else.

In the game, there's a skit with Yuri, Flynn and Karol where Yuri mentions "playing in a river", but in the novel, they were actually getting water at the river and the other kids were playing in the river when they got attacked by a monster, fell into the river (Yuri also mentions (I thiiiink in another unrelated skit) that just falling into "a river" was enough to panic him), and Flynn grabbed onto a merman. For my muse, I'm just going with Yuri simplifying the situation to Karol while keeping the novel's event as my muse's canon.

[celtrist]

This was the piece that I had started before my extensive vacation (of coughing). Once again, Alastor is consistently the bane of my existence with his... well everything.

No matter! Anyway, this is something I like to call the Obsession AU. To sum it up real fast: Everyone is yandere for Alastor. I think it would just be apart of his punishment in Hell, being consistently forced into or desired in romantic/sex which he's never had much interest in. I would describe it as a dark comedy thing, but it can be as comedic or as dark as you want here. With that said, please be on guard with any mentions of darker content that treds towards a certain dead bird territory when I get a bit into how I imagine some of the characters. Again, it doesn't have to go that far if you're interested in this premise of an au and wanna focus on the more light hearted stuff, feel free.

This au is just poking a bit of fun at how everyone in the fandom wants to put Alastor in romantic situations constantly (whether it be with themselves or the other characters) despite Alastor probably being the least interested in the subject in the whole show. This is by no means a hate train or making fun of people who do enjoy shipping Alastor, it just more of a funny thing I think comes off as pretty ironic for his character and hopefully, others can enjoy that too. In this au he leans pretty much on the clear-cut side of aromantic and asexual with no interest in romantic affections at all. With that said, if you want to explore Alastor genuinely being interested in one of the other characters romantically or something similar, feel free to explore that! I can see some interesting dichotomies there. It's just within the actual "canon" of this au, he's not at all interested with that sort of thing. And just with a last final reminder to get into some character things I have in mind, some of the content mentioned does get pretty dark, particularly with Valentino but I don't think anyone's surprised there. But there might be some triggering content of the following mentioned here with characters but no crazy details really: Manipulation/Gaslighting, forced feminization, Non-con, Munchausen syndrome, Poisoning, Possessive, Drugging, Love bombing And I will be sure to give a quick warning to each character it might apply to, please feel free to let me know if I missed anything!

Rosie (Munchausen syndrome, Poisoning): Rosie has 100% poisoned Alastor before to make sure he relies on her. They started off as good friends but at some point Alastor began getting ill and Rosie offered to take care of him. This leads to Alastor staying in bed for full days, only really seeing Rosie who took care of his every need from food, clothing, washing, and so on. At some point, Alastor caught on that Rosie was putting something in his food to make him sick and he managed to escape with their friendship tarnished much to his dismay. He's often uneasy around Rosie but is upfront about his knowledge of Rosie's deeds. Rosie, in turn, acts like it is a lighthearted situation and often offers Alastor over for lunch, which he often denies. Any food he gets at his doorstep from a secret admirer or a lunchbox he finds at his seat in an overlord meeting goes straight into the trash. Alastor will still use Rosie's assets to his benefit of course, but is always careful as to what she might try to get in exchange. He has had more awkward lunches with her with his homemade meal versus the buffet she catered for the occasion, with the two gossiping like old times. Alastor is still uneasy during these times, but he also revels in the false pleasantries due to not having many others he's able to associate himself with due to the curse.

Lucifer (Controlling, Possessive, Manipulation): So I'm not 100% clear how I wanted to approach Lucifer. He and Charlie are probably the most similar I suppose? He wants Alastor as his queen (either alongside him and Lilith or only with him, he doesn't mind either way). He doesn't force him into dresses or anything, but Lucifer does consistently make doting moves and talks about how Alastor would make a good father to their children. Marriage is one of the mind and Lucifer probably gets a bit possessive with him. He also tries to guilt trip Alastor a lot, or manipulate situations in one of their arguments to get Alastor to say something he doesn't mean.

Charlie (Controlling, Possessive): Probably the most tame of everyone quite honestly. Charlie can be a bit controlling but does step off when Alastor expresses his dislike of her doing so, even if it takes a couple times. She likes doing things for him, is super affectionate, and daydreams about her, Vaggie, and Alastor all getting married. She can get pretty possessive with him, not being pleased when anybody does anything against Alastor's will or hurt him. The only exception to this rule is Vaggie, to which Charlie sees it like two cats getting along and finds it very endearing.

Vaggie (Forced Feminization, Controlling, Murder): Depending on how you look at it, Vaggie's one of the more fucked up obsessions or one of the more funnier ones. Because she's automatically inclined to like Alastor quite a bit with the curse thing but her personality doesn't jive with his for her own taste (in terms of their first meeting), she both hates and loves the guy. She's obsessed with trying to murder Alastor with traps around the hotel or outright standing over him with her spear. The hatred comes primarily from not wanting to feel the way she does about him, I guess like a fucked up tsundere if you wanna go that route. At the same token, however, she does want Alastor to be involved with both her and Charlie romantically. There's just one little problem: Vaggie has about the same amount of interest in men as she does in canon. So to sort of "fix" Alastor, she consistently tries to force him to be more feminine in clothing, offering different feminine names, and even trying to force him to get a sex change. Alastor is pretty slippery though, so it never quite works out in Vaggie's favor aside from the occasional dress or skirt being worn, which solidifies her attraction to him. Then he takes it off and looks more like a man again, and it solidifies her frustration/hatred for him.

Angel Dust (Drugging): To start, while I think Angel would love to have sex with Alastor, he 100% would not force it. Wouldn't even do touches or anything. Potentially he could just like as a coping (to be in a situation where HE'S the one in control), but that is a darker route that I don't think will be exactly true for this AU. However, he very much enjoys drugging Alastor similar to Rosie. Not only just as a bonding thing since Angel would also do the drugs WITH him, but just to get the not-quite-lucid compliments from Alastor and maybe a snuggle then and there. He wants to dote on Alastor with him drugged out in his bed saying nice things to Angel. Admittedly this one's a bit of a workshop as I just knew I didn't want Angel to be focused on sex like somebody, but wasn't sure what to do here.

Valentino(Non-con, LoveBombing): I mean... it is Valentino, what did you THINK he'd be trying to do with Alastor? There's really not much to say here, Valentino essentially tries pulling all the stops trying to get Alastor in bed while also love-bombing the hell out of him. Which really doesn't work. Valentino is pretty open with sharing Alastor, but again, does this surprise anyone? As long as he's participating in some way, he really doesn't mind.

Vox (ALL warnings): Pretty much the worst version of himself that people make him be sometimes for those darker stories in the fandom. While more interested in having an enthusiastic partner, I don't think Vox would be opposed to forcing himself onto Alastor. He consistently tries to manipulate and gaslight, while enjoying both the suffering and pleasure of Alastor. Much like Vaggie, Vox is obsessed both being in love with Alastor while also downright hating him to the core. He's possessive and likes the idea of being both sweet and heinous with Alastor. He pretty much is every other character wrapped up in one fucked up TV man. Vox acts the most well-adjusted of the characters here, but he's probably got the obsession the worst.

And of course, pretty much every other conceivable ship is up for grabs here. I did think about maybe unfallen angels are able to resist the obsession curse, which would possibly make a funny team-up of Alastor, Adam, Lute, and Emily. Alternatively, I thought maybe the other canonically asexual characters in the show wouldn't be affected instead, meaning another oddball team-up of Alastor, Octavia, and Mammon. Then there is of course the "nope, there's no escape for deer man". Not sure yet, maybe I'll workshop it. I have more normal things in the works rather than this messed up little au, but darker content is a guilty pleasure of mine.

[ozzgin]

Yandere!Shapeshifter x Reader

Featuring a clueless Reader and the grotesque "dog" she found in a cursed forest, yet this time they're joined by a strange man. Where did he come from, and why does the dog run away whenever he comes by? Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, mildly NSFW [Part 1] | [More Monsters]

You couldn't help but stare a little at the stranger who so persistently knocked on your door. His eyes had a peculiar color - one similar to the little dog who followed you home from your hiking trip. You bit your tongue from saying such nonsense, worrying it might be taken as an insult. He extended his long, bony fingers and lowered a wallet in your open palms. "You must've dropped this somewhere", he remarked with feigned worry. "I used the address on your ID card."

Whatever initial suspicion weighed on your shoulders had instantly dispersed into thin air. You thanked the man profusely, and invited him in for a drink. "Careful with my dog, he's-" you begun warning, but the quadruped creature was nowhere to be seen. Mysterious. You led the benevolent soul into your living room with a smile.

One thing led to another, and the polite meetings for coffee turned into steamy nights in the retreat of your bedroom. Around the same time you stopped having your bizarre wet dreams involving some deformed monstrosity ramming into you. Perhaps a loving partner was all you needed. To your great shock - and delight - the stranger never abandoned you the morning after, unlike all the previous flirts. This is the one, you told yourself. For once, you had company. You had consistency.

Unfortunately, your friends don't agree with you. Your dreamy retellings are met with grimaces and horrified shivers. "He has such an unique appearance", you'll argue. "It's uncanny valley", your friends will counter, embracing themselves in a fearful, shielding manner. They claim he must be yet another curse brought by the damned devil of a hound you keep as a pet.

Every discussion regarding your beloved will turn into a back and forth. "The voice is inhuman. A broken record, as if he's copying the rest of us, with jarring interruptions and words randomly patched together!" You wave your hand in dismissal. "He's just a little shy", you say with a faint blush. You've always had a soft spot for introverts. "He's insane! Last time someone complimented your outfit, he begun chanting at the dinner table!" You puff out a chuckle. "He must be religious, or something", you defend him ardently. No one dares to mention the flickering lights, or the fact that the targeted friend never left the confines of their room after that encounter.

You will admit one thing: your dog seems to avoid this man like the plague. You've never seen the two of them together in a room. Could your friends be right? They do say dogs can sniff out bad people. You shake your head. It can't be. You get out of bed, rub your eyes, and check the time: 2am. The space next to you is empty, sheets ruffled aside. Out of curiosity, you head outside the room and follow the faint light in the kitchen. The stranger stands before the fridge, face smudged red and fingers stained and glossy. He's holding what seems to be a half-chewed heart, probably taken out of the raw organs bag you keep for your dog. "Heh. I see you like late snacking, too", you joke, dragging out a chair. "Pass me the cheese, will ya? But...maybe wash your hands first."

This isn't right. Sure, he's fucking you better than anyone else ever did, and you find his mysterious aura endearing. Yet you can't help the guilt eating at your innards, knowing that your dog cannot coexist with this man. Something has to be done, so you call out your partner and pat the sofa you're sitting on. "We must talk", you tell him. "What might be troubling you", he inquires quietly, frozen in the doorframe. "I'm afraid my pet comes before anything else", you confess. "And he seems to be scared of you...I'm not sure our current situation is sustainable." Ah. That's what it was. The man lets out a whistled laugh, as if remembering something.

His bones begin to break in wet, fluid succession, as coarse fur takes over his skin. He lowers himself to his fours, snout wide open in a sharp, toothy grin. "You mean this dog, yes?"

[acciojaeyun]

– cut scene, cut the chase | psh.

PAIRING. idol!sunghoon x staff, fem!reader SUMMARY. you work behind-the-scenes for one of the biggest kpop companies in the industry, belift, and you have a secret: you run one anonymous X account to vent every frustration and grudge about the company's visual ice prince, park sunghoon. he finds this account and instead of reporting you... he starts flirting? CONTENTS. enemies to lovers (e2l), SUNGHOON IS DANGEROUSLY FLIRTY. slowburn, praise kink, hair pulling, dom!sunghoon, dirty talk, light marking, reader is teased into begging, mentions of big dick sunghoon hehe, oral (f receiving) p in v, unprotected sex (pls dont; reader is on the pill, BUT STILL). a bit of angst if you squint, there's a bit of power imbalance, semi-public sex. body worship. she fell first, he fell harder. MDNI. WORD COUNT. 10.9k (i genuinely thought it was 20k) AUTHOR'S NOTE. hi, i’m back! and with lots of fic ideas i hope you enjoyyyy. hnggg. i really have no other stuff to say. HAHAHA. hope you like it <3<3

MY LIBRARY. REQUESTS ARE OPEN! TO BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST, YOU CAN SEND ME A MESSAGE.

It starts, as most mistakes do, with a tweet.

You're more of a background poster than anything. An anonymous handle with a blurry profile pic which you've taken while you were out in the Han river, barely 300 followers, and two things everyone can piece together if they pay attention:

One, you work at BELIFT.

Two, you work closely with ENHYPEN.

Too close, maybe. Close enough that you retweet clips of Jungwon being the cutest cat-like leader you've ever met. Close enough that you've ranted about Heeseung's additional ad-libs and last minute line changes, praised Ni-ki's professionalism at 3 AM, and the most damning of them all, tweeted far too often about how Park Sunghoon is the human embodiment of a soft-launch breakup.

Your followers think you're just funny. That you're just playing a bit. That maybe you're a delusional fan with a production job fantasy.

There had been a lot of replies to your tweets every now and then, asking if you really work in BELIFT and for ENHYPEN, or if Heeseung really does have a girlfriend. Some have the audacity to even question whether you really work in BELIFT or you're just another person acting like you do in order to have X engagement.

You even remember the time you've landed into one of Sunghoon's protection teams, saying that you were setting him up, and you laughed to yourself while you're checking the outfits lined up for Sunghoon in the music shows.

Like every anonymous poster, you don't reply. You never do. But still, the page grows.

ENGENEs aren't sure what to make of you. Your tweets toe the line between sarcastic slander and genuine devotion. It's not exactly hate, it's more like aggravated admiration. Like the kind of loathing that only forms when someone sees too much of a person. Sees past the polish, past the performance.

Especially when it comes to Park Sunghoon.

The ice prince of BELIFT, the company's visual jewel – oh, and your most consistent headache.

You don't actually hate him, but you sure as hell tweet like you do.

You were just off the set when your next mistake happens.

A Manila folder is tucked under your arm, barely holding on with pitch revisions and last-minute cue cards, some of which crumpled from being tossed back and forth between departments. A black mask hides half of your face, and your bucket hat hides the rest.

Safe to say, you look like a ghost in the mirrored lobby glass.

It's 2:07 AM, and you're on your third iced americano of the day and second mental breakdown of the week, and it's Monday.

The music video shoot ran longer than expected, again.

Jungwon's scenes needed reshoots. Heeseung's hair was frayed and pink at the roots even if he had his roots retouched eighteen hours ago. The harness used in Sunoo's wire-flying scene was too tacky.

And Sunghoon?

Well, Sunghoon, of course, had notes.

"It feels stiff, the camera blocking doesn't match the beat. I look bored, too."

You were bored, you think. And he looks not even short of perfect – albeit bored, perfect, still. But no one ever tells him that.

Because Park Sunghoon, for all his breathtaking angles and God-tier lighting, is never, ever satisfied. And worse, he somehow knows exactly when to glance at your direction when you're rolling your eyes behind the monitor.

It's always the same. You glare, he smirks, you look away.

Later, you tweet. And tweet.

[nuguhasdoubts] park sunghoon blinked at the script today like it owed him money. he's so unserious for someone that pretty.

10 likes. One reply. You scroll.

[nuguhasdoubts] heeseung gives you a small nod and you feel seen. sunghoon stares into your soul and suddenly you're 12 and being picked last in PE again.

35 likes. Four replies. One quote tweet: "this is the most specific kind of hate ever," it read, and you snort.

[nuguhasdoubts] 2:15 AM no way he asked for natural lighting only during a night shoot. the director blinked five times. i blinked six. [nuguhasdoubts] 2:16 AM i hate that they still found a way... [nuguhasdoubts] 2:21 AM "can we do that again?" no, park sunghoon, we cannot. i've been standing for ten hours my spine ha sfolded like origami. [nuguhasdoubts] 2:24 AM he said thanks to everyone. do i forgive him? [nuguhasdoubts] 2:31 AM he walked past me and smelled like money and that another 13. and he is a tamburins endorser. still, i almost forgave him. almost.

You slam the X app shut at exactly 2:35 AM, just when you finish scrolling through your timeline and finish the read. Your phone's screen gives in to black, and for a moment, the smallest, briefest moment, it feels like silence.

But then your phone buzzes again.

And again, and again.

A cascade of notifications light up the cracked top corner, your battery bleeding at 8%, like it's crumbling under the weight of your life. You paid no mind, it could be one of those For You notifications built in to X's system depending on your tweets and interactions.

So, you stuff your phone deep into your jacket pocket and don't look back.

The night smells like asphalt and boiled coffee. The streets are empty now, save for a few flickering lampposts and a stray cat peering out from behind a row of parked scooters. You walk with your hand-me-down PRADA bag from your manager slung over one shoulder and the Manila folder hugged to your chest like it's an extra organ you're afraid to leave behind.

You've just wrapped a eighteen-hour shoot.

Eighteen hours of whispers through earpieces, running cables, resetting blocking, coordinating the makeup crew when Jay's contour got smudged, as well as rushing down to the pantry to get Jake his iced americano because his sugar was crashing.

Eighteen hours of explaining that no, natural lighting at night doesn't work that way, Park Sunghoon.

You almost laughed when he asked it. But he'd been so serious, too serious, and so of course, they made it work anyway.

You don't even remember when the grudge started.

Maybe it wasn't even a grudge. Maybe it was just a slow, quiet erosion of patience. One missed cue at a time. One more perfect shot that had to be redone because Sunghoon found the camera blocking off from the center just a tad. One more request that, had it come from anyone else, would've been given not much attention, but from him? It became gospel.

The elevator is quiet when you step in, except for the gentle ping of each floor and your own reflection staring back from mirrored walls. You look exhausted, hair damp from humidity, lanyard still looped around your neck – a stark contrast from the tall, sleek, glass gleaming in the dark of a building that looks like it should be filmed, not lived in.

It's part of the HYBE executive housing arrangement, a perk they throw in for long-term staff or those tied to core artist departments like production, creative, and management.

You'd wanted to cry the day you moved in. Not because you were happy, but because you really weren't.

The 27th floor smells like jasmine from a diffuser that someone in HR probably chose to help boost employee morale. You unlock your door with a fingerprint and step into a condo that's too clean, too white, too empty.

The living room is minimalist, with floor-to-ceiling windows and an unobstructed view of the Seoul skyline. All cold lights and late-night neon blinking somewhere in the distance. There's a record player you bought on impulse last year. It sits untouched on the console. You never really had time to use it.

You drop your bag onto the couch. It's beige. You should feel proud. This is what people your age fight for. A stable job. A sleek place in the city. A title under one of the most powerful entertainment companies in the world.

But most nights, you stand here and feel like you've wandered into someone else's life.

You studied music and dance because you were in love with movement. You loved the language it conveys, the hush before a curtain rises. You loved creating. Not cueing. Not directing for one hair strand to be curled on Jake's forehead to recreate Zayn Malik's hairstyle. Not adjusting the lighting angles so it could highlight Jay's jawline. Not keeping a lot of vitamin products just in case Sunoo forgets his.

You became a production assistant because it was your foot in the door – but now the door feels like a wall.

And somehow, in the middle of all that, he exists.

Sunghoon.

The boy with swan limbs and dagger eyes. The boy who lives your dreams without knowing he's holding them.

Sometimes, you bother to hate him. Not really, though. But there are times that it's enough to make it through another twenty-hour shoot where he asks in the middle of one scene to have his Tiktok redone because it doesn't feel like it's the one.

Everyone bend over backwards, because he smiled at the end of it.

You hate that he's the personification of everything you've ever wanted, just born with it in his palm. You hate that he's also charming and polite. And once in a while, he bothers to say thank you, and when he does, it sounds so sincere.

So, you conclude that you hate that you can't actually hate him.

You roll over and finally plug in your dying phone. You have new notifications from X. You exhale through your nose, jaw tense.

Tomorrow, you'll deal with it.

But tonight, you lie in an apartment for your loneliness, thinking about the boy who doesn't know he lives in your head rent-free, and the dream that somehow slipped from your gasp and landed in his.

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing against your nightstand like a trapped insect.

You ignore it.

You drag yourself out of bed. Shower. Coffee. Outfit. You pull your production lanyard over your head and loop it twice so it doesn't swing. Your tiredness presses into your muscles like wet sand, but you move through it. You always do.

You don't look at your phone.

Not when you button your black trousers. Not when you tie your hair back. Not when you slip your HYBE identification card into your back pocket, not when you slide your keys and hand cream into your bag like it's any other day.

You go down to the lobby and sit awkwardly on the sofa near the vending machine as employees pile up in the lobby with their own things to look after.

There were a lot of discussions and complaints. You hear someone saying that there'll be a remix for SEVENTEEN's title track from a Western label. Another employee is too busy contacting production for Hobi's scheduled Tiktoks with other idols of HYBE.

The shuttle pulls up just in time for call just before you could know about every idol group's business.

By the time you reach the elevators of BELIFT, your phone buzzes again. Fifth time this morning.

You've ignored every single notification since the moment you stepped into the lobby. You had to. If you let even a single one in, you might've screamed. Out loud. In front of security.

You're already late, not scandalously late, but late enough to get the side-eye from the senior stylist who believes the world runs five minutes earlier than your clock does.

The lift opens. You barrel into it.

Third floor, fitting.

Dress rehearsals, new concept. New accessories. Another hell.

You mutter apologies as you push through the crowd of stylists and interns hauling rolling racks. Your arms ache from last night. You barely slept.

You turn the corner toward Studio B, prepping the lines in your head for the morning checklist, when someone stops you.

"Hey," says Jiyeon, one of the production coordinators, "Sunghoon has asked for you."

You blink. Once, twice. "What?"

"Sunghoon said he wants you to check something about his outfit. Costume issue or something. He's in the dressing room."

Your stomach dips.

"Why didn't he tell stylists directly?"

Jiyeon shrugs, "He said, and I quote, 'Can you get the girl with the blank face and the shiny clipboard? She'll know what I mean.'"

Your face twists, "Did he actually say I'm blank-faced?"

"Verbatim."

You blink, "And you still came to get me?"

"He also said please."

"Okay?"

"It's the first time he's done that," Jiyeon reasoned.

"Right."

You adjust your headset, sigh, and head toward the solo dressing room.

When you push open the door, he's already there, sitting on the edge of the couch in sweatpants and the teaser outfit. One arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other, fiddling with a button.

You stare at him from the doorframe like he's sprouted a second head.

He blinks up at you. Tilts his head, and then had the audacity to smile.

Park Sunghoon does not smile at you. Not unless he wants something. Not unless he's being paid. Not unless he's being insufferable.

"There she is," he says, stretching slightly, arm flexing against the couch as he drops the half-undone button, "Miss Blank Face with the clipboard. I was starting to worry you hate me that much not to go."

You blink, "You called me for a costume issue."

"Did I?"

You glared, "I have three stylists on stand-by. If this is about layering or fabric, I suggest–"

"Nah," he interrupts, rising to his feet in one fluid, confident motion, "This is more of a you thing."

The hell does that mean?

Your eyes flick over his outfit. Teaser fit: A white shirt, goggles hanging on his neck, beige cargo pants that are unbuttoned, his face lacking the needed peach makeup you specifically requested the makeup department. Still, it's nothing that needs your attention.

Still, you walk over, pulling the clipboard from your side and adjusting your headset.

"Okay, walk me through what's wrong."

He hums and walks toward you, slowly.

You notice now that his hair's still slightly damp, curled at the ends like he's fresh out of the wash and has rushed to set. But Sunghoon never rushes. He meant for the undone, wet look. He still looks fucking hot.

You hate him.

His cologne is faint but there, something woodsy and clean, and with a citrus edge that makes your already-dulled nerves ring with alertness.

Sunghoon stops in front of you. Too close.

He bends slightly at the waist, dramatic, exaggerated, inspecting.

"What's wrong," he echoes, as if thinking over your words, "Well, I've been thinking."

"That's never good."

He grins, "Funny. So, I've been thinking. Maybe I've been unfair to you."

You blink for the nth time today, "Huh?"

"You do a lot around here. You coordinate, direct, remind everyone when Ni-ki is wearing pink when he doesn't like pink. You work hard." He pauses, tilts his head, eyes dancing, "Even with a blank face."

You resist the urge to launch your clipboard at him.

He continues, utterly unbothered, "I think I misjudged you. Or maybe, we start off the wrong foot.. or, well, maybe I'm just starting to see you in a new light."

You squint, "Is this a bit?"

"Depends. You into roleplay?"

You stare.

He smiles wider.

The smirk now spreads over his face like butter on warm toast – easy, practiced, dangerously self-aware. As if he knows exactly what he's doing.

You've seen Sunghoon flirt before. He does it when the cameras are off. He knows how to bat his lashes just enough for things to go his way, how to draw people in like gravity with the perfect mix of boredom and beauty.

Usually, you've seen him give it to anyone else he deems worthy enough to give him what he wants. But this? This is directed at you.

Which is impossible. You're just a production assistant.

You narrow your eyes, "Do you need something, Sunghoon?"

He taps his lip, "Just wondering why someone might say I smelled like money and Le Labo and... what was it? Oh," he leans in, "Regret."

You freeze. But your face doesn't move. You've trained for this. You've worked backstage during entire album rollouts with less than four hours of sleep. You've sat through re-edits of comeback trailers frame by frame. You do not crack under pressure.

You kept your expression neutral.

"Sounds like a weird comment."

"Exactly," he says breezily, circling you like a shark, hands crossed while toying with his lips, "There was this thread. So dramatic. Really makes me wonder what I did to deserve that kind of hate. Or maybe..." He glances back at you, "Admiration. Hard to tell, isn't it?"

Your pulse thuds in your ears, "Must be some fan account."

"Oh, definitely a fan." He stops. Smirks.

You grit your teeth.

He knows.

But he won't say it out loud. Not yet. Not while he can watch you squirm.

You tuck your clipboard back under your arm and square your shoulders, "If you're done wasting my time, I have three racks to coordinate and a backup battery dying in the hallway."

He leans closer again, just a breath from your ear, "You know," he mutters, voice all sugar and daggers, "I never minded the hate. It's the interest that's flattering."

You step back, "Get dressed."

"I am dressed."

You point at the goggles hanging on his neck, "Fully. And you have makeup in ten."

He grins, but he lets you go, for now.

You don't rush as you leave, you don't want to give him the satisfaction. But the second you close the door, your back hits the hallway wall and your fingers tremble.

The convenience store near HYBE is quiet at night, save for the humming of refrigerators and the distant buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. The world outside still feels far too loud, too fast – but here, it feels suspended. Dim. Air-conditioned.

You sit at one of the corner tables, hunched over your bibimyeon like it holds the answers to your crisis. Your microwaved sotteok lies abandoned in its bowl, skewers askew like bones after a fight. You haven't touched it.

You're still scrolling.

Your thumb keeps twitching over the heart button, just to see what tweet comes next. It's like watching your own downfall unfold one quote tweet at a time. Funny, devastating, strangely intimate. People keep dissecting the phrasing, the tone, the way your thread reads less like a joke and more like a diary entry.

You're a meme now.

You take a long sip of your watered down iced latte.

The convenience store is nearly empty. Just a tired cashier scrolling on his own phone behind the counter, and a guy in a hoodie a few aisles down browsing the ramyeon shelf. You don't pay attention. You can't. Not when your screen lights up again.

[shnprod]: do you think she's like actually into him? [prodheegy]: is this user setting sh up again? lol [sunoology]: so is this a real life au? [jakewonbitz]: she's acting like she's really a hybe employee lmao

You want to crawl out of your skin.

You bury your face in your hands and groan quietly, elbows braced on the table. You consider deleting the account. Hell, maybe you should delete your entire identity.

You don't even notice the hoodie guy approaching until you hear the clink of a canned drink being set beside your food.

"That bad, huh?"

You nearly drop your phone.

Your head jerks up. A guy in a black cap, mask, and a loose hoodie sits across from you like it's the most casual thing in the world. His eyes are familiar, moles too familiar, but they're crinkled in amusement. Mischievous.

"You always look this haunted after scrolling your timeline?” he asks, stirring the cooked buldak in the cup.

You blink, "Do I know you?"

He tilts his head, mask hiding his mouth, but you see the smile in his eyes.

"No," he says, "but I feel like I know you."

Your stomach drops.

You snap your laptop shut – no, not your laptop, your phone – your phone, you idiot – and immediately swipe out the X app. Too late. He's already seen the screen. Maybe even the notifications section you're scrolling through.

You scramble, wiping your hands on your pants like that'll fix the sweat suddenly slick on your palms.

He gestures lazily toward your tray, "Mind if I join? Looks like your sotteok's crying for company."

You scowl, "There are seven empty tables."

"I like this one," he says, and finally pulls his mask down just enough to sip his canned coffee.

Park Sunghoon.

Of course.

You inhale sharply, "What are you doing here?"

"Late last minute run for Outside. I'm also craving tteok and buldak," he sips again, "you?"

You look at him flatly, "Avoiding a mental breakdown."

He hums, "Same."

You narrow your eyes.

He props his chin on his palm and lets his gaze settle on you like he's waiting. For what, you didn't know. But it unnerves you.

"Rough day at work?" He asks.

"Could say the same about yours."

"Oh? Did I cause you a problem?" He grins.

You curse under your breath, but you school your expression anyway, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right," he says, biting back a smile, "but if you did happen to be the anonymous X user who's been tweeting about my glow and expensive cologne, I'd say your taste is... complicated."

You nearly choke on your own breath.

"I didn't say glow," you hiss, "I said smelled like money and Another 13, which is –"

"An oddly specific compliment, don't you think?" He cuts in, eyes sparkling.

You gape at him.

"You're delusional."

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, "Sure, but if you were her – and I'm not saying that you are – you're kind of funny. Intense. Unhinged, if you will."

"Thanks?"

"I like it," he says, easily.

You want the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

But you wipe your mouth with a napkin, inhale slowly, and grab your phone like it might shield you from the embarrassment.

"You're not funny," you say, standing up.

He stands, too, "You're blushing."

"I'm going to kill you."

"And tweet about it later?" He adds, raising a brow.

You march toward the exit. But still, behind you, you hear the soft tap of his sneakers as he calls out, low, sweet, and dangerously smug: "Don't forget to add the part where I said please."

You shove the door open.

"Park Sunghoon, you're up,"

The sound engineer barely glances your way as he gestures toward the mic stand. You stand to the side with a clipboard in hand, the checkboxes already half-filled for Jungwon and Heeseung. You're just assisting, nothing more. Yet, you've told yourself that three times now.

But then he strides in, all calm confidence and sweat-slicked neck, and your grip on the clipboard tightens.

"Hey," he grins.

"Hey," you replied, stiff.

You pretend to scan the equipment checklist, heart already quickening. His mic pack is in place, corn snaking down under the hem of his shirt. Too much movement and it'll slip. And of course, just as the engineer starts toggling the frequency, the mic shorts.

"Hold still."

"I'm always still," Sunghoon murmurs.

You crouch slightly, trying to get a grip on the cord slotted against the curve of his back, just beneath the tucked hem of his shirt. The mic pack is wedged awkwardly under his belt, and to fix it, you'll have to – you sigh, instead.

You reach around, fingers grazing his waistband.

Sunghoon tenses under your touch.

"You nervous?" He asks, voice a low murmur in the mic, only audible to you.

"Shut up,"

"Your hands are shaking," He remarks.

"I said shut up."

"So you do like touching me."

You jab the mic pack into his lower back, hard.

He flinches slightly, but you know there is a grin plastered on his face.

"You're cute when you're mean."

You move to step back, but suddenly, his hand gently, lightly, brushes your wrist. The touch is barely there, but it startles you all the same.

Your eyes snap to his. He's watching you. And he's looking at you. You pull your hand back like you've been burned, "There," you say stiffly, "fixed."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Because I think I need a little more adjusting." His voice dips, suggestive.

And you nearly drop the clipboard.

The engineer calls out from behind the glass: "Perfect, signal's steady now."

You take a full step back. Sunghoon lets you go this time.

As he takes position for his mic test, you catch your reflection in the mirror beside the recording booth. Your cheeks are flushed. His are not.

But he turns, meets your eyes once more, and then.. he winks.

You almost broke the glass.

It's been two weeks since the convenience store incident.

So, it means, it's been two weeks since Sunghoon took an interest in making your life a living hell. By being mean to you? No. Worse. By flirting with you on each set and only you could hear it.

It's two weeks of faking indifference as he winked at you during rehearsals, smirked when he passed you during call time, and offered annoyingly specific compliments like: "New hand cream?" or "Didn't peg you for a lemon girl."

Two weeks of dodging any mention of that thread on your timeline.

You thought maybe – just maybe – the storm was passing. That the account would die down again. That people would forget. You'd even muted your own username, turned off DM requests. Held off from posting anything remotely unhinged, despite the itch in your fingers every time Sunghoon so much as breathed in your direction.

You thought it was over.

Until now.

Busying yourself with a sweet, rare pocket of silence as you stood outside the styling lounge while fanning yourself with the lighting cue sheets, you pull out your phone.

And there it is. A notification.

A quote tweet from an account you don't recognise.

But first, the tweet that started it.

[yuniecore]: @.nuguhasdoubts if ure really from belift, what do u think is sunghoon's type? end all the gf stans rn

Well, you shouldn't entertain that.

But your finger hovers. There's already traction on it – likes, bookmarks, a couple dozen QRTs. And then, you stumbled upon a quote tweet from a zero-follower account with the handle "icedamericano07", a white dog icon, and no header.

[icedamericano07]: bite. brains. knows how to handle wires. doesn't take my shit. @.nughuhasdoubts, what do you think?

You freeze.

No. No way.

You read it again.

The phrasing. The cadence. The cockiness.

Knows how to handle wires? Your fucking clipboard almost slips out of your hands.

You open the profile: no name, no description, no tweets other than this one. But you know, you know, you know it's him.

[nuguhasdoubts] on Direct Message: you're actually sick in the head. [icedamericano07] on Direct Message: sick? no. curious? absolutely. you didn't answer the question. am i wrong? do you know how to handle wires? 😏

You stare at the screen like it just slapped you.

[nuguhasdoubts] on Direct Message: this is workplace harassment. i could report you. [icedamericano07] on Direct Message: and say what? that i guessed your burner account from how you described my cologne too accurately? please. you're one exhale away from writing a sonnet about my jawline.

You slam your phone face-down on the nearest surface and inhale so deeply you almost see stars. But... you can't help but admit that there's a strange thrill. Like the person you've been screaming about in anonymity knows and instead of retreating, he's daring you to keep going.

[icedamericano07] on Direct Message: just admit it. you like me. [nuguhasdoubts] on Direct Message: i tolerate your existence. barely. keep dreaming.

A pause. And then,

[icedamericano07] on Direct Message: then let me give you better material to tweet about.

Your mouth goes dry.

You slide your phone back into your back pocket like it's cursed. Then storm into the studio like your shoes are on fire. But as you pass by the mirrors lining the wall, you catch your reflection: flushed, breathless, and worse, smiling.

It happens after a brutal Friday run-through.

You're coming down from twelve straight hours of lighting cues, sound checks, and last-minute styling disasters for ENHYPEN's Walk the Line tour. The studio's thinned out. Most of the staff are gone, only a few stragglers left packing up cables and costume pieces.

You've unhooked your headset, pulled your hair down, and wiped your face with the only half-clean tissue in your bag. You're exhausted. You've barely eaten. You ache everywhere – especially your back and the sharp crook of your shoulder where the production clipboard had dug into you all day.

You slump onto the edge of the stage, legs dangling, sipping from a lukewarm water bottle. That's when he finds you.

"Thought I'd find you here," Sunghoon says, voice low and lazy as he crouches beside the platform edge.

You don't even look at him, "Congratulations."

"What's my prize?" He murmurs, inching closer until his knee brushes your thigh.

You scoff, "A slap, probably."

His laugh is warm. Daring. Annoyingly smooth.

"I'll take my chances."

You finally glance at him.

He's still in his post-rehearsal sweatpants and hoodie, hair damp from the shower, exposed skin glistening just a bit from the leftover heat of the day. He looks like he should be in a magazine ad for bad decisions and good lighting.

You shift your leg, and he doesn't.

He raises an eyebrow, "You always look this uptight?"

You bristle, "Excuse me?"

"Your shoulders," he says, reaching over and ghosting his fingers just over your back. You flinch.

"You're wound up like a tripwire."

"I've been on my feet for twelve hours."

"You're always like this," he hums.

"Maybe because someone's always provoking me."

He grins, "You're tense."

"No shit."

"Let me help."

Your head snaps toward him. He doesn't flinch, doesn't smile. His gaze is steady. Confident. Dangerous.

"Let me loosen you up," he says, low.

Your heart slams against your ribs, "You're out of your mind."

"Am I?" he murmurs, leaning in.

His palm presses to your back, hot and wide and deliberate. Not high enough to be inappropriate. Not low enough to be excusable. Just maddeningly right.

"This is a game to you."

Another shrug, "Isn't it fun?"

You blink, and yet, your breath catches. You should leave, you should get up, push him away, throw your empty water bottle at his head.

His hand slips slightly lower, "You have a choice," he says, "Say no, and I'll leave. Beg just right, and I'll help you."

Your pride should take the way out, but your body.. your body aches. You've been holding tension for weeks. In your muscles, in your bones, in every sarcastic tweet and every hissed comeback and every moment he's stood too close just to make you feel it.

You don't say anything.

And maybe that's enough.

Because Sunghoon exhales, moves behind you, and with maddening slowness, slides his hands over your shoulders. He massages, presses, kneads. Firm, skilled like he's done this before, like he's good at this.

He leans in, "Relax," he murmurs, hot breath against your neck.

"Don't get used to this," you snap.

"I wouldn't dare."

You felt his fingers work down your spine.

And that's how it happens. One moment you're letting Park Sunghoon rub the knots out of your spine in the dim stage after-hours. And now, he guides you slowly onto your back against the stage floor, cushioned by the jacket he shrugs off for you. The silence is tense, electrified, only broken by your breathing and the faint creak of the floor beneath you.

When he kneels between your legs, you suck in a breath.

He looks up, "Still with me?"

You nod.

"Words."

"Yes,"

"Good."

He peels your trousers down slowly. Painfully slowly.

Not rushing, not fumbling – like he knows what he's doing and he knows you'll let him. Like he's done this in his head a dozen times already.

You shudder when the fabric hits your ankles, your back pressed against the cool steel railing at the side of the stage, spotlights dimmed, the rest of the venue swallowed by shadow. You're hidden here, but it makes it worse. Every sound, every breath, every filthy noise is amplified in the quiet.

It's 11:47 PM, and you're letting Park Sunghoon, the man who's made your job ten times harder, the man who's cocky and smug and always, always gets under your skin, kneel for you.

You hear the soft shuffle of his hoody as he makes himself comfortable. Your underwear is still on, it's the last thing protecting your sanity. But he drags his knuckles over your thighs so softly, it makes you ache. He hooks a finger in the waistband and pauses.

"Still good?"

"...Yes," you whisper, "I'm fine."

You're really not.

You're dizzy. You're humiliated by how much you want this. How your body is trembling with anticipation even when your brain is screaming: don't you dare make this mean something.

This is Sunghoon. And this is better than admitting what's been rotting in your chest.

Because if he touches you like this, it's fine, right? It's fine because he doesn't mean it. Because he's just playing a game. Because it's him, the man you can't stand.

So, it can't hurt you.

He kisses the inside of your ankle. Featherlight. Then a little higher, again, and again. His lips trail up your leg like he's marking a path. He alternates, your left thigh, then the right – until his mouth presses to the crease where your thigh meets your hip.

You jolt.

And all the while, you keep your eyes fixed straight ahead. Because you can't look down. You don't want to see the way he watches you. You don't want to see if there's pity, or curiosity, or anything that might crack you open.

It's easier in the dark.

It's easier when you don't see him.

Because he's everything you're not. An iced, golden boy. Loved. Gorgeous, gifted, perfect. He has what you lost: center stage, applause, the confidence of someone allowed to dream.

You hate him.

You hate that you don't, really.

And your panties are soaked. He sees it. You know he sees it because he lets out a low, almost reverent sound, like he's praying under his breath as his thumb drags over the damp fabric.

"This wet for me?" He asks, genuinely curious, like he's still not convinced it's real.

Oh, you badly wanted to scream.

Then, tongue flat, he licks you over your panties. A bold, slow stripe. And had the courage to hum.

"Cute," he says, and your breath catches, "you taste desperate."

You slap a hand over your mouth. He smirks. You feel the smugness even without looking down. And then, he peels the fabric to the side. A beat of silence.

You can hear the way you're wet, the quiet obscene sound of his breath brushing your soaked folds. He exhales like it's smoke: slow and deliberate.

His thumb spreads you open.

Then, his mouth is on you.

His tongue flattens against your clit in one slow drag, then circles it with calculated precision. Fast once, then slow, then again, like he's testing what makes you twitch. Your grip on the railing tightens, and you accidentally let out a soft moan.

Hand sliding behind your thighs, anchoring you in place as he eats like he's trying to memorise how to unravel you. And god, he's good. Too fucking good.

He alternates between flicks and sucks, rolling his tongue, then locking his lips around your clit to suck gently, then harder. It's like he's experimenting, showing off.

Your hips buck, and he groans into you – on purpose – sending vibrations through your core. It's disgusting how fast your body responds.

"You like that? he asks, voice hoarse between licks, "Didn't think someone with such a smart mouth could be this quiet."

You almost choke on air.

Then his hand comes up, just one, sliding down the front of your thigh, fingertips dragging over your skin like he owns it. He presses two fingers into you slowly. Testing, stretching. Just enough to curl inside you as his tongue keeps working.

Your knees buckle, "Sunghoon–"

He freezes.

Then he drags his mouth up and looks at you, eyes dark, "Say it again."

You shake your head, humiliated, and in return, he presses his fingers deeper, making you gasp, "Sunghoon!"

His lips are back on you in a heartbeat. And then you're unraveling, thighs clenching around his head, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your orgasm crashes into you. The tension shatters. You come with a full-body tremble, your hips jerking helplessly into his mouth as he keeps licking, greedy and relentless, like he doesn't want to stop.

And, really, he doesn't.

He licks you through it and after it. Slow, gentle strokes to your oversensitive clit that makes your thighs twitch and your fingers claw at the railing for mercy.

Finally, he pulls back.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips are glistening, his cheeks are flushed.

You're panting, drunk, dazed, wrecked.

And he has the audacity to smirk.

"Thanks for the prize," he says, cockily and devastatingly handsomely.

You stare at him, wide-eyed.

He shrugs like it's no big deal, "You looked like you needed a release."

You don't speak, you can't.

Sunghoon stands, wipes the corners of his mouth again like he just finished eating lunch, and steps away. Hands in his hoodie, whistling. And then: "See you tomorrow," he says, already walking off.

And you're left there, shaking, heart in your throat, wondering what the hell just happened; and why your body still aches like he barely scratched the surface.

It's been three days.

Three whole days since Park Sunghoon dropped to his knees in the shadow of a stage that had once only echoed with your voice calling lighting cues and ruined you.

Three days since he looked up at you through his lashes with that insufferable glint in his eye, tongue dragging over your soaked underwear like you were dessert after a sold-out show. Three days since he made you come with nothing but his mouth and his smug persistence.

Three days.

And now?

Now he's normal.

No, worse than normal – he's professional.

He walks through the halls of the tour venue like he owns them, and he kind of does. The Walk the Line tour is halfway through its Asian leg, and Sunghoon is still very much the ice prince on stage. The sweet-faced visual in every behind-the-scenes clip, the golden boy who laughs in rehearsals and delivers lines with lethal charm on live broadcast.

He nods at staff like you don't exist. Like he didn't taste you and leave you shaking. Like you weren't a real thing. Just another part of his routine.

"Morning," he says when he passes you in the hallway on the second floor.

No wink. No smirk. Not even a pause.

Your breath stutters, "Hey,"

But he's already gone. No backwards glance. No tension in his shoulders. Just air between you. A silence so loud it swallows the past whole.

You even try to rationalise it.

It was just one night. Not even a whole night. It was fifteen minutes, to be exact. That's how fast he has made you come in his mouth.

He's an idol. You're a staff. You have a clipboard and a headset and no business letting anyone, least of all him, crawl between your legs when your ID is still swinging around your neck.

You try to tell yourself it didn't matter. That it was a tension release, a temporary unraveling, a misstep that the both of you would walk away from untouched.

But you are touched.

Everywhere.

Your body still aches with phantom heat. Your lips still press together when you pass the dressing room where it happened. Your stomach still twists when you catch his scent on the stairs – that stupid expensive fragrance that always clings to the collars of his hoodies.

And worse? He knows.

Because sometimes, he spares his time to look at you. Just for a second. A flicker of a glance. Like a hook, just enough to tug at the thread holding you together.

In rehearsals, when he's practicing formations. You're crouched in the tech booth, reviewing cue sheets, and then his gaze skims right over his monitor and lands on you. You freeze, he doesn't even blink.

When you hand off a chain correction for the stylists during makeup, he takes it, touches your fingers too long, and thanks you like he always does, sweetly, almost innocently.

But it's a game. And you're losing.

He doesn't even flirt anymore, not like before.

No sly whispers about your lips, no jokes about how cute you look when your clipboard shakes. He doesn't bait you during mic checks or complain about his in-ears just so you'll come closer.

He asks other people now. Always polite. Always charming.

Two months later, you're seated in the staff corner during the pre-recording run of Walk the Line in Jakarta. Coffee half-finished. Cue sheets wrinkled. A setlist spread across your lap like armor.

The world around you blurs, stylists touching up roots, dancers rushing in and out, interns double-checking security barricades.

Then, he slides into the seat across from you.

No warning.

"Hey," he says, casual, "You've been quiet."

Your breath catches. You don't meet his eyes. You fiddle with the edge of your script. "Not sulking, are you?" he adds, voice low enough for only you to hear.

You inhale sharply, you refuse to bite. But your knuckles tighten over your pen.

"I've been working."

"Didn't know work required you to ignore me."

"That implies I acknowledged you to begin with."

He lets out a soft, faux-offended gasp, "Ouch."

When he stands, crumpling his coffee cup in one hand, he adds over his shoulder: "You taste better when you're annoyed."

Your jaw goes slack, and you even barely process his retreating figure.

What does he even want at this point?

That question bugs you each day, that's why when you spot him alone on the balcony behind the rehearsal room, leaning against the railing with his hoodie up, phone in one hand, you took your chances.

You were going to ask: What was that night? Why are you still playing?

But then, he looks up and smirks. Like he knew you were coming, like you're already predictable.

"Need something?" he asks, cocking a brow up as calm as can be.

You flinch and walk away.

And that night, that night you try to draft a tweet. Something vague, sharp, cathartic. Something like your old self before all this mess. But everything comes out wrong.

Too raw, too revealing. Too much like someone who cared.

You delete it all. You stare at your screen until it fades to black.

It's pathetic, the way you look for him.

You should be reviewing lighting logs or updating the asset board for the upcoming comeback for DESIRE:UNLEASH. You should be sleeping, crying, screaming into your pillow. Anything but this.

But here you are, behind the rehearsal studio, under the sliver of moonlight that pools on the balcony concrete like spilled milk. Looking for a boy who only ever leaves you aching.

And there he is.

Like the last time, he's leaning back against the railing, hoodie on, phone in hand. Like he isn't the reason your world's been spinning sideways for weeks.

He doesn't even look surprised when he hears your steps. Of course, he knew you'd come.

You hate that he's beautiful even like this. You hate that you still want him anyway.

"Of course, you're out here."

He looks up, just his eyes, no real shift in his posture. And then – God, that smile. That goddamn smile.

"Could say the same about you."

You walk over slowly, carefully, as if daring yourself to get close might make the moment more bearable.

Well, it doesn't.

He tucks his phone away, gives you a once-over, casual and amused, "You gonna scold me? You look like you're about to yell."

Really, damn you, Park Sunghoon.

"I might," you declare, teeth clenched.

He laughs, "Should I be scared?"

You pause in front of him, cross your arms, and for a second – you don't say anything. You just look at him.

At the boy who ate you out like a secret. At the man who walked away like it never happened. At the person who sees all of you, but keeps his eyes closed.

You inhale sharply, "What do you want, Sunghoon?"

"Right now?" he drawls, pretending to think, "Maybe a drink, a nap? A massage would be great –"

"I'm serious, Sunghoon."

"So am I," he says, breezily.

"I don't get you," you begin, and your voice is steady, for now, "You flirt, you vanish, you tease, and then –"

Your breath hitches.

"Then you touch me like I'm more than that, and pretend that it didn't happen."

He doesn't say anything.

You glance sideways, searching for his face under the low hood, but he doesn’t look back. Just presses his lips together like he’s stifling a laugh.

You feel your chest tighten. “You think this is funny?”

“No,” he says, softly. “Just familiar.”

Your heart stutters.

“I want to hate you,” you confess. The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, before you can dress them up in sarcasm or hide them behind a bitter joke, “I want to hate you so bad. Because you ruin everything. You ruin me.”

His brows knit, finally, but he still doesn’t interrupt.

“I hate the way you look at me like you already know what I’m thinking. I hate that I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore. I hate that you're everywhere – the damn rehearsal room, the elevator, the breakroom, the f –”

You stop.

“But mostly,” your voice lowers, cracks, “I hate that you touched me like you meant it. And then walked away like you didn’t.”

You both stand there for a long, loaded second. The wind lifts your hair. Somewhere inside, a faint bassline from another studio vibrates through the floor.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whisper. “I didn’t ask for you.”

Sunghoon turns to you, finally, slow and unreadable. He takes you in: eyes drifting from the trembling fists at your sides to the way your jaw clenches like you’re holding yourself together with glue and prayer.

And then he smirks.

“That’s not what your tweets said.”

Your chest caves.

“Fuck you,” you breathe, and it hurts. God, it hurts, how fast the ache rushes in.

“You’re really going to turn this into a joke now?” you ask, barely holding the cracks together. “You think quoting my tweets makes you clever? You think it makes this easier?”

“I think you’re the one who made it complicated,” he says.

Your eyes sting.

“And you’re the one who kept playing the game.”

Sunghoon shrugs, “You were playing too.”

“I stopped!” you yell, too loud, too suddenly. You catch yourself, voice dropping again. “I stopped when I realized none of it meant anything to you.”

He looks away.

“You want to know the worst part?” you ask, shaking now, your fists clenched so tightly your nails dig into your palms.

He doesn’t answer.

So you keep going. Because now, you can’t stop.

“I can’t even trust myself anymore. I walk into a room and you’re there and suddenly I’m stupid again. I let you do that to me and I didn’t even ask why – because I thought maybe, just maybe, it meant something. Maybe I wasn’t imagining it. Maybe you looked at me and actually saw me.”

Silence. Long. Agonizing.

Finally, he says, softly, flatly, with nothing behind it:

“I don’t do real.”

You flinch like he slapped you. And for the first time in weeks, you have nothing left to say.

No jokes. No comebacks. Just the steady collapse of something inside you, like the floor gave out.

You nod.

“Right,” you whisper, “Of course you don’t.”

He looks at you like he wants to say more. His throat works around the words. But whatever they are, he swallows them.

So, you nod again. And walk away.

And this time, he lets you. And that’s the worst part.

Because you wanted him to follow.

The days blur after that.

You don't cry. Not like you thought you would. Not in the way you expected: no gasping sobs into your pillow, no dramatic tears behind the studio monitors. No, instead, it settles in quieter. Colder. Like frost.

You keep your head down. Do your job. Show up early, leave late. Laugh when you need to. Answer questions. Avoid him.

Always, always avoid him.

You stop using the staff pantry, too many memories. Too many shared glances across the coffee machine. You choose the service elevator now. Keep a spare headset in your pocket in case someone says his name in the group channel.

Even when he's nearby, you pretend he isn’t.

And to your own disbelief, he does the same. At least, on the surface.

You catch him once – just once – watching you across the stage while Jungwon rehearses his solo. He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t look away either. It unsettles you.

The teasing is gone. The grins. The little traps. Nothing. Just a vacuum where he used to exist. You try to tell yourself this is better. You try.

But it’s 1:13 a.m. now.

And your apartment feels too quiet.

You’ve had your phone on Do Not Disturb for three hours. You haven’t checked the nuguhasdoubts account. You’ve ignored three separate texts from your production groupchat, one passive-aggressive reminder from the schedule board, and two attempts from Sunoo to FaceTime you “just because.”

There was so much more than he let on, you think. That’s the way Sunoo has always been, always ahead of everyone in ways that you couldn’t understand how he does it. Maybe, he’s empathetic – or, maybe, he’s just too nosy. But you think he’s empathetic, it’s Sunoo.

You’re curled on the couch in sweats, face bare, hair tied up, a bowl of congealed kimchi stew on your coffee table.

You try watching something: a rerun, a music show, a mukbang, but everything reminds you of him. Of them. Of the life you orbit but can never truly belong in.

Your apartment, a perk of working under HYBE, is too pristine for how worn you feel. White walls, modern fixtures, perfect view of the Han River; and none of it feels like yours. You’re just a tenant here. A ghost with a staff badge and too many secrets.

Your hand twitches toward your phone. Then away. Then toward it again.

You turn it over.

One new text.

[unknown number] 1:15 AM. i'm outside. just five minutes. if you hate me after this, i'll leave for good.

Your pulse slams through your chest.

You sit up. Walk to the door.

Your knees feel wrong. Like someone’s replaced your bones with glass.

You press the button for the camera feed. The screen flickers.

And there he is.

Sunghoon. Standing under your building’s awning. Hoodie pulled up, rain soaking the hem. His sneakers are wet. His shoulders are hunched like he's bracing for impact.

Your fingers hover over the buzzer. For a second, you tell yourself: don’t do it. He doesn’t deserve this. Then your heart says: but I still want to hear what he’ll say.

And you buzz him in.

The intercom clicks off. Your hand falls to your side. Your chest feels like it might cave in.

You leave the door open for him.

Just a crack.

The door swings open with a soft creak, rain still whispering against the windows behind you. He steps inside like he’s trespassing. Like this space might reject him.

His hoodie is soaked through, dripping water onto the hardwood. His shoes are ruined. But it’s not the mess that unsettles you — it’s the look in his eyes. He’s not smug. Not cocky. Not teasing. He looks like he’s searching for something, and terrified he won’t find it here.

You don’t say anything at first. Just toss a towel to him. Not kindly.

“Dry off before you ruin the floor.”

He catches the towel one-handed. Rubs the back of his neck, slowly, like he's trying to buy time.

You cross your arms, back rigid, “Why are you here, Sunghoon?”

“I…” His voice is cracked from the cold, “Because I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your jaw tightens, “That’s not an answer.”

He drops the towel onto your kitchen chair. Looks at you. Really looks at you.

“I didn’t think you’d open the door.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

You fold your arms tighter, “You’re not here to make peace, are you? You’re not the type.”

“No,” he says quietly. “I’m here because I haven’t been able to sleep. Or eat. Or exist right since you walked away.”

You kept quiet.

“I can’t think straight, I can’t even rehearse properly, my mind keeps looping back to the balcony, and the look on your face like I’d just torn you open and smiled about it.”

“You did,” you whisper, voice small, sharp, “You looked me in the eye and said you don’t do real. Like I hadn’t already given you everything real about me.”

“I know,” he chokes, “And I wanted to say I didn’t mean it. But I knew I’d sound like a liar.”

“Then why come now?” you demand, shaking, “After all this? After weeks of avoiding me? After you made me feel insane for wanting you?”

Silence. Just the sound of rain ticking against your glass balcony door.

Then, with a breath:

“Because I realized I’m not scared of you breaking me,” he says, “I’m scared that you already did.. and I let you go anyway.”

Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

“I thought keeping it casual would protect us. That I could make you laugh, keep you distant, pretend I didn’t care,” he continues, voice rising now, “But then you stopped talking to me. You stopped smiling. You looked through me like I was no one. And I swear to god, it felt like dying.”

You take a step back, “Why now, Sunghoon? Why only when I walked away did you start realizing any of this?”

He shakes his head, “Because I was a coward.”

You flinch.

“You were brave enough to ask what this was. I just kept pretending it was easier to laugh than to admit I gave a fuck.”

Your hands are trembling, “So, now what? You show up drenched and desperate and say you care? And I’m supposed to forget how you left me behind?”

“No,” he says, “You’re supposed to tell me to leave.”

You blink.

“But you haven’t.”

His voice drops. “Which means… maybe there’s still something left.”

You hate him for being right.

He steps forward. Rain still clings to his lashes. His voice turns raw, stripped of every mask he’s worn until now.

“I don’t want anyone else reading your tweets,” he whispers. “I don’t want anyone else getting to look at you the way I have. I don’t want anyone else making you laugh the way I should’ve.”

Tears sting your eyes. You hate that, too.

He exhales, voice low, vulnerable, trembling at the edge of everything he’s ever avoided saying.

“The show’s over, Y/N. And I still want you all the same.”

A beat.

Your throat tightens, but you don’t falter.

You look him straight in the eye and whisper, “I’ve stayed for the ending credits.”

The silence in your apartment feels louder than anything else tonight. Not the hum of the air conditioning, not the rustle of city lights outside the window, not even your heartbeat, which has betrayed you too many times when it comes to him, “Then let me make it worth your while.”

And finally, fucking finally, he kisses you. Like he really did mean it. Maybe, he does. Sunghoon holds the sides of your face and kisses you deeply, trying so hard to memorise how you taste because he had done everything to deprive himself off of it. Each kiss translated into: fuck, I’ve always wanted to kiss you since the very first tweet.

You gasped against his lips, letting out a small noise of shock at how intense he is just from kissing you. He walks further, pushing you to the couch before he hovers over you and cup your cheeks as he looks into your eyes, kissing the tip of your nose before he kisses you again, softly, this time. Sunghoon slots himself in between your legs, holding your hand as he kisses the inside of your palm before diving to your jaw, leaving little kisses to his wake as he leans down and to suck on your jaw, leaving marks of ownership as if he’s afraid anyone had the guts to claim you.

“So beautiful,” he murmured against your skin before toying with the straps of your night gown, flicking it against your skin so faint you almost missed the snap of the fabric against your skin, “I’m really sorry,” he whispers as he pulls your tank top to pool above your breasts, breathing at how he finally had the chance to have you like this: under him, beautiful, vulnerable – and it all boils down to him on how he should win you, again. In the charm that only a Park Sunghoon has.

His mouth envelops around the bud of your nipple, moaning hard at how he tastes the expanse of your skin. He shifts his weight down, focuses on sucking your nipple as his eyes flicker over to you, making sure you’re with him as he finally proves himself to you as he alternates between each nipple.

Sunghoon travels to the valley of your breasts, tracing the tip of his nose all throughout the flushed skin. He kisses down a trail softly to your stomach, kissing over the expanse of it, each stretch mark, each mole that you didn’t even know existed there. He travels down and became face to face with your pulsating core. He breaths out, a familiar sight right before him, but this time, he’s not hiding anymore.

“Shit,” you breathe out as you feel his breath fanning over your core. He pokes his tongue on the wet patch that has formed on your underwear, groaning as if he’s tasting you again for the first time. He chuckles when he meets your heated gaze, “Relax,” he says, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better,” and he chuckles at your breathy threat.

He hums before licking a stripe over your clothed core, giving you what you want but not exactly the way you want it. It was a while of teasing you, mixing his saliva with the wetness that is evident over the cotton of your panties. And after a while, Sunghoon pulls it down before immediately diving into your clit.

You squeal and immediately tighten your thighs around his face, holding on his hair tightly as he alternated on flicking his tongue against your clit and sucking it hard that whenever he lets it go, a pop is evident between your close bodies. He ate you out like he wanted to prove something, that him in love and eating you out was better than the last time he did so, but evidently in lust. And he doesn’t slide a finger inside you. He focuses his tongue and mouth in all the places you needed him.

“Bedroom,” you try to say as you tap his shoulder, “please,” you added.

Sunghoon stopped and grinned at you before scooping you with his arms and carry you bridal style. Both of your heartbeats as loud as it could be, thumping against the vulnerable expanse of your chest. He lays you down softly on your bed with a thump, and it’s almost as if Sunghoon is met with a sudden rush of urgency, he strips himself off his clothes before leaning down again to kiss you.

He grinds his crotch against yours, hissing as his shaft feel the wetness from your core smearing all over him. He presses his forehead on yours as he stayed that way for a deadly, long time. Just his shaft slipping in between your hungry folds, edging the both of you the way you both have played this game for so long. You whimper whenever you feel his tip grazing your hole just a tad, but lose it whenever you feel the drag of it against your clit.

“Please,” you beg again, “I need you, Hoon.”

“Goddamn,” Sunghoon mutters, as if bracing himself. He perches up, arms on either side of your head before lining his tip against your already throbbing entrance. He pokes the tip of his dick against it, letting out a broken moan as he feels how wet you are. And he eases himself in – too slippery, he thinks – and you’re comfortable just right. You hug his dick snugly but fit him inside easily, it was as if it was a perfect fit.

“Such a perfect pussy for me,” he groans, “I fit you so well, Y/N,”

He drags each thrust slowly, making you want to feel each vein, each drag, how your walls pulsate around his big dick that even with little movement, bullies your cervix in such a delicious way. Each thrust has his lips hanging over yours, and a small part of you wishes he kisses you while he does, but with each hard thrusts, he is jutted forward, and his lips only graze yours.

“Park Sunghoon,” you called out, “kiss me.”

And his eyes meet yours, before breaking out into a grin and obliges you. This kiss was slow, taking its time. Teeth clashing here and there, tongues desperate to feel each muscle, breaths exchanged in heavy and deep heaves, each meant a confession heavier than the last one. God, amidst all miscommunication and the game you willingly played with him, Sunghoon was a fit candidate to what you know is love.

“I love you,” Sunghoon stutters as his thrust increased, beating you to a love confession that you had unwillingly placed upon the category of competition on who gets to say it first.

Well, you’re glad he said it first.

You smiled before reaching out to wrap your arms around him before cupping the side of his face, and he leans in, kissing the inside of your palm again with his free hand wrapping around the circumference of your wrist, “You idiot,” you laugh, and he does, too, “I love you, too.”

And then you’re coming, climax crashing into you before you realise that you are coming undone around him. This makes him groan around you, chasing his orgasm, and then: “Shit, can I come inside?”

You laugh at him seeking approval, but you nod, anyway. And he comes inside you, pulling you up in a hug, as if he needed your body against him to ground himself in the intensity, and Sunghoon shudders at each emotion flowing out of him. His lips busying itself kissing whatever skin near to his mouth, but his eyes are screwed shut as he lets out breathy exhales, trying so hard not to cry but he does.

Tears staining your back and his sniffles fill the room and you pull him away to cup his cheeks, “Sunghoon,” you call him softly.

“I’m sorry, I love you, I fucking do,” he says softly, looking into your eyes, “I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

A smile breaks out from your lips, “You’re goddamn cheesy.”

“Only for you,” he chuckles.

And you smile at him as if you placed all the past behind.

Sure, you first thought how crazy it is that everything started with just one harmless thread about him being the man everyone desired to be. You first thought how this is a mistake, how everything was a mistake. That your world didn’t belong in his, because his perfection didn’t deserve an ounce of taint from your life, but you’ve come to realise that Sunghoon is as human as you are.

He was a perfectionist, true, but he was a coward all the same. Masking his imperfection in his continuous strive to become perfect, and this is one of the times that he let himself be imperfect to have the one thing he has deprived himself of: love.

As the night when on, legs tangled with each other as he slept beside you, his mask of indifference and cockiness finally shed off to make you see the boy who only wanted to be perfect to feel the love he thinks he deserve. You brush his hair off his forehead, and place a kiss on his forehead, letting the warmth dissipate.

Cut scene, cut the chase. The curtains are drawn down, the show is over.

But your story had only begun. With him.

END. ©️ acciojaeyun, 2025.

[plutoasteroids]

PAC - What advice would the elderly you give the current you

PILE1 > PILE 2 (TOP 2 FROM LEFT TO RIGHT)

PILE 3 > PILE 4 (BOTTOM LEFT TO RIGHT)

My readings aare allegedly for entertainment purposes only! Anything said in my readings does not replace any professional advice from qualified and educated persons respectively!

Tarot readings are NOT a replacement for seeking professional guidance.

This reading MAY or MAY NOT contain triggering content - proceed with caution

This is a general reading if you want a specific one for you and YOUR energy you can get a paid reading! - PAID READINGS!

PILE 1

They are telling you to be kinder to yourself, you have a bad habit or this nature of taking yourself too seriously and being in a way cold to protect yourself. From a young age you have been weighed down by the world's problem and it definitely wasn't fair to you but even though the world wasn't gentle to you at least be kind and gentle to yourself for your own good and for the sake of your inner child. Embrace who you really are and love yourself through the good and the bad. There is still a lot for you to learn specifically finding peace within yourself, learning to let go and seeing the brighter side of life. Life isn't always so serious, find a balance.

PILE 2

The elderly you acknowledges that you are going through a tough time, and you are weighed down by expectations and honestly life has just been pretty heavy for you more so lately. You may have problem with finances, or you are in a situation you just don't want to be in completely. Don't lose hope, there is a lot top look forward to more than you know. It's hard to see the bright side of things when you feel like you are drowning and suffocated but trust me there is don't lose hope. Good things are coming for you this year (emphasis on this year)

PILE 3

for you guys, the elderly you wants to focus on your finances. Right now, you feel like you are going through a tough time right now, there is no steady financial flow. You aren't making the money you hoped to be making at this time or at a point in your career or finances that doesn't feel fulfilling to you. To you it may not feel like there is any improvement, but your guides and the universe are working hard to make the path a little easier for you. There is going to be a lot of improvement in your financial life and career, you are going to make more money, and it will flow in more consistently, your spark and thirst to life is going to come back 10-fold, life is going to get so much better for you!

PILE 4

You have been made to feel that there is this certain order or structure that you must follow, that you must follow the system to a T (being a slave to the system) when in reality you are worth much more than that you are here to do a lot more than you can imagine. You are going through a tough time, you failed at something important, or you are dealing with societal pressure but whatever this situation is proves to be necessary for your own growth and development. All you need is a little confidence and faith in yourself and the divine, things will work out in your favour!

[loveabunbun]

Anything that involves sex toys? So for example we bought some vibes/dildos to try them out on him, but he don't really like it cause it's not us? This lowk cringe but ykwim? Smth like "I want you inside me not this thing" kind of thing? Lmao

🙂‍↕️thank u for the kind contribution king. sorry i disappeared, thank you for 200 followers xxx

your hand rests on his hip, pulling him closer to your front and trying to keep him from moving too much but it isn’t working so well. he moans loudly into the air, saved from shame by the mere fact that he couldn’t see you. he couldn’t see anything matter of fact, the silk blindfold over his pretty eyes made sure of that.

even so they squeeze shut underneath the fabric with every push and pull of the thick, ridged dildo you had squeezed into his puffy ass. he’s trembling in your hold. your eyes scan the full-length mirror propped up across from you naked, kneeling bodies. you have perfect view of each and every tense of his well-earned muscles, the messy rise and falls of his firm tits. his front is lathered with previous releases, sweat, saliva, and possibly lube too, that serve his glow. a tender kiss on his neck allows you to whisper in his ear, “you look like a dream,”

he gives a full body sigh, broken into two with a pitiful moan. his hands bound in front of your stomach, behind his back, clench and unclench in frustration. earlier, you’d had your cock slotted into his palms for your pleasure but he’d since been warned against touching you without permission. “f-fuck, baby! i-i can’t do it, i can’t,”

you tut at his fidgeting but can’t deny your lover is difficult to resist. even so, you know he can take one more and you say just that, much to his disappointment. “you’re almost there my love, i can see it, can feel it,” it’s as clear as the full moon which hangs in the sky.

he lets his head fall into the crook of your neck, breaths shuddering as his body prepares for it’s next peak. his legs spread wider out of his control. his hips too relent to your consistent movements, riding the dragon cock like it was your own. the lack of warmth reminds him it’s not the real thing though.

“no,” a petulant shake of his head, “i want you! nghh, need you,”

“i’m here honey, you have me.” he can hear the grin in your voice and a sob falls from his puffy lips, hands squeezing where they rest on your thighs. “i’ll give you more soon, just let go for me. sweet thing,”

you’re hot and pulsing at the small of his back, and his heart jumps at the thought of feeling your warmth inside, so close yet so far. like you can hear his thoughts, you pick up the pace with long, even strokes against his sweet spot. his moans become endless, tears finally dampening his blindfold. you’re cruel. your other hand comes up to thumb at his nipple. so fucking cruel. with your honeyed words and irresistible touch. he curses your teasing nature, always pushing him to the edge without remorse.

one more, he resolves himself, one more and he’ll be bred to his heart’s content. stuffed with you and not some silicone toy. pushy as you were, he knew he’d be rewarded handsomely. he barely feels your hand as it travel upwards to squeeze his neck and bring your lips together. good boy. as your tongue selfishly pushes into his mouth and the sparks alight throughout his body, he can’t help but realise the reason he doesn’t care for much sex toys is because he plays the role exceedingly better.

©getoogles.

[milfharkness]

honey, on your knees (when you look at me) | part one

pairing: agatha harkness x fem reader

summary: even though your job mostly consists of taking rich, arrogant lawyer's coffee orders, you're still grateful for the opportunity to work at such a prestigious firm. especially considering that your boss, agatha, is the hottest woman you've ever seen.

contents: g!p agatha, dom agatha, sub reader, dirty talk, degradation, oral (agatha receiving), talk of breeding

part two

An angel must've blessed you for you to receive this internship, you think when you glance over to a table where a few lawyers have gathered to look over some documents together.

Amidst them, Agatha Harkness stands in all her glory, wearing a dark blue tailored pantsuit and looking gorgeous as ever, discussing points in whatever papers they were reviewing.

It's been two glorious weeks at the law firm, and despite your days mostly consisted of going on coffee runs, you wouldn't trade it for anything. The past few weeks here have been absolute heaven, thanks to your boss, Agatha Harkness.

An infamously ruthless lawyer, winning case after case and building a hugely successful career for herself—also, the hottest woman you've ever seen in your entire life. Every chance you get, you look at her in awe, admiring veiny hands and piercing blue eyes.

And sometimes, she stares back.

Right then, her voice cuts through the noise in the office: "Your level of incompetence is fucking baffling."

You eye her again, Though she's never particularly kind or open-hearted, today the tension around her seems much thicker. Interrupting stuttered apologies by some employee, Agatha lets out a scoff and leaves for her office: "Someone deal with this, if I have to be subjected to your ineptitude any longer I'll have lawsuit on my hands."

You smirk to yourself. She does seem very stressed by all this...you look around the office. No one's paying attention to you.

Doesn't look like anyone needs coffee right now.

While the group is still frantically going over the papers, you should probably care more about the actual work being done here, you make your way to her office practically unnoticed. That's one of the benefits of being an intern—no one pays attention to you. You're invisible, a ghost.

To most, at least. More than once, you've caught Agatha staring at you, giving you a smirk or winking at you—so this couldn't hurt, right? You'll just ask her if she needs anything. Nothing scandalous about it.

Obviously, her office is the biggest of the building. Once you've reached it, you take a deep breath and knock. After there's no answer, you knock once more: "Miss Harkness? May I come in?"

A sharp groan follows and she yells something you hope is "Come on in!", but very likely isn't.

Her gaze immediately softens at the sight of you, though, and she expectantly waves a hand: "How can I help you? y/n, is it?"

"Yes," you reply, surprised and proud at the same time that she remembered your name. The door falls shut behind you.

"I was just wondering if there's anything you need. You seem a bit stressed..."

"I'm not stressed, I just work with idiot apes."

You give her a soft laugh, then shrug your shoulders: "So, coffee? Or...anything?"

She raises her brow at that, even giving you an amused smirk: "Or anything?"

You avert your gaze, looking down at the floor and smiling timidly: "Just...I don't know."

"I'm afraid I don't know, either. Are you sure you don't want to explain it to me?"

The atmosphere in the room changes almost instantly.

Agatha leans back in her chair, and you hear your heart pounding: "Or would you like me to tell you what I think you're talking about?"

You nod immediately. She laughs, slowly getting up from her chair. The sight you're presented with is like right out of a fucking dream—she's hard.

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath when she stalks towards you, leaning back against her desk in front of you.

One hand grips the edge of her desk, while her other one slowly makes its way down, grabbing her crotch through her pants. You let out a shaky breath.

"I think," she says, unzipping her pants, "you want to get on your knees and suck my cock. Stress relief, right?"

It's almost embarrassing how fast you fall to your knees in front of her. She laughs again, holding out her hand for you to take. You do, and she slowly leads it to her crotch.

Carefully, you touch her hard cock over the fabric of her pants, mouth watering at the feeling of her twitch in your hand.

A low groan from above you makes you look up—that fucking smirk is going to be the death of you. Is this really happening?

"May I?"

You don't specify what you're asking permission for, but both of you know and Agatha quickly nods, pressing herself further into the desk and gripping its edges when you unzip her pants, only pulling them down to her thighs and sliding down her panties, cock springing free. Oh. She's big.

Curious, you run your fingers along her length before carefully grabbing it and giving her a few light pumps, each making her let out a little groan—with the way she's pushing herself further into the desk and gripping its edges, you figure she needs this really bad.

And though you want nothing more than to help her with her frustration, it's intimidating. She is big, really big, and it's your first time doing anything like this.

You stroke her cock again a few more times, mouth mere inches from it, when Agatha moves her right hand into your hair and tugs lightly, muttering in a low, hushed voice: "Suddenly so shy..."

You don't look up, completely transfixed by her cock, and give her a small, hesitant smile: "You're big."

She hums noncommittally, fingers curling in your hair while her free hand moves down, perfectly manicured fingers barely fitting around her own cock and taking over for you, stroking herself: "You've wanted this for ages, haven't you?"

"Since I started here," you admit, looking up at her through your eyelashes.

At that, she smirks.

"Come on. Be a good girl for me and open up, honey."

For a second, you're hit with a wave of insecurity—you'd never done something like this, and you absolutely could not afford doing a bad job at pleasing Agatha—but the sultry tone of her voice, her darkened eyes, they make the worries wash away on a whim, replacing them with a desire to please her, through whatever means necessary.

You scoot closer to her and make a mental note to thank her about the soft carpet in her office later, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out to start by giving her a few kitten licks.

But before you can realize what's happening, she puts her other hand on the back of your head and pushes hard, pushes you onto herself fast until her cock hits the back of your throat—you barely even register what just happened and gag immediately, put your hands on her thighs and push to try and get yourself off of her, but she's relentless, holding your head with her hands and releasing a low growl.

Tears begin to run down your face automatically, God, the stretch fucking hurts, you feel like you can't breathe—what the fuck is she doing? Again, you try to push yourself away, but Agatha remains firm: "Shh, shh, calm down...let me take the lead, okay?"

You look up at her, eyebrows knitted together, as you struggle to understand while letting out muffled sobs and trying to breathe through your nose.

Agatha lets out a dark chuckle, bringing her thumbs to her face to wipe your tears away. Her previous kind demeanor has disappeared into thin air.

"Bold little cockslut, coming into my office practically begging me to fuck her...teasing me all week. You've had this coming."

Just then, she thrusts her hips forwards—again, you choke and gag, fuck, the tears don't stop, while Agatha doesn't seem concerned in the slightest, muttering things incomprehensible to you and continuing to fuck your throat.

"Walking around like a little whore, shoving your tits in my face, giving me blowjob eyes every time I fucking look your way—wanted to bend you over my desk and fuck your cunt the first time I saw you, fill you up, make you take it," she accentuates the last words with particularly rough thrusts.

You let out a pained sob, her fingernails pressing into your skin.

"I know you're getting off on it. I bet you love this," she purrs, before letting out another moan, "How many times have you fucked yourself to the thought of this?"

A whine escapes you, and you wouldn't have answered her question even if you were able to, simply because the answer was too humiliating.

You accept your fate when breathing through your nose gets easier, and you put your hands on the back of her thighs. She smiles cruelly through her panting: "Bet you'd like that, if I filled you up and bred you. Crying like you don't know what you've been doing."

As embarrassing as it is, her words go straight to your core and you groan against her, vibrations causing her to, as well.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you think about how neither of you had locked the door. She fucks the worries out of you with another hard thrust, a burning sensation in your throat you can't be bothered to lament right now.

"Fuck," she pants, "I might have to keep you. My personal little fucktoy."

Your eyes roll back in your head at the thought. This is humiliating, but you're unbelievably turned on despite it...okay, maybe because of it.

Agatha's thrusts are getting shallower and faster, and her groans louder, she must be so close—fuck it, you think, and for a moment, you consider shoving a hand down your skirt and getting yourself off, but decide against it. You must be fucking dripping, the pain of her assault on your throat doing something to you that you can't even describe.

Another loud moan escapes her, sweat glistening on her skin (you don't dare to imagine what you must look like right now), and you're prepared to take her cum—when instead, she all of a sudden pulls you off of her with one hand, spitting into her other one and then putting it around her cock again.

You can't stop yourself from coughing, nearly doubling over, until she fists her hand in your hair and pulls you up, still stroking her length: "Keep your mouth open, tongue out."

Tears are still running down your face, but you do as she says without hesitation, sticking your tongue out while she jerks herself off, biting her lower lip to keep quiet.

When Agatha cums with a surprisingly high-pitched whimper, she does it all over your face, tongue and neck. You don't move until she slumps back against her desk and lets go of your hair, panting heavily with her head thrown back.

After maybe a minute of her breathing being the only sound in the room, she lets out a weak laugh and pulls her underwear and pants back up: "Fuck. I really needed that. Thank you, honey."

You swallow, her cum a whole new flavor you can already feel yourself getting addicted to, and exhale shakily: "Holy fuck."

Your brain feels fuzzy. Maybe it's lack of oxygen or maybe it's the sensation of your fantasies starring a hot, powerful, middle-aged woman coming true, but one thing is certain: you're not sure how you're supposed to be able to sleep with anyone else ever again.

"Enjoyed that, huh?," she teases, before adding: "You can get off your knees now."

"I...genuinely don't think I can move."

There's a glint of something in her eyes. You can't quite place what it is. She's still smiling when she returns to the other side of her desk and gets something from one of her drawers. It's a box of wet wipes. You snort: "Need those a lot?"

"Not often. And rarely ever with interns," she gets out a wet wipe and hands it to you. You accept it gratefully.

"I'm not the first one?"

She laughs a little: "Not the first. But definitely the prettiest...get on the couch."

You raise an eyebrow at her request.

She smirks again: "Baby, don't pretend you're not soaked...come on. Don't forget, I'm an amazing, generous boss."

[multifandoms27-blog]

Yoyoyo, to the bucky/ws ask,

CW!era bucky x avengers reader

Reader is good friends with Sam and Steve and is also around Bucky a lot because of that so when they find each other somewhere they always chat for a while

eventually one late night things get heated between them and they end up in one of their bedrooms but since Bucky had been the ws for 70 years he’s pent up and super sensitive, comming rlly quickly and a lot js from grinding against reader’s thigh for a bit

:3

OHHHHHHH MY GOD YES YES YES

Content: CW!Bucky x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI!!! Premature ejaculation

Notes: I love cw era bucky hfhfjdhfjkhjd also first post of 2025!!

• ───────────────── •

The movie droned on and on, the plot lost on you. Instead, you cast sidelong glances at the man next to you. Bucky Barnes, one of many dreamboats in the Avengers tower. Sometimes you wondered if Tony only hired attractive people...aside from, y'know, what Bucky had done in the past.

But we don't need to talk about that.

Tonight's movie night only consisted of you, Sam, Steve and Bucky. The others were all either busy or on missions somewhere else. You looked at the other couch, where Sam and Steve sat, watching the movie intently. Sam had a habit of making some sort of joke or commentary on the bad decisions the actors made. Steve would shush him in return. Bucky said nothing, just choosing to drape his arm on the couch behind you.

Your heart began to hammer in your chest as you glanced back at Bucky, following the muscles along his right arm, the one currently resting behind you. You began to remember how those muscles flex in the gym, glistening in sweat, his breathy grunts reaching your ears. You felt your face heat up, but your brain didn't stop.

You then remember how those muscles feel wrapped around you in a tightly woven hug, one that you didn't initiate for once. Bucky had been warming up to you, albeit slowly.

Next, your mind decided to fuck with you a little bit. The image of Bucky remained, but you fantasized about him caging you in his arms against the counter, those muscles flexing slightly, his blue eyes narrowed and waiting for you to speak.

Your mind thought of how he'd look on top of you, those muscles still flexing, glistening in sweat. How his breathy grunts reaching your ears-

"I'm going to the bathroom." You announced, getting up from your spot and leaving the room, not waiting for a response.

Instead, you rushed to your room. Your face was flush, you felt hot, and your core was throbbing. You felt guilty having fantasies about your friend, but what could you do? He was handsome as fuck. It should be illegal to walk around with that lethal of a face card.

You hooked your thumbs on your waistband, about to pull your pants down, when a knock sounded at your door. Freezing, you knew it could be one of two options. Either it was Steve, trying to see if you were okay. Or it was Bucky, probably doing the same thing. Sighing, you pulled your thumbs out of your pants and opened the door. Bucky's concerned face showed on the other side.

"Are you alright?" He spoke low, not wanting to wake the few that were sleeping at this hour.

"Yeah, just have some stuff to do."

"I thought you said you were going to the bathroom." Bucky took a step closer, eyes trained on yours.

"It was an excuse, I just..."

"Just didn't like the movie?" Bucky asked. "Or were you fantasizing about someone?"

"I- what? No, I wouldn't, I mean..." You panicked.

"You don't have to lie to me. I could practically smell you it was so bad." Bucky spoke, and suddenly you were very aware of how close he was to you. "I can help...if you...want that."

And that was when your brain and heart decided to flatline.

"Bucky you don't have to force yourself to-"

"I'm not forcing anything. I want this. I want you." Bucky spoke.

You searched his eyes for anything, anything at all that indicated he didn't want this. You found nothing. "Close the door."

Bucky closed the door with his heel and leaned in to capture your lips in a heated kiss. He walked the two of you backwards to the bed, where he gently laid you down without breaking the kiss. One hand moved to cup your breast, the other held himself up as he shifted around.

He straddled one of your legs, his knee pressing against your core. He pulled away from the kiss and you two looked in each others eyes before a compulsion overcame you. You - with Bucky letting you do this - flipped him on his back, with you now straddling his leg. You leaned down to his neck and began to kiss along the side of it, your tongue poking out here and there to test the waters.

When you got to the junction between his shoulder and his neck, your tongue lapped at the sensitive nerve, causing Bucky to let out a breathy groan, his hands flying to your hips, forcing you to grind down on his leg. Moaning into his neck, one of your hands traveled down to his steadily growing cock, palming him through his pants.

You bit down on the flesh between his shoulder and neck, making his grip tighten and his groans become louder. Gyrating your hips onto his leg, the seam of your pants rubs past your panties and against your clit, giving you some form of friction.

Bucky's groans were getting louder when you switched from just palming him to stroking him the best you could through his pants. You tried to come up from his neck, but Bucky immediately grabbed you by your hair and held you there.

"Bucky, I want you to take your pants off."

Bucky didn't answer. Instead, he rutted his hips against your hand, his groans growing more desperate. Was he about to...?

Bucky stilled and let out a shaky groan, holding you close against him. You stilled as well, but only because you couldn't believe what you had just witnessed. You made Bucky Barnes prematurely cum.

He loosened his grip and allowed you to sit up. When the gravity of the situation dawned on him, he felt his own face flush. "I-I'm sorry, I'll go, I just-"

"No, no, it's okay Bucky." You put your hands on his chest. "This might be an invasive question, but...have you been with anyone since we broke you free from HYDRA?"

Bucky hesitantly shook his head no. He looked like a kicked puppy right now. He was averting his gaze, lips downcast, shoulders bunched up...you gave him a small smile.

"It happens to everybody. I think it means I treated you well. And if you would like to, we could go again." You gently turned his head back to look at you.

"After that embarrassing display, I'm not really in the mood." Bucky finally looked you in the eye. "But...I can...stay, if you want that."

Your smile grew. "Of course I want that. C'mere."

Bucky stopped you. "Uh, first I need to clean myself up."

Now your face flushed again. "Oh, right! Yeah, sorry. Come back when you're done."

You quickly got off of him and he gave you a small peck on the cheek before scurrying off to his room. Once he left you alone, you squealed into your pillow.

• ───────────────── •

Here's my Marvel Masterlist in case you wanna request something!

[slvtteez]

♚ - Switch. | 강여상

✦ summary: when you decide to help your boyfriend, yeosang relieve stress after his attitude towards you and everyone around switches. ✦pairing: idol boyfriend! yeosang x fem! reader (ft. san, wooyoung, hongjoong briefly) ✦genre: smut!, idol au, brief fluff ✦word count: 3.1k ✦warning: smut!, dom!yeosang, fem reader, oral (m and f receives), yeosang is cold towards the reader, unprotected sex (don't condone please be safe), creampie (be safe), big dick! yeosang, vaginal fingering, hair pulling, rough sex, squirting!, praise, dirty talk, pet names (baby, princess), impact play (spanking), nipple play (slight), teasing, begging, cursing, fluff (brief)

this is a work of fiction and is not meant to be a realistic representation of any of the real people mentioned!

nsfw content below. 18+ - mdni

Yeosang and I worked well together despite being the total opposite of each other. While I was the wild social butterfly extrovert that was down to try anything with anyone. Yeosang was the sweet homebody introvert who only wanted to spend time with me or the members. It worked for the both of us because we both equally loved doing what made each other happy and found joy in each other's hobbies. 

I remember the moment he first introduced me to the members. The entire time they looked between me and Yeosang, huge smiles plastered on their faces watching us interact.

-

“Wah our Yeosangie, I never would’ve thought I’d see you like this with anyone but us.” Hongjoong exclaimed to the members. They each nodded in unison loving how you bought out Yeosang’s bubbly side even more.

 “Don’t forget about me.” Wooyoung playfully pouted to Yeosang who only chuckled at his silliness. “Wooyoung, calm down.” San said, playfully tsking at him with a smile. 

“Y/n is very special to me and I plan to be with her forever so let’s all live happily together!”  Yeosang exclaimed, causing the members to coo and cheer for the both of you. You stared fondly into his eyes smiling at his cute declaration in front of the members. 

‘He’s a keeper’ you thought to yourself.

-

We’ve been together for four years now and everything has been going more than well. I feel very fortunate to have met Yeosang and have the opportunity to call him mine. Our relationship is full of love, when there was an issue whether in our relationship or personal it was easy to come to each other, and we hold time for each despite Yeosang’s busy schedule. 

That was up until recently.

Yeosang has been coming home from work acting a bit strange like a switch was flipped in his head. His new routine consisted of him trudging around the house cursing, showering, eating where he’d finally acknowledged me, barely, then he was locking himself away until it was time for bed. His attitude towards me was unlike I’ve ever seen in our entire relationship. When I tried to ask him what was wrong he’d scowl and brush me off.

Today I decided to cater to him hoping he’d open up a bit. I ordered his favorite food Yangnyeom chicken, his favorite snacks, and dessert hoping that through his stomach some tension would ease. 

The minute he walked inside he released a loud sigh, muttering curse words under his breath. Hurriedly coming to greet him I'm met with a deep scowl etched in his face.

 “Baby what’s wrong?” I ask, concerned about him. 

“Don’t worry about it y/n.” Yeosang says curtly before walking off past me. I stand there stunned by his response, racking my mind on what could possibly be the issue today. Following him to the room I watch as he gathers his things to shower still muttering to himself. Feeling like there’s no other option, I wait for him to shower then call San.

“Hey y/n! how are you?” San happily greets you when he picks up the phone. 

“Hey San. I’m doing okay…I just really need your help.” I say. 

“Is it about Yeosang?” He asked, sighing into the phone.

 ‘So I guess it’s not just me who has been seeing his sudden change’ I think.

 “Uhh yeah I’m not sure what’s going on and I’m really concerned about him. He refuses to say anything but I want to help if I’m able to.” I plead.

 “Calm down y/n, lately we’ve been getting a lot of heat from the company about trivial matters, they’ve been nitpicking at him the most.” I sigh remembering an article I’d seen the other week where fans were criticizing their most recent performance. 

“Oh I see.. Well, thank you San for this. I’ll talk to you later.” San bids his farewell and I hang up. ‘He just needs a stress reliever then’ I think to myself knowing just the way to do it.

When Yeosang gets out of the shower, I sit patiently at the table waiting for him to come out and eat dinner. “ Tah-dah!” I exclaim the minute Yeosang walks in. Showing off the display of his favorite food and snacks hoping it could help ease him just a bit. “Ahh thank you baby.” He says with a small smile. “I wanted to do something special for you today. You still have another surprise I’ll give you later!” I smile wiggling my eyebrows comically at him. Yeosang lets out a small chuckle while sitting down to start digging in. 

Dinner goes by smoothly, the scowl now off of his face but stress still evident in his eyes. “So what’s this other surprise?” He questions eyebrow raised. Putting away the last of the cleaned dishes I only grin while shaking my head. “If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise baby.” “Ahh right.” Yeosang nods before walking off to the living room. With him now distracted by the tv I quickly start to execute my plan. I shower thoroughly and dress in a sexy red lace night dress Yeosang bought for me not long ago. “Here goes nothing.” I prepare myself in the mirror hoping this method can naturally take my man’s stress away.

“Yeosang, close your eyes!” I yell out to him from the bedroom. “Ahh right my surprise.” He says covering his eyes with his palms. I walk out making sure to dim the lights a little and stand in front of him holding a slice of his favorite cake. 

“Now open them.”  

Removing his hands, he blinks a few times adjusting his eyes before peering up at you amazed at the sight . He takes in your figure, loving the way the dress hugs you in the right places and exposes just enough for the imagination.

“Surprise baby.” I smile coyly, loving the way his eyes raked over my body. “Oh baby.” Yeosang mumbles lost for words.

 “I just thought you could use a nice stress relief baby, so I prepared all of your favorite things to eat.” I state innocently.

 Looking me in the eyes I see the dark gaze Yeosang has been possessing lately appear once again. “Is that so princess?” His now husky voice challenges a smirk growing on his lips. ‘Princess?’ Confused by the new nickname; I decided to play along with him. I nod back at him feeling small from his gaze. “I mean I do really really like this cake.” He stands up, inching forward, taking the plate from my hands. “But I think I have a taste for something very special right now.” Yeosang puts the plate down directing his attention back to me.

Taking a small step back I watch him move towards me with a grin on his face. “Have a seat princess.” He gestures towards the couch behind him. I make my way to the couch sitting as he instructed. He takes his seat next to me studying my breath subtly increasing at his closeness. “Princess, don't be shy. I don’t bite.” Yeosang states, voice deeper than before. Taking it upon myself I move to straddle his lap, loving the closeness.

 Since his sudden mood change our intimacy decreased to just small pecks here and there. 

“I want to help take all of your stress away baby.” I say in a slight whisper. I begin trailing small kisses on his collar bone, moving toward his jaw until I’m hovering over his lips. 

“Can you use me as your stress reliever baby?” I whisper eyes looking seductively between his eyes and lip.

In a flash Yeosang grabs my hair, roughly pressing his lips against mine. Our lips wrestle vigorously against each other with greed. A slight moan escapes me as Yeosang nips at my bottom lip tugging lightly at the flesh. He slips his tongue in my mouth and mint fills my senses. Unconsciously, I grind my hips on Yeosang’s already swollen bulge earning a loud groan from him. His grip on my hair tightens as he pulls away from the kiss; lips red and swollen. “Who told you to move?” He questions. “You’re mine to use right? You do as I say.” He growls clutching my hair even tighter, earning a whimper from me stilling my movements. 

Letting go of my hair Yeosang brings his hands to my breast, smirking at the way my nipples instantly perk up from the indirect contact. "My needy princess.” He whispers, ghosting his fingers over both nubs. I let out a shaky breath feeling a shiver course through my body as he continued teasingly playing with them. 

Desperate to feel more, I inch my way up his lap getting as close as I possibly can to him. Settling down my pussy finally fully aligned with his cock. “Sneaky girl.” Yeosang tsked shaking his head coolly. "Baby I want more.” I whined, not satisfied with his teasing actions on my nipples. With that he roughly pinched both nipples, rubbing them between his fingertips. I wince a little at the sudden action feeling a shock of pleasure run to my core. I could feel my juices dripping and knew Yeosang could feel it as well through his satin pajama pants 

“I need you to be a bit more patient princess.” He coos.

Letting my nipples go, Yeosang goes to remove his shirt revealing his toned muscles. Our couple tattoo decorated the right side of his chest, red ink bright just like when we first got it. He removes my dress leaving me fully bare for his eyes only. “No wonder your juices are soaking my pants princess. You didn’t even bother to put on any panties.” I giggled shyly at Yeosang’s words knowing there was a flood brewing between my legs. “That’s so fucking sexy!” He says pulling me down into a passionate kiss. His fingers trail lightly up and down my thigh, inching closer to my pussy with each stroke. I whimper into the kiss, starting to feel more frustrated from the lack of contact.

Breaking the kiss, Yeosang moves me off of his lap, onto his side. My jaw drops being able to see just how much I soaked through Yeosang’s pants. He chuckles, taking off his pants in one swift movement. “I want to see you bend over while you suck my cock.” He commands. Getting on my hands and knees making sure to perk my ass up; I lean into his lap taking his cock in my mouth. I couldn’t help the moan that escaped the minute his flesh touched my tongue. A mixture of his precum and my juices swirled in my mouth deliciously. 

Though I loved receiving, I can't deny that sucking Yeosang’s cock turned me on even more. His thick cock filled my mouth entirely, continuously leaking precum down my throat. The moans that came from his mouth fueled me to go deeper and deeper even when I’ve reached my limits. My core was instantly leaking from the taste of his cock alone.

I took as much of him as I could down my throat, stroking the remaining with my hands. “Yes princess there you go.” Yeosang groaned, slapping my ass. I moaned out loving the stinging sensation as well as having his cock in my mouth. “Ah you like that?” He asks, earning a nod and another moan from me. He smacked my ass harder this time, getting another muffled moan from me. I bob enthusiastically on his cock loving the praise he gave me each time I took him deeper. 

Coming up for air, I looked up catching Yeosang’s hooded eyes watching my backside. Looking in between my legs I gasp, being met with a huge puddle soaking the couch. “That’s all you princess.” He spoke, rubbing my ass sensually. “Please touch me.” I whimper up at him. “Where do you want me to touch?" He questioned. “Here” Yeosang smacked my ass harder than before prompting me to squeal. “Or here?” His fingers skate over my wet folds, slightly rubbing my clit. I loudly moan my approval, desperation quickly coming back. “Which —.” “My pussy! Please baby I can’t take it any more!” I plead, interrupting his sentence. 

Getting what he needed, Yeosang redirects me back to his cock, then begins rubbing his fingers up and down my folds again with more intention. “Your pussy is so beautiful and wet. All mine.” He grunts circling my clit with slight force. Arching deeply, I desperately twirled my hips around spewing incoherent words from my mouth. My task completely went from my mind as I felt my orgasm approaching. “Yes Yeosang. F-fuck baby please I need this.” I begged. He stopped, quickly flipping me on my back, kneeling in front of the couch between my legs. “I need to taste you.” His mouth made contact with my clit sucking vigorously. Inserting two fingers into my hole I felt my juices gush out as he plunged deeper, earning a growl from Yeosang. Hungrily eating me out I gripped his hair tightly knowing after a few more strokes I’d be coming. “I’m gon-na cu-“ the words stuck in my throat. I began shaking violently, eyes rolling to the back of my head, arching off of the couch as my orgasm took over. Yeosang’s fingers curled faster, his mouth moved rapidly. Clear liquid gushed from me coating his face. I let out a scream at the intensity. Yeosang continued, helping me ride out my high before removing his fingers and slurping up the rest of my juices

“Yum.” He smiles, licking his lips, face still dripping. I hid my face embarrassed not knowing I was capable of squirting that much. “Don’t hide, princess. I love it.” Leaning down, Yeosang removed my hands and kissed me gently. “I love all of your juices.” He smirks.

 Picking me up he walks us into the bedroom laying me down on the edge of the bed. I watch as he strokes his cock, peering down at me spread out on the bed. “I’m not gonna be so gentle today princess. Sorry in advance.” Yeosang slowly eases his cock little by little inside of me groaning. I moan loving how he stretched me out with every inch. After a while he bottoms out filling me completely. “Move baby.” I moan out wanting to feel more. Yeosang starts off gently, taking a few inches out and slowly pushing back in. “You’re so tight.” He groans deeply, circling his hips. Increasing his speed his hips smack against my ass, pulling out fully then plunging back inside of me roughly. 

With each stroke my breath is knocked out of me, my moans being cut off short. I grip the sheets tightly trying to steady myself from the force. Mouth agape, Yeosang ponds harshly into my pussy filling the house with nothing but the sound of skin slapping against each other and the bed rapidly hitting the wall. “Fuck—“ He growls out watching me struggle to release a single noise. 

“You wanted to be my stress reliever, right princess?" "You wanted me to use your holes to release stress huh?” He taunts loving the way your face scrunched up while taking his cock.

 “Answer me!” He booms, slapping my pussy sending electricity through my body. I release the longest and loudest moan of my life, finally catching my breath. “Fuck yes baby! Please use me! Please use my holes!” I screamed out loving how he pounded into me. I was high off his cock feeling myself slowly lose control over my senses.

Hearing this Yeosang pulls out, flipping me onto my hands and knees. Slamming back into my pussy he slaps my ass over and over again loving the screams that came out of my mouth. “Arch how I like it.” He commands pressing down on my back. His cock going even deeper than before hitting my sweet spot directly. I gasp at the sensation, trying to match Yeosang’s strokes chasing my incoming orgasm. “I’m coming baby.” I shout, clenching and unclenching around his cock, legs spasming uncontrollably I feel my juices gush out again as my orgasm crashes into me. “Yes princess cum all over my cock.” He praises continuously pounding into me. 

Gripping my hips tightly Yeosang slows down his pace moving my body back and forth. “You’re. Taking. Me. So. Well.” He coos snapping his hips into me sharply after each word. I moan loudly feeling him hit my sweet spot again. “Where do you want me to cum princess?” He asks, resuming his strokes like normal. “Inside of me baby.” I wiggle around being met with a slight smack to my ass. 

Groaning out I enjoy the now slow deep strokes Yeosang does. Hearing his moans causes me to clench tighter around his cock. “Moan some more for me baby.” I beg. His cock twitches inside of me at my plea prompting me to moan out. “Princess I’m so close.” He moans out loudly, speeding up slightly. “I want you to cum for me one more time.” He snakes his arm between me to rub my clit. I move my hips circularly, stimulating us both. “Just like that.” He moans fucking me more erratically. I feel my orgasm quickly approaching again bracing myself for the impact. “I’m coming.” Yeosang groans. His cock twitched inside of me, planting his seed deep inside my pussy. With a few more wild strokes I quickly follow behind, coming undone underneath him. We both flop down onto the bed trying to catch our breaths. 

-

After our breathing settles Yeosang stands up “I’ll go run us a bath baby.” He walked out of the room allowing me to rest more. Coming back he picks me up bridal style placing me in the tub between his legs. I sigh loving how the hot water relieves the tension from my body. A comfortable silence takes over for a moment before Yeosang speaks up. 

“I’m really sorry y/n.” He sighs. “I haven’t been treating you the best lately because of my own problems. I know it’s no excuse but I really hope you can forgive me.” 

Taking in his words I turn to embrace him in a hug. “It’s okay baby. I forgive you.” I press light kisses on his head. “Please don’t shut me out like that again though. We’re a team, remember?” I bring his head up to peer into his eyes. Yeosang nods “I promise you I won’t do this again.” 

Satisfied, I lean in for a kiss. Passionately exploring each other's mouths allowing the tension between us to finally be released. We bathe each other, finally calling it a night after finally indulging in the cake I brought.

 “I love you y/n.” Yeosang says, nuzzling his nose in my neck as we cuddle in bed. “I love you too.” I kissed his head as we both drifted off to sleep.

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed it like, share, comment, and follow!

[becomingthatgirl111]

how to use social media and your phone in a positive way

if you want to improve or change an aspect of your life it takes your commitment to be consistent and make real changes. to start, take a piece of paper and answer these questions that will help you have a greater focus and be aware of what you want to change.

how much time are you dedicating to social media?

is it taking up your time?

what would you like to do with that time?

how much time would you like to spend on social media?

what content do you follow?

do you follow content that you consider harmful to you?

instead, what would you like to follow more? (for example, accounts that inspire you or help you to improve, can be about cooking or some hobby you have)

what app do you use most often?

how long do you use your phone?

would you like to use it less?

what habits/hobbies would you like to spend more time on?

now that you are more aware of this issue and how it may be affecting your life i'll share some tips to help you make your social media more secure and use it more positively.

stop following those accounts that are not giving you anything positive.

start following profiles of people who really inspire you or teach you something, for example about the topics you are interested in or the kind of person you would like to become and take them as an example.

set a time limit on the use of these applications, i.e. about 15 minutes a day for example. you can do this from the app itself or from "settings" on your phone.

follow positive content that resonates with you such as people sharing affirmations, success stories or even motivational speeches.

don't use your phone first thing in the morning or last thing at night.

download productivity apps on your phone, such as daylio, notion, habit, etc. with which you can log your days, have a record of your habits or even use them as to-do lists, there are many more of these types.

"i am" is an app that sends you positive affirmations every hour as a notification, it will help you to be centered.

if you do any activity leave your phone somewhere else or even if you are on the bus don't be stuck on your phone, allow yourself to enjoy the present moment.

use the internet to search for information on topics that interest you, either on youtube, blogs, podcasts…

block people or words that you know are not bringing you anything positive.

spend more time cultivating yourself instead of focusing on a world that doesn't exist in social media.

other things to consider.

what we see on social media doesn't have to be real, even if it is, don't compare yourself with those people. on the internet, everyone will want to give their best face and that doesn't mean it's reality, it shouldn't affect you either so forget about it and focus on your own path.

the real world is outside and not through a screen. live human experiences and try to do what makes you happiest every day.

on social media and internet we can find a lot of useful information, let that be the main reason why you use it, and stop wasting your time scrolling on tik tok.

my personal opinion.

the use of social media is not negative, but we have to control what we are consuming and how it is affecting our lives and the time we are spending.

it seems normal to be on the phone all day but this is not beneficial, there are more things to do in the real world and many people say they don't have time to do things when they are really wasting it with their phones.

you can look for information on things that are useful to you but leave your phone aside and start applying them to your life.

leaving all the social media aside has made me feel much better and even more liberated. you don't really need to see what's going on on the internet, because it's not important, there are more important things to live for out there, even more interesting people to meet.

create your world from the experiences you would like to live, the people you would like to share, the person you want to become, and focus on that, which is much more important. in the end, if you don't think about it, it doesn't exist.

[demolitionsweetheart]

Knuckles, shadow, & sonic x bulimic/anorexic!reader

TW: eating disorders and mental health. Not angsty tho it's just fluff :3

Requests:Can you do sonic characters reacting/ wanting to help reader with bulimia and can I have angsty shadow, knuckles and/or sonic hcs how they might rect and/or support a partner (or friend) with ed like anawrecksya or bullymia, particularly maybe one actively dealing with it and not quite ready to recover

A/n-please read if you requested this: pictures r from prime but these are pretty general. Also, sorry they aren't very angsty and don't 100% follow you request, I was feeling kind of giddy :3

Sonic

✫Sonic may not understand eds at first but he would quickly pick up on your consistent plumiting energy, skipping meals, and binge eating that oddly always ended with lingering time in the bathroom.

✫ When he found out, sonic wouldn't understand why you thought of yourself in such a way, especially to the point where it affected you physically.

✫๑He blamed himself to an extent. For not being a constant reassurance of your beauty. How could he claim he would always protect you if he couldn't even protect you from yourself.

✫ He's not the type to force anything of you. You didn't need to say anything and he'd let you know he is always there to rid you of the suffocating feeling of dealing with everything alone.

✫ He's never judgemental when he does verbally comfort you. He never demands you do anything but hopes his words encourage healthier habits and that you view yourself the way he sees you. He'd say something simple but passionate like "You're way more important than any diet. I just want you to be okay, my love"

✫ Though he's incessantly stressing your admirable qualities and the way your body just surpassed beauty, he mainly used actions over words-he would bring snacks, make sure you're not overexerting yourself and resting well, or just staying longer so you won't be alone.

'Sweetheartt, watch this movie with me!' Sonic grinned, dropping on to the couch beside you. "I brought snacks!" he beamed, waving the bags as if it wasn't abundantly clear(he went all out).

He was grinning ear to ear, happy to see you relaxed, going along with his little movie night plan, and willing to let him take care of you. You sighed, but seeing how much he cared made you want to get better- if not for yourself, then for him.

At some point, sonic was completely laying on the dip of your waist, his hand rested on the other side absentmindedly rubbing his thumb up and down. He kissed your tummy before adjusting himself. It felt a little distracted, but it spoke volumes to you regardless. You couldn't help the smile that pulled at your lips, felling content knowing that, Sonic cared for you. He was there, and he was going to help you overcome this.

Shadow

๑ At first he didn't understand. His frustration made him seem cold,  even harsh. He called it reckless and dangerous, but past all his sharp words was concern. He wasn't angry at you,  he was angry at the thought of you hurting yourself.

๑ His frustration subsided when he realized you needed his comfort more then a harsh lecture.

๑ He sighed, apologizing and just holding you. Regardless of his now gentle nature he was still firm. Like sonic, he wouldn't force anything either, but he needed you to be honest and open because he wouldn't have you hurting under his supervison. how could he say he would always protect you if he couldn't even protect you from yourself?

๑ He spoke through his actions more than words. He would constantly be over always bearing food even if you would just cuddle and sleep. He would kiss you everywhere.. Your forehead, your tummy, your sides, your collarbone, your hands and thighs and this habit amplified after he found out. If you were insistent you go on one of your insanely overexterting walks he would go with you. No excuses.

๑ Though he never raised his voice or got mad at you past initial reaction, he was still firm-making sure you ate, rested, and knew he would be there for you the whole time.

You were exhausted, fingers absentmindedly running through Shadows quills as he rested between your thighs. His warmth was reassuring, grounding, but what really had your heart racing was the way he kissed you-gentle,  deliberate presses of his lips against your stomach,  your thighs, anywhere he could reach.

It was deeper than just affection; it was reassuring. His silent promise that he was there,  that he loved and cared for you more than words could express. Occasionally, he would just nuzzle your tummy. He was too caught up in your comfort that it didn't embarrass him that his body reacted to your presence. Normally, shadow would be quick to hide vulnerability,  but this was different. His affection for you was so deep even his body couldn't help but show it. Your tummy did flips and tears brimmed your eyes. Shadow didn't need to day anything aloud-his actions, deliberate or just a natural reaction, spoke so much more than words could.

Knuckles

✪ Similar to shadow, his initial reaction was frustration. The idea sounded stupid to him. He doesn't understand why anyone would do something so harmful intentionally.

✪ He was more forceful and direct to the point. He wanted to know why you felt that way and he just wanted it to stop :( He never meant to seem mad; he was just so concerned you were harming yourself right under his nose.

✪ His words were less comforting and more like stating facts. Like saying your body was beautiful and it's stupid because you deserve all the food... Very simple minded and not very understanding of why.

✪ When it came to your habit of over exerting yourself with exercise, knuckles never wavered in telling you to stop. "enough is enough," he'd say, arms crossed and snout scrunched, leaving no room for argument. Afterwards, he'd make sure you ate and drank properly-watching you like a grumpy service animal.

✪ Though he seemed on the harsher side he really just wanted to make sure you were healthy and strong. He couldn't have you feeling so horrible about yourself it effected your physical well-being. It broke his heart knowing you were doing something like that to yourself even if he didn't fully understand it.

He wrapped his arms around you, his hands resting on either side of your waist. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his eyes shut as he hummed contently. "You push yourself too much... You're already so strong." He gently rocked back and forth and presed a kiss to your shoulder. "You're already perfect." He murmured, his voice was gentle and filled with so much devotion.

His lips moved from your shoulder to your neck, each kiss was slow and gentle. His warmth presses against your back, a reassurance that grounded you. You reached back, raking your fingers through his quills and gently grabbing to steady yourself. He hummed at the contact, his hands sliding down your waist,  holding you firm like you were so precious and he wouldn't want it any other way.

"I love you." He spoke as he pulled away from your neck. When you responded with a barely audible hum he nudged you with his snout. Almost a nuzzle. "I said I love you." He spoke firmer. You laughed as he pouted. You turned in his arms, meeting his gaze, you smiled at his stern look. "I love you too silly," you replied with a soft laugh. You were almost giddy now seeing how much he cared. "Good... You mean everything to me."

Thank you for reading :3

Requests still open

Pictures from Pinterest

[glowettee]

✧・゜: lessons that changed everything: what i learned from tam kaur :・゜✧:・゜

hey lovelies! ✧

i've been deep diving into tam kaur's videos lately (at 2am with a face mask on, as one does) and honestly? her advice has shifted something in me that i didn't even know needed shifting. i wanted to share some lessons that have genuinely changed how i move through the world, in case any of you need these reminders too.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ you're allowed to prioritize yourself ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

this seems so simple but was revolutionary for me. tam talks about how we're conditioned to believe that putting ourselves first is selfish, when actually it's the foundation of everything good we bring to the world. i used to feel guilty for saying no or taking time for myself, like i was somehow failing at being a good friend/daughter/person.

now i understand that filling my own cup first isn't just okay, it's necessary. i can't pour from empty, and neither can you.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ confidence is a practice, not a personality trait ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

i always thought confident people were just born that way. tam taught me that confidence is actually built through tiny, consistent actions, speaking up even when your voice shakes, trying things that scare you, and slowly expanding your comfort zone.

the most powerful part? she talks about how confidence isn't about never feeling insecure, it's about feeling the fear and doing it anyway. this changed everything for me because i was waiting to feel confident before acting confident. turns out it works the other way around.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ your worth isn't tied to productivity ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

in one video, tam mentioned how we're taught to tie our value to what we accomplish. i felt so seen because i've always been that person with the endless to-do lists, feeling like a failure on days when i don't cross enough items off.

learning to separate my inherent worth from my output has been the most freeing thing. i'm still working on it (catching myself when i say "i didn't do anything today"), but just being aware of this pattern has helped me be gentler with myself.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ healing isn't linear ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

tam talks about this a lot, how personal growth isn't this neat upward trajectory. it's messy. you'll have days where you feel like you've figured it all out, followed by days where you fall back into old patterns.

this helped me stop being so hard on myself when i slip up. healing isn't perfection; it's progress over time. those setbacks aren't failures, they're just part of the journey.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ other people's opinions aren't your responsibility ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

this one hit me hard. tam has this way of explaining how we waste so much energy trying to manage what others think of us, when ultimately, their opinions are shaped by their own experiences and insecurities.

i used to contort myself trying to make everyone like me. now i'm learning that some people simply won't, and that's okay. it's actually freeing to release that impossible responsibility.

what i love most about tam's approach is how she balances aspirational content with reality. she doesn't promise overnight transformation, she talks about the daily practice of choosing yourself, again and again.

have any of you found creators who've shifted your perspective like this? i'd love to know who else i should be watching!

xoxo, mindy 🤍

make sure to follow + check out my substack newsletter, i'm going to post a lot of amazing content on there: follow it right here!!

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Hi Skyen, hope you're well! I'm seeking some advice and since you used to work doing mainly art commissions I figured asking you was worth a shot.

I'm a furry artist and I'm looking into doing commission work as a side gig while I finish animation college, and hopefully acquire enough experience/clients/notoriety to turn it into a full time job once I graduate.

Do you have any advice for someone literally just starting out with fresh accounts and zero following? Especially when it comes to reaching people and getting your first clients, and anything that one should take into account when working with NSFW specifically. Also advice for pricing your work is always useful 😅

No need to answer obvs but I'd appreciate your viewpoint if you want to share!

Got 2 asks on this exact subject so I'll write up what advice I can. One big caveat: I haven't worked as a commission artist for like half a decade at this point, and this job has a tendency to change fast, do not take anything I say as gospel. This is advice from a limited perspective, be critical of what I say and trust your peers and the people you are in community with before you trust me.

building audience

Step one is getting people to notice the artwork you create. Literally nothing else can happen until you have eyeballs on your work, and the most consistent and reliable way to make that happen is fanart. Ideally you'd want to produce fanart in a fandom you are personally engaged with and passionate about and familiar with, and which also has a sizeable community whose attention can help you build recognition and a base of followers.

This isn't always possible, and there's many a working artist who creates work for fandoms not out of deep personal connection, but because the fandom is large and relevant and a good way to capture the goodwill of algorithms and content feeds.

This approach has some downsides. For one, genuine fans can usually tell when someone's engagement with Their Thing is shallow, and for another it can be deeply creatively exhausting to chase the algorithm. I don't recommend this approach, but it is a valid means of building a business.

Another important consideration, especially when you are early in your career, is that volume tends to trump quality. Every artist will eventually learn that their shitty joke-doodle they sh*t out in ten minutes on a whim will get a billion reposts, and their complex personal work that took eight weeks to finish gets 2 likes from their closest mutuals and a comment from a bot saying "wow!"

In the age of the algorithm, what machines and for you pages value is a consistent, high-volume of output that generates user engagement. You will generally get further, faster, by producing a lot of work than you will producing great work. Again, this can be rough on your mental state, and a fast way to burn the fuck out, so please be careful and mind your health before all else.

The best way to build something that will last is to build your audience in communities and around fandoms and themes and ideas you genuinely care about and enjoy exploring and interacting with. Being your authentic self and creating work from your authentic interest is generally both healthier and long-term better for your career than trend-chasing. Treat trend-chasing and volume > quality output as tools in your toolbox, as creative and business decisions you can make to achieve a specific purpose, never ever EVER let them become the center of your praxis or your philosophy. Never ever EVER allow the Numbers™ to be your source of validation and accomplishment.

building business

Ok, so you've got eyes on your work. You've got some followers. How the hell do you get them to commission you?

Well, again, by demonstrating a capacity to create kinds of art for which there is demand. In the furry community, there's brisk trade in things like ref sheets and character design, for example. For most fandoms, ship art is a product which tends to be in demand. Being able to do really good expression sheets is a marketable skill. Being able to create compelling and clear emotes for streamers and creators is a marketable skill.

Showing the capacity to work in a wide range of styles is valuable. Showing the capacity to work in a wide range of genres is valuable. If you can do both comedy and romance your appeal expands. If you can do shonen-like action and angst as well, it expands again.

Equally, being incredibly good at a specific niche is valuable as well. Focusing hard on an under-served niche of work can give you a lot of opportunities to be the Go To person for that specific kind of thing.

Perhaps the hardest part of all of this is marketing yourself. Not only showing that you have the skills, but actively informing your audience that you are available, eager and willing to practise your skill for a fee. You have to sell yourself. It sucks, but you have to do it. You have to advertise what you can do, and you have to suffer the rejection and annoyance that comes along with doing that.

You have to ask people to commission you. You have to raise your hand and demand attention. It's not fun, but it's business.

Walking the line between self-promotion and being a person is hard. I can't help you that much with it, it's a very personal balance to find. Stay in touch with your soul, but kill the part that cringes at yourself.

Ultimately, you best marketing asset is your portfolio. Every time you do work, show it off. Repost it, retweet it, spread it around. If someone is happy with what you've made for them, do your best to make sure that other people see that happiness. Ask your clients (politely) to tag you when they share your work.

Oh, and for the love of god, sign everything you create, slap watermarks on anything that's likely to get reposted, and make it impossible for someone not to find your business email on your profile.

building network

If you're a commission artist, you are in community with other commission artists. You share interests, you share experiences, you share needs.

Practise solidarity. Absolutely seek out professional peers to help your business, but equally seek out opportunities to help them with theirs. If someone comes to you for art and you don't have commission slots open, point them at a colleague who you know can do the work too. Gas up your peers and spread their work.

Be a symbiote, not a parasite. Respect the craft of your peers, and don't chase celebrities and big names in the hope of coasting on their coattails. It will fail.

smut

If you're a working artist, at some point you have to reckon with smut and r34.

These genres are excellent sources of income, and fertile ground to build a business and network of customers. BUT. Do not ever make the mistake of thinking that they are "the easy way" or a shortcut. Do not ever make the mistake of thinking you can simply offer to draw tiddies and rake in the cash.

It's work and graft same as literally any other form of labor, it's challenging on both a technical and creative level, and the audience can sense if you're looking down on them. If you approach this from a position of shame, of "eugh, I'm debasing myself by doing this for rent money," it will not work, and you will lose standing and respect in the eyes of every peer whose support you need to succeed.

Just as in all other forms of creativity, if you treat the audience as morons who will slurp up whatever slop you serve them, then you will attract clientele that agrees with you, and you will deserve the misery they will inflict upon you.

If you are going to work in smut, establish your boundaries and enforce them. Know that good clients will feel safer and more comfortable with an artist who clearly states their red lines and earnest interests than they will with someone who tries to attract more clients by pretending to be open to work that they are actually uncomfortable with.

Never, ever, EVER let a client push you to create work you are not comfortable creating. It scars your soul in both the short and long term.

Also, when working with this kind of content, know the rules of payment processors and know how to hide the nature of your business from them. PayPal should never, EVER know the details of the content you sell with their service. Frankly, neither should your bank, most likely.

Look to your peers for advice and best practises about this. And be meticulous about your bookkeeping.

money

I want to tell you to charge at least minimum wage for your time. I want to tell you to charge substantially more than that, because your labor is specialized and highly skilled.

But the economic reality of commission work is that there is a crushing downwards pressure on the labor price of art, which has only been made more devastating by the rise of generative AI, and especially when you are a young artist just starting out, you're going to find yourself in a position where charging even minimum wage for your time will turn away a huge proportion of your potential customers.

Again, your portfolio will be the greatest argument for the value of your work, but you have to build that portfolio first, and very often that means doing a f*kton of work for not remotely enough pay until the pressure of demand finally works in your favor.

I don't condone or justify this state of affairs. It is horrid and I hate it, but I don't know how to fix it either.

Making a living from content creation of any kind requires you to get lucky, on top of working obscene hours and foregoing rest and vacations. It's not a safe or sensible plan for a career or paying your bills.

My sensible advice is to get a "normal" job you can survive doing, and do your creative work on the side, and resign yourself to the possibility that the creative work may never actually pay your bills.

And that is soul-crushing, but I cannot stomach pretending that hard work and gumption will guarantee anyone a decent living if they just try hard enough.

There are people who are better at every aspect of my work than I am, and they struggle harder and work for longer, and they will never see half the success I have, because I happened to get lucky, and they happened not to. It's wretched.

I'm not telling you not to chase your dreams. I'm telling you to do it with your eyes open, and with compassion for yourself first before all else.

All of this to say: I can't tell you what to charge for your work. It depends on everything from your competition to your niche to your genre to your community to your economic situation. You have to figure it out on your own.

All I can tell you is never forget that your work is worth more than the market will let you charge, and to raise your prices as soon and as much as you can. Try to reach at least minimum wage for your time as fast as possible.

in conclusion

Again, I haven't been a commission artist full time for a long time, please do not take any of this as gospel. Listen to your peers before you listen to me.

But trust me about the solidarity. It will save you when all else fails.

[study-diaries]

Productive Things To Do Over Senior Year Summer Year [Guide + List]

Here is something that most don't tell you. After high school is over, everyone goes into a break mode. Which is completely fine, but the tricky part comes when they completely spend the days scrolling Instagram and watching YouTube videos.

I'm not against social media, definitely no. But I still feel that there is a way to productively use that time spent on your phone. I also don't believe in blindly hustling, so this is fully going to be customized and focused on what you specifically want. Literally.

So, here's how to have a productive and fun summer break.

Step 1: Figure Out What You Want

You have to honestly answer these questions in order for this to work. No influences.

So, take a pen and let's figure it out together: -

What are you currently interested in? (Could be anything. Literally. Finance, marketing, riding a bike, photography)

What kind of person do I want to be by the end of this summer? (Give every detail. Is it productive with a skill? Or is it just a more peaceful person with a more stable mindset?)

What opportunities might come in the next year that I want to be prepared for? (Again, you have to think about this. All on your own)

What times of day am I most focused?

What responsibilities do I need to work around? (family, chores, part-time jobs etc)

Once you have the answers to these questions, you have a general idea of what you want to do, not what you have to do or whatever your delusional idea of productivity is.

Step 2: Create Your Plan

Based on whatever those answers are, create a plan. Not just any plan, it should be something you like. See, most don't like school because they don't see the point of it, they get restricted access of learning that depends mostly on grades.

This would be something that you chose on your own, so obviously there are more chances of you getting it down and actually being excited for it.

So, Make a list of around 3-4 goals that you have to reach by the end of summer. It could be anything. Learning a skill, language or just habit building.

Step 3: Hack Your Algorithms

I don't think most people highlight this specific thing but it's honestly really easy. Social media is not the problem, literally it's not. Here's an easy way to use it that is actually productive:

Search For Things That You Want To Learn.

Watch Content Only Related To That.

If you look at my YouTube homepage, you'd only find business, marketing, coding and finance related videos. Because that is what I actually watch. My screen time on YouTube is at least 3-4 hours. And that is what gets recommended to me every time I open any platform. The more you search for content you're interested about, the more it gets recommended to you.

Step 4: Take Action

I could give you a blueprint and it would not be enough if you don't follow it. So, take actions. Literally. Mini steps every day that pile up when you look back after 3 months.

Small actions performed consistently every day for a week is better than time intensive actions performed only once a week.

Step 5: Have Fun Too. Major Priority

Just because you find yourself wanting to be productive, that doesn't mean you should completely ignore having fun. Set your goals, take steps and actually have fun too.

You need a holistic development plan, not a narrow one. So, go out, have sleepovers, plan loosely and actually live.

You can be productive and fun!

A List Of 15 Things [For People Who Actually Have No Idea What They Want To Do]

📖 Read — Fiction, non-fiction, historical... just something that moves you. 🧑‍💻 Take a course — Online or offline. Choose something you’re curious about. 🎨 Learn basic graphic design — Try Canva, Photoshop, or GIMP . Anything. 💸 Start learning financial literacy — Budgeting, saving, investing. 🎬 Watch documentaries — Pick a topic that fascinates you and dive straight in 🚶 Go on walks — Move your body, appreciate your surroundings 💪 Exercise — It doesn’t have to be intense. Just to keep yourself active. 🧺 Plan a picnic with friends — No productivity, just having fun. 👨‍💻 Learn to code — There are so many free resources. Learn anything. Front end. Backend. 🧹 Declutter your surroundings — Because it helps you to clear your mind. 🛏️ Clean your room and move stuff around — You probably haven't done that in a while. 👩‍🏫 Tutor someone — Keeps you occupied. You help someone and can even charge some meagre charges. 🖌️ Paint, draw, or create — Creativity is really important. 📓 Journal your thoughts — Just let it out. No prompts. Just write what you feel 🍳 Learn to cook — It helps in the long run and you get to eat it later ;)

_______________________________

I hope it helps ! :)

[cerastes]

so what is your diagnostic on nightreign?

Okay, so,

It's fun! I like it, in fact, I can't wait to play more. But, it is flawed: It has both fundamental flaws and untapped potential.

I am fortunate enough to have a lot of friends to play with, but it's in fact a pretty big flaw that you NEED two other people to play: It is certainly possible to win as a single player, but it's also incredibly difficult, and requires some pretty deep knowledge of Elden Ring, like poise breakpoints, when the boss is going to have their posture broken, and a lot of fundamentals, in addition to the Luck needed in a roguelike. Thing is, consistent wins as a single player do demand, on average, far more than even base Elden Ring asks for you to even get on the ride. On the other hand, I've actually had a pretty good time with randos, most everyone seems to believe in teamwork, pinning on the map, and following as a group to pins.

Now, the things is, the roguelike upgrades part is pretty underwhelming: I shouldn't be jumping of joy when I see Max HP +15% and cringe in disgust when I see I can obtain the mystic ability to conjure a rain of magic projectiles on my wake. It should be an exciting prospect to get the ability to cause thunderstorms and frostgales. Point is, all the fun upgrades suck ass, and all the boring, utilitarian Number Go Up upgrades are by far the best. Which is such missed opportunity because a roguelike should by all means let you go goofy goober on your upgrade combos and synergies. I shouldn't feel disappointed when I get offered the mystic ability to conjure arcane rains with but a mere footstep, you know?

Another thing is that the Nightlords are... All over the place. Some Nightlords are pretty cool, like Gladius and The Two Bugs. Some Nightlords are pure god damn cancer, like The Water Boy and the Darkdrift Knight, the former moreso than the latter, in terms of just how much the developers seem to hate melee as a concept.

Nightlords move. Nightlords move a LOT. The Water Boy especially is Elden Beast 2.0 where the entire thing is running after it for 5 mins to land one or two hits. It makes me wonder if they actually beta tested this. When I think about Fromsoft Hard, I think about a well designed boss that needs you to engage with the mechanics of the game to a high level of skill, when I think about Fromsoft Hard, I don't think about "you get one hit in every 5 minutes and those 5 minutes are spent dodging 1 or 2-shot attacks". So, once more: You Guys Fucking Suck At Designing Bosses. As much as I love Elden Ring and Nightreign, they have their weakest soldiers designing some of these bosses, and it shows. For every Midra (godlike boss fight) there are eight Elden Beasts or Black Blade Kindreds (dogshit bosses that have you spend half or more of the fight chasing after the boss rather than doing anything remotely fun). Nightreign mainly brings Elden Beasts instead of Midras.

Mind you, it's still the tight and fun combat of ER, the fun weapons of ER, and many fun enemies and bosses of ER, it's a great time, I'm loving it, but whenever we get close to the end of the run, I can't help but think "ok now here comes dogshit" half of the time and I shouldn't. I shouldn't think that. I should be excited that I'm about to fight a strong dude, not disappointed I'm about to Run Forever To Land One Hit.

Connection is buttery smooth, at least in my experience. I've played with eurofriends and it holds up fantastic. The new movesets of the characters are fun, I love the Remembrance system and their interactions with one another, their concepts as characters are also really good.

A 7 or 8 out of 10 kinda game as it stands, which is low for a FromSoft title, but still a great game. I hope it only gets better the more content they add.