#react performance tips

[bkthemes]

REACT: Tips and Tricks

[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”] Introduction React has…

[chanelrolls]

Love & Deepspace Men reacting to you giving them head while they drive

warnings. mdni, nsfw, explicit content, sexual themes, blowjob, dick-sucking

pairings. sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, caleb (separate) x reader

notes. it's my first time to write a full-blown nsfw piece so please excuse me if it doesn't come as good. anyway, requests are very much open.

SYLUS

Sylus is focused, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the gear shift—relaxed, poised, in control. Or at least, he was.

You lean in, lips ghosting over his thigh, barely a whisper of contact. At first, there’s no reaction—no sharp inhale, nor a startled twitch. Just the steady, unwavering presence of him, ever composed.

You press another kiss, this time firmer, lingering just a little longer against the fabric of his pants. His grip tightens. "You’re playing a dangerous game, kitten."

His lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk. His leg shifts slightly, as if to subtly press closer to your lips, but before you can take the invitation, his fingers suddenly catch your chin, tilting your face toward him.

He doesn’t look away from the road, but his grip is firm, thumb brushing against your lower lip with deliberate slowness. "If you’re going to test my patience," he murmurs, voice impossibly low, "at least be prepared for what happens when you lose."

"By all means, don't let me stop you," Sylus would purr, a wicked glint in his eyes as he watched you work on his shackles. "In fact, I insist you continue. Show me what that pretty mouth of yours can really do." He'd chuckle darkly, the sound rumbling through his chest.

Sylus would make no move to stop you, instead watching with a critical eye as if evaluating your performance. His breathing would remain steady, his heart rate barely increasing, a testament to his ironclad self-control. He was Sylus, after all. Nothing could ruffle his feathers, least of all a little roadside dalliance.

"Faster," he'd command, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Put your back into it, sweetheart. I know you can do better than that." His fingers would tighten in your hair, guiding your movements, pushing you to take him even deeper. "That's it, just like that."

He'd grip the steering wheel harder, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to surge forward, to take over, to claim his pleasure for himself.

And when he can't hold himself back anymore, he forces the tip to rub against your throat, and you wince in response, but he doesn't bugde, no, he keeps you there. "Keep going," He'd say, teasingly rubbing his tip against your throat, not caring about the way that you're already tearing up. "Don't you dare stop now. I want to see you finish what you started."

And then, suddenly—the car swerves. You barely register the motion before he pulls onto a quiet side road, the tires crunching against gravel as he slows to a stop.

Then, finally, he turns to you fully—one hand still on the wheel, the other trailing down your jaw, tracing the line of your throat before gripping the base of your neck. His touch is light, teasing, but there’s an unmistakable warning behind it.

"Congratulations," he murmurs, tilting your face up, "You got my attention."

ZAYNE

Zayne drives with precise, almost mechanical ease. One hand rests on the wheel, the other draped over the console between you.

Your fingers skim along his thigh first, light and teasing, tracing patterns against the fine material of his slacks. He doesn’t react. Instead, he exhales steadily, like someone who anticipated your next move before you even thought to make it.

Lips grazing over the fabric, the warmth of your breath seeping through, so close yet still not quite enough. Then, his fingers flex. "Do you think this is wise?"

A few beats pass in silence, and you almost think he’s going to ignore it completely, let it roll off his shoulders like he does with most things. But then, suddenly, his hand moves.

Not in warning. Not in restraint.

But to press you down. Fingers threading into your hair, keeping you close, firmly and deliberately, like he’s giving you a choice but already knows what you’ll pick.

"You're trying very hard to test me tonight," he murmurs, and now his voice is lower, rougher, something just a touch undone.

And when you finally took him into your mouth, he'd let out a low, sharp inhale through his teeth, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain control. He'd say your name, voice strained, "we're in the middle of a..." He'd trail off, his words lost in a soft groan as you took him deeper.

Despite his initial surprise, Zayne would make no move to stop you, instead trying to focus on the road ahead. He was a pragmatic man, after all, and he knew the dangers of distracted driving. But damn if your sloppy mouth wasn't making it hard to concentrate.

"Careful," he'd warn, his voice a low rumble. "I don't want to cause an accident." But his words were undercut by the way he rolled his hips slightly, pushing himself deeper into your mouth.

Suddenly, he lets his grip loosen, fingers tracing the nape of your neck before slipping away entirely.

And then—just as quickly—he accelerates. The car surges forward, the sudden force pressing you back against your seat, "That's enough," the air shifting around you as he drives faster, sharper, more reckless than before.

He exhales slowly, smoothing a hand over his tie, regaining that signature poise—but when he finally speaks again, his voice carries that same unshakable authority as always. "Seatbelt on," A small pause, then, "You’ll need it."

RAFAYEL

He’s humming some tune under his breath, something slow. Then, your hand moves first, fingers gliding over the firm muscle of his thigh, innocently enough that he doesn’t react right away. But when your lips followed after, pressing into the fabric of his slacks, his hum falters.

Then stops entirely. For a moment, all you hear is the steady hum of the engine. The way his grip subtly tightens on the wheel. Then—

"You’re a real menace, y’know that?"

His voice is airy, light—like he’s amused, pretending to be unfazed. But you don’t miss the way his breath hitches when you press another kiss, this time dangerously close to the inside of his thigh.

He exhales sharply, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. "Go on," he muses, tilting his head slightly, glowing eyes flicking down at you, and dark with something indulgent. "See what happens, cutie."

You know exactly what will happen. Because Rafayel is all bark until he’s bitten. Until he’s whimpering, breathless, fingers trembling with the effort of keeping control he never really had in the first place.

And when you do press forward, when you start to eat him out, he lets out a sound—soft, bitten off, caught between a laugh and something much filthier.

Rafayel lets out a startled gasp as your lips wrapped around his sensitive cock, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. "H-hey, what do you think you're doing?" as if he didn't challenge you outright.

He tangles his fingers in your hair, not pushing you down, but not pulling you off either, torn between his desire and his stubborn pride. "I never said you could just... just do this, you know," His nose wrinkles in a mixture of annoyance and arousal. "Such a bold little thing, taking what you want without asking..."

But even as he spoke, Rafayel's body betrayed him, his cock twitching and throbbing against your tongue, growing harder by the second. He bites his lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to spill out while you swirled your tongue around the sensitive head, lapping up the bead of pre-cum that had already formed at the tip.

"Nngh... y-you're not going to distract me that easily," Rafayel insisted, even as his grip on your hair tightened, his fingers trembling slightly. "I'm not just going to let you... ah! ...just take control like this, without even asking me first!" He tried to sound indignant, all the while rocking his hips to match your movements.

"Y-you're... hah... you're not going to win this way," Rafayel panted, his face flushed and his eyes glazed over with lust. "I won't let you... just... just have your way with me like this..." But even as he spoke, his head fell back against the headrest, his eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure entirely consumed him.

XAVIER

The night stretches long ahead, the road open, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across Xavier’s sharp profile. His hand rests on the wheel, fingers drumming idly, while the other is perched casually on the gear shift.

Leaning in, you press your lips against the inside of his thigh, soft and fleeting, just enough for him to feel it. Then, his whole body goes rigid.

His foot presses down a little too hard on the gas before he corrects, rolling his shoulders back like it was nothing, like you didn’t just do that.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. "Don’t start." His voice is firm, clipped—but there’s something beneath it, something unraveling at the edges.

You don’t listen. You never do. Another kiss, slower this time, your breath warm against denim.

His fingers tighten around the wheel. "I said—" He stops, inhaling sharply through his nose. A slow, controlled breath—like he’s trying to center himself.

But then he does something unexpected. He shifts in his seat, just slightly—just enough for his thigh to press closer against your lips.

Your lips curl. "Thought you said not to start," you murmur, letting the heat of your breath fan against the fabric of his jeans.

Xavier smiles to glance at you—a short, breathy huff coming out of his lips, almost like he hates that you caught him. "I also told myself I wouldn’t let you get to me."

He keeps driving. Still in control. Still composed. But you can feel it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his body is slowly but surely giving in. "...Keep going," he murmurs, almost absently, like he’s already resigned himself to the inevitable.

He would keep himself unnervingly still and eyes on the road while you lap up his girth, but barely seeing it. "When have you gotten good... at this?"

As Xavier would reach his peak, he'd let out a sharp, hissed intake of breath through clenched teeth, his body going rigid for a moment. He'd rasp, your name a little more than a breathless whisper.

Then, with a sudden, violent jerk of his hips, he'd bury himself deep in your throat, his thick, hot seed erupting forth in thick, heavy spurts.

Xavier's eyes would flutter shut, his head falling back against the headrest as he rode out the intense waves of his climax.

A low, guttural moan would rumble in his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that seemed to echo through the confines of the car. His fingers would tighten in your hair, holding you in place as he emptied himself into your eager mouth, ensuring you took every last drop of his essence

As the final, weak spurts dribbled out, Xavier would slump back in his seat, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, and a faint flush colored his usually pallid cheeks. He'd shoot you a heated look, his eyes half-lidded but intense as they raked over your face. "Swallow it."

CALEB

Caleb would react to a sudden blowjob while driving with a mix of intense arousal and possessive desire lurking beneath the surface.

His eyes would flash with a fierce, hungry light as he glanced down at you, grip tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"Oh, you're brave, huh?," he'd growl, your name falling from his lips like a dark promise. "You're playing dirty, my love."

Despite his words, he made no move to stop you, and instead of grabbing your hair, his veiny hand finds your nape, holding you in place as you worked over his throbbing cock. "Silly girl, trying to distract me like this..."

Caleb's hips would start to rock, fucking into your hot mouth with a growing sense of urgency. "Fuck, baby, your mouth feels so good," he'd pant, his voice rough and strained with pleasure.

As his climax approached, Caleb's eyes would darken, a fierce, almost manic light burning in their depths. "You're mine, you're... mine." he'd rasp, his voice a dark, dangerous rumble. "Only mine. And I won't let anyone, not even you, take that away from me." He'd tighten his grip on your nape, a touch of pain mingling with the pleasure.

He always had a habit of continuously praising and showering you possessive nothings while reaching for his climax.

With a harsh, animalistic cry, Caleb would reach his peak, his hot seed spurting forth to fill your mouth. "Fuck, yes, take it all!" Even pushing himself deeper to the point you wouldn't be able to breathe anymore.

And after he cums? "I'm not done yet." He pulls over the side of the road, and gets on you. Literally.

[softwaredevelopment1]

Among all the prominent frameworks, React is the ideal choice of developers to build responsive and enticing solutions. React technology offers the key features, functionalities and techniques to optimize the development process that ultimately helps in enhancing the performance and quality of the development solution. React exhibits some potential Performance Optimization tips that will help you in achieving Enticing UI Solutions. Drive through this article and leverage the techniques for better results.

[dreaming-of-tae]

♡ skz finding out they're dating an idol

How'd They Find Out? How'd They React? How'd They Handle It?

➜ fluff/angst w/ comfort . gn!reader

ch : bangchan . leeknow . changbin . hyunjin . han . felix . seungmin . i.n

warnings : emotional conflict / angst , mild cursing / intensity: (very mild) , romantic themes , mentions of fame/idol industry pressures

[﹒notes] - My first straykids post!! hope you guys enjoy this as I put a lot of time in ✩ as of now my requests are open so if you have any requests feel free to send them in~ These headcanon/stories are written in a more angsty way, because of how serious being an idol is ♡

Bang Chan (방찬)

You and Chan had been dating in private for nearly a year. It wasn’t exactly a secret relationship, but both of you kept it far away from the public eye. You were always vague about your career, describing yourself as “in the entertainment industry” but never elaborating. You always told yourself you’d come clean eventually — once the time was right.

But the truth was, you were an idol preparing to debut with a major company. And when your group finally debuted, everything changed.

The news came out not from you, but through the industry grapevine. JYP staff began murmuring about a new rookie group shaking the charts — and Chan’s ears perked up when he heard your name associated with them.

At first, he thought it was a coincidence. Maybe someone who just had the same name. But then he saw the teaser.

Your face.

Your voice.

Your debut.

He watched the performance in his studio late one night, headphones in, heart pounding. He didn't even realize he was gripping the armrest of his chair until his fingers went numb. It wasn't just that you were an idol. It was the fact that you'd kept it from him — someone who prided himself on being open, trustworthy, and understanding in relationships.

When you finally walked into his studio the next day, it was quiet. Too quiet.

He didn’t yell. Chan never did. But his silence was louder than any shouting could be.

“You debuted,” he said, not looking up from his laptop.

You tried to explain — how scared you were, how much pressure you were under, how much you wanted to tell him but didn’t want to ruin your shot or involve him in any scandal. Your voice cracked, but you kept going.

“I wasn’t hiding you, I was hiding me,” you told him, near tears.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, exhaling slowly.

“You know I’d never be mad at you for chasing your dream,” he said softly. “But... I thought we were in this together. I thought we shared everything.”

That line stung more than anything.

It takes time. Chan isn’t one to hold grudges, but he feels things deeply. He spends days reflecting — not just on your relationship, but on what it meant for you to feel like you couldn’t trust him with something so big.

Eventually, he reaches out, asking to meet. This time, he's warmer, a little more relaxed.

“You looked incredible on stage,” he admits, smiling shyly. “I’m proud of you.”

He apologizes for his coldness, but also asks you to let him in — even when things are messy, complicated, or scary. “We’re idols,” he says. “We know this life isn’t easy. But I want to share it with you.”

From that point on, he’s your biggest supporter — attending shows in secret, leaving notes in your dressing room when he can, and giving you vocal tips late at night.

He doesn’t love that your schedules now clash and your careers are public property, but he accepts it. Because at the end of the day, you’re still you — and he’s still the guy who fell in love with you, long before the world knew your name.

Lee Know (리노)

Minho had always suspected you were “more than you let on.” The way you carried yourself, the way you avoided certain questions, the way your phone always lit up with messages from people labeled only with emojis. You were mysterious — something he found intriguing.

You’d been together quietly for a little over six months, and while Minho wasn’t the kind of guy to push boundaries, he was observant. Very observant.

Then it happened — your group dropped a surprise debut showcase.

And there you were. Center stage. Flawless. Charismatic. An idol.

Minho sat there in his dorm room, your face filling his screen, members buzzing around him, exclaiming “Wait — isn’t that…?”

He didn’t say a word.

Just stared.

And then left the room.

You knew you had to tell him — and you were already on your way over when your phone started buzzing. A message from Minho: “We need to talk.”

When you arrived, his expression was unreadable. Arms crossed, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting hours.

“So,” he said, voice clipped. “Anything you want to share?”

You tried to explain — the contracts, the company’s PR strategy, your own fears. But Minho’s eyebrows raised.

“Don’t tell me it was all about timing. You had months.”

His voice was sharper than usual. He wasn’t angry in the explosive way — he was angry in the quiet, disappointed way that only someone who’s truly hurt can be.

“I don’t care that you’re an idol,” he finally said. “I care that you didn’t trust me enough to be honest.”

You stood there, feeling like the world had dropped out from under you.

But you didn’t give up. You reached for his hand. “Minho… I didn’t know how. I didn’t want you to think I was using you. Or lying. Or trying to compete. I was scared I’d lose you.”

Something shifted in his expression at that.

Lee Know doesn’t forgive easily — but he does listen.

It takes a long conversation, a lot of silence, and a few sarcastic jabs (“So do I have to call you sunbaenim now?”), but eventually, he lets down the walls again.

Minho is surprisingly vulnerable when you crack through the tough outer shell. He opens up about how he’s always struggled with trust — how hard it is to feel close to people when the industry is full of masks.

“But I want to trust you,” he admits quietly, “so let me.”

From then on, he becomes fiercely protective. He never shows it in dramatic ways, but it’s there — the texts checking in after your late-night schedules, the hand squeeze before a big stage, the teasing messages when you post a killer performance.

He’ll never say “I’m your number one fan” out loud, but he doesn’t have to.

He’s the one watching your fancams at 2 AM when he thinks no one’s looking. The one who subtly retweets your group’s success through fan accounts. The one who learns your choreography just to mockingly dance it in front of you — only to get every step exactly right.

Changbin (창빈)

Dating Changbin had been like finding home. He was warm, goofy, emotionally intelligent, and one of the few idols who knew how to switch off the performance face when the cameras were gone. You met him through a mutual friend, and your relationship bloomed over late-night ramen, playlists, and gym sessions.

He knew you were “in music,” but you always steered the conversation away when it got too close to your career specifics.

You’d rehearsed how to tell him the truth so many times. But your company’s unexpected early debut announcement forced your hand before you were ready. One minute, you were planning your next date with him; the next, your debut stage was trending on Twitter.

He didn’t find out from you.

He found out on Instagram, scrolling through hashtags, when a photo of you in full stage makeup from a press showcase filled his feed. He blinked, confused.

Wait. That was you. Center stage. Surrounded by dancers. Dressed in a designer outfit.

The caption read: [Name], center of [Group Name], the next big thing in K-pop.

He sat in stunned silence, your unopened text from earlier still sitting on his phone screen.

It read: “Can we talk later tonight? Please.”

You showed up to his studio hours later, already anticipating the hurt in his eyes.

He wasn’t angry — not in the explosive sense. But Changbin felt things deeply, and that depth was now tinged with betrayal.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly, fingers fiddling with the drawstring on his hoodie. “Was I… just someone to pass time with until you debuted?”

You rushed to explain — how scared you were of being seen as someone using him, how your company warned you not to get involved romantically before debut, how you’d planned to tell him when the timing felt safer.

“I didn’t want you to see me differently,” you whispered.

“I already saw you,” he said. “The real you. That’s why it hurts.”

Changbin spirals a bit. Not dramatically — but internally. He overthinks, questions every moment, replays your interactions, wondering if there were signs he missed. But despite all the confusion and hurt, he doesn’t give up on you.

He just needs time.

You give him space, unsure if he’ll reach back out — but a few days later, he does. He texts you a selfie of him holding up your debut album, captioned: “I still meant it when I said I liked you. That hasn’t changed.”

When you meet again, the air is gentler. You talk — really talk. He admits his insecurities. You show him your practice clips and share how long you’ve dreamed of this.

From that point on, he becomes your unofficial hype man. He studies your choreo so he can do your fanchants, sneaks your songs into his playlists, and even writes a verse about you for a mixtape — cryptic enough not to be obvious, but personal enough that you know.

His love is loud, even if his pain was quiet. And in the end, he never stops believing in you — or the version of you he fell for long before the lights hit your stage.

Hyunjin (현진)

Being with Hyunjin felt like walking through an art museum — every moment was soaked in feeling, beauty, and subtle intensity. He was affectionate, expressive, and deeply attentive. He'd write little poems for you, draw doodles on your hands when you were bored, and always looked at you like you were a masterpiece.

You adored him for that. And it made keeping your secret even harder.

Your debut had been quietly brewing for over a year, and your company was famously strict. Dating wasn’t just frowned upon — it was a career risk. So you said nothing, afraid to jeopardize your shot or his.

But when your group's debut MV dropped and the internet lit up with reactions, it didn’t take long for Hyunjin to put the pieces together. He knew your mannerisms, your eyes, the tilt of your head. He recognized you instantly.

But what crushed him wasn’t that you were an idol.

It was that he had to find out with the rest of the world.

You found him in his apartment the next evening — music off, curtains drawn, sketchbook open but untouched. He looked up when you entered, his eyes unreadable.

“Why didn’t you trust me with this?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You sat beside him, heart thudding, and told him everything — the fears, the company’s threats, the guilt. You confessed how each day that passed without telling him made it harder to come clean. How you hated yourself for not trusting the person who treated you like you hung the stars.

“I wanted to protect what we had,” you said. “But I ended up hurting you.”

He didn’t respond for a long while. Then, slowly, he handed you his sketchbook.

Inside was a drawing of you — in your debut outfit, mid-performance, surrounded by stage lights. But your eyes in the sketch were sad. Lonely.

“I drew this after I saw the video,” he said. “Because I knew you weren’t celebrating.”

Hyunjin is emotional, yes — but he’s also wise beyond his years. He doesn’t push you away. Instead, he leans into his feelings, into the pain, and finds a way to make art out of it.

He asks for honesty moving forward, no matter how difficult. And you promise.

He becomes your quiet anchor — someone who understands the duality of fame and intimacy. He starts leaving notes in your bag before fanmeets, texts you affirmations after live stages, and watches your content with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

Sometimes, it’s hard — when your names are trending for different reasons, when rumors swirl, when the distance grows. But Hyunjin never stops showing up. He creates playlists titled “For When You’re Tired” and draws little comics of your imaginary life if you were just two art students instead of idols.

And though he found out the truth in a way that broke his heart, he still chooses you — every version of you.

The star version of you.

And the person behind both.

Han (한)

Dating Jisung was like living in a comedy-drama series with the most chaotic yet golden-hearted lead. He was silly, loud, unpredictable — but beneath it all, he had the most fragile heart and softest soul. He constantly sought reassurance and was always the first to make you laugh when things got heavy.

You connected through mutual friends at a casual get-together, and from day one, he made it clear how serious he was about you — in his goofy, offbeat way. You’d always deflected questions about your career by saying you were “training in music production” or “working behind the scenes,” and he never pushed you too hard.

Until your debut hit the internet.

Jisung wasn’t scrolling for gossip. He was looking for new music releases when he saw the thumbnail: your name — your face — and a “Debut MV” tag.

He clicked without thinking. Half-curious. Half-worried.

As the video played and your voice rang through his speakers, reality cracked open.

His first reaction? Shock — mouth open, hands paused in midair, eyes wide.

Then came confusion. And then silence.

When you texted him later that day with a simple: “Can we talk? Please.” — he didn’t answer right away.

Not because he was angry.

Because his brain was moving at 200mph, and his heart was dragging behind.

He met you that night outside the dorms — hoodie on, hands in his pockets, face unreadable.

“You’re an idol?” he asked softly. “All this time?”

You explained everything — the contracts, the NDAs, your fear of losing him. The guilt of holding something so big back.

His lip twitched. “You thought I wouldn’t be okay with it? Or… you didn’t trust me enough to try?”

The pain in his voice wasn’t loud. It was wounded, quiet, like a joke that didn’t land.

“I tell you everything,” he added. “Every stupid fear. Every song lyric I write. Every dream. You’ve heard me at my worst.”

He wasn’t yelling. He was disappointed. And that hurt more than if he had screamed.

Jisung needs time to process. He hides in his music — writes endless lyrics about masks, mirrors, and miscommunication. He makes jokes to his members to downplay how confused he feels, but you can tell it sits heavy on his chest.

Then one night, he calls you — just your name, softly.

“Come to the studio.”

When you arrive, he plays you a demo — raw vocals, stripped beat, lyrics that feel like reading his heart on a page.

“You danced in the dark / while I thought we were in the light / I loved you blind / but now I see in black and white…”

You sit in silence when it ends.

“I wrote it the night I found out,” he says. “But it’s not a goodbye song.”

You exhale shakily. “Then what is it?”

“It’s a ‘try again’ song.”

From then on, he’s different — more open about his fears, but also fiercely protective of your dream. He teases you about “idol mode,” helps you brainstorm stage names, even gives you random awards like “Best Outfit Slay” and “Most Likely to Outshine Me.”

He’s scared, yes. But love — real love — makes him brave enough to stay.

Felix (필릭스)

Dating Felix was like basking in warmth. He had that rare kind of energy — grounding, healing, and gentle. You met during a joint industry charity event, and your connection was instant. He was attentive, deeply curious about you, and always made you feel like the most important person in the room.

But from the start, you knew he was honest to a fault. Felix didn’t play games. He gave love openly, and he expected that same vulnerability in return.

Which is why you feared telling him the truth: that you were on the verge of debuting as an idol, that your company had forbidden any public or even private relationships without disclosure, and that you were falling for him faster than you ever expected.

Felix found out through a mutual friend — accidentally.

Someone sent him a message: “Isn’t this your girlfriend?” with a screenshot of a teaser poster.

Your face. Center of a highly anticipated girl group debut.

He stared at it, brows furrowed, phone shaking in his hand.

He didn’t speak to anyone about it. He waited until he could see you.

When you met up, he didn’t waste time. He held up the image on his phone.

“You’re debuting?” he asked, tone heartbreakingly calm.

You nodded, ready for the storm. But it never came.

He took a step back, swallowing hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You fumbled for the words — how you feared jeopardizing your career, how you thought if you waited just a little longer, it would be easier.

“But you let me love you,” he said quietly. “Without the truth.”

The pain wasn’t in his words — it was in his eyes.

Felix isn’t someone who gives up easily. But he also doesn’t let himself be treated like an afterthought. He takes a step back — not to punish you, but to center himself.

He talks to Chan. To his sister. He journaled a lot. He tried to understand whether your secrecy was about mistrust, or fear, or something else entirely.

Eventually, he meets with you again — on a quiet rooftop, where he used to go when the trainee life felt too heavy.

“I’ve had my own secrets too,” he says, staring at the skyline. “But I’ve always believed love needs honesty, or it won’t last.”

You nod, tears in your eyes. “I’m ready to be honest. Now. With everything.”

He looks at you then — really looks. And he smiles.

Not his fan-service smile.

But his smile. The one only people he loves get to see.

“You were always a star,” he says. “I guess now the rest of the world gets to see it too.”

From that point on, Felix becomes your safest place. He watches all your stages, encourages your self-care, and finds clever ways to support you publicly without ever exposing your relationship.

He’s proud of you.

And he reminds you every day: that you can shine in the spotlight and still be held in love — safely, quietly, fiercely — when the lights go down.

Seungmin (승민)

Seungmin wasn’t the type to fall easily, but when he did, it was intentional. You’d met him through a friend who worked in radio, and what started as casual banter turned into long coffee shop dates filled with dry humor and quiet companionship.

He liked that you were grounded. You shared thoughts about music, books, even your frustrations with the entertainment industry. But whenever he asked specifics about your work, you deflected — said you were “support staff,” or “still finding your path.” He respected your privacy. He always did.

That is, until your face showed up unexpectedly on a massive LED screen in Hongdae — part of a pre-debut countdown campaign for a new girl group.

It took him a few seconds to register that it was you.

Wearing stage makeup. In costume. Smiling like the whole world was finally seeing the dream you’d been hiding.

That night, you showed up to his apartment without asking. You knew he’d seen it.

He didn’t yell. That wasn’t Seungmin.

He opened the door, stepped aside, and let you in. The silence wasn’t cold — it was focused. You sat across from him on the couch, bracing yourself.

He finally spoke, voice calm but painfully steady: “How long were you going to keep it from me?”

You tried to explain — the non-disclosure, the risk of rumors, the company’s iron grip on trainee relationships. But as you spoke, he stared down at his hands, barely blinking.

“Do you know how many people I’ve pushed away because I didn’t think they could handle my world?” he asked quietly. “I chose you. And you couldn’t even give me the truth.”

It stung. Not because he was angry — but because he wasn’t. He sounded tired.

You reached out to touch his hand, but he gently pulled it back.

“I just need time to think,” he said. “About whether we’ve both been in the same relationship this whole time.”

Seungmin goes quiet for a few days. Not out of malice, but because he doesn’t do emotional decisions impulsively. He talks to his members. He takes long walks. He listens to music without lyrics — classical, instrumental, film scores — trying to find his own voice in the noise.

Eventually, he texts you: “I want to talk. In person.”

When you meet again, he’s still calm — but different. Not guarded. Resolved.

“I’m not angry that you’re an idol,” he says. “I’m proud. I’ve always known there was something special in you.”

He takes your hand.

“But I need honesty. Even when it’s messy. Even when it might hurt.”

You promise — this time without deflection.

From then on, Seungmin becomes your quiet protector. He won’t show it in grand gestures, but in consistent ones — sending you your favorite coffee before music shows, editing your practice videos with helpful notes, reminding you not to lose yourself in the chaos of fame.

He’s still skeptical sometimes — especially when fans speculate, or when your schedules keep you apart. But his love isn’t loud. It’s reliable.

And when he sees you on stage for the first time, he smiles — not because you’re an idol, but because you’re still you. And that’s who he fell for.

I.N (아이엔)

Jeongin had always been playful, gentle, a little shy in interviews — but in real life, he’d grown into someone confident and self-aware. He laughed easily, cared deeply, and had a surprisingly steady presence beneath the youthful energy.

You met him during a vocal workshop and bonded over late-night convenience store runs and shared Spotify playlists. He admired how humble and grounded you were — never knowing that underneath it all, you were hiding a career just weeks away from exploding.

When your debut came, it wasn’t a slow reveal.

It was a bombshell.

You were the surprise center of a new girl group with a viral pre-debut TikTok campaign. Fancams. Headlines. Trending hashtags.

Jeongin was in the dorm, half-laughing with Han over snacks, when Felix’s phone buzzed.

“Wait — isn’t this Y/N?”

And the room went quiet.

He didn’t text you.

He didn’t call.

Instead, he waited — unsure whether to confront you, or wait for you to explain.

You beat him to it, showing up the next evening with a bag of tteokbokki and a soft apology.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

His smile was polite, but distant.

“I guess I never really knew you, huh?” he said, softly.

That broke your heart more than yelling would’ve.

“I didn’t lie,” you said. “I just… hid. Because I thought if you saw the whole picture, you’d treat me like a brand, not a person.”

His expression softened, but he looked down at his hands.

“I didn’t fall for a brand,” he whispered. “I fell for someone who laughed at my dumb jokes, who sang off-key with me at karaoke, who looked me in the eye like I mattered.”

You blinked back tears.

“And you still matter,” you said. “More than any debut. More than any stage.”

Jeongin surprises you.

He’s more mature than people give him credit for. After a few days of reflection, he comes to you — with questions, yes, but also with his heart open.

He asks about your training. About your fears. About your dreams — not your image.

Once he understands it wasn’t about deceit, but about survival, he forgives you. Fully.

And from that moment on, he becomes your safe place. He checks in before every big performance. Sends you goofy voice notes to cheer you up. Hypes you up anonymously online with burner accounts. Leaves little gifts in your locker when your schedules cross paths.

But he also keeps you accountable.

“When we’re together,” he says, “it’s not idol to idol. It’s just you and me. Real. No masks.”

He doesn’t treat you like glass. He treats you like a partner. Equal. Respected.

And when he watches you on stage, he claps the loudest — not because he’s watching an idol rise.

But because he’s watching his person do what they were born to do.

[bbokicidal]

bboki.... save us jeongin stans bboki.... we are starving

okay ive been on an oral kick so THIS jeongin eating YOU out <3

warnings: 18+ content, oral (f receiving), ginger jeongin lol

"You're going to get us caught."

His words are whispered right against your clit slick with spit, every syllable breathy and dripping with desperation. He doesn't actually care about getting caught, he's just saying it because it seems like the morally right thing to do. It wasn't like anyone could come into his hotel room without a keycard anyways.

His lips are puffy, swollen from eating you out for nearly an hour now. They bruise with the want to make you come and his mouth has never watered this much before when it came down to sex. Maybe this was just what he needed - eating you out after a performance and taking out his frustrations on your poor little bundle of nerves.

"Can't help it," Your voice leaves your throat in a strained whine, the tone matching the arch of your back as it pushes up off of the bedsheets; Wrinkled, messy, untucking from beneath the mattress more and more every time your body shifts from the pleasure coursing through your veins.

His tongue licks through your folds, broad and flat - long strokes that end with the tip of the muscle swirling a few times around your clit. He knows what he's doing - knows what he should do to get you riled up and gasping for breath. He knows you like it when he takes his time; He knows you love the sounds that come from his mouth when he sucks and kisses at you like it's the last thing he'll ever do.

And he knows how you react when you're close to reaching that pretty, perfect high that'll have your thighs clamping around his ears and your body squirming against the sheets. He'll have to hold you down, soon.

Your hand slides into his hair and he presses in closer, tongue dipping into your pussy to prod and taste anything that comes from you. Not a single drop will go to waste if he has any say on it. The soft faded ginger melts against your skin so perfectly, his hair crimping at the root when your fingers curl tight to drag him in impossibly closer.

He'll suffocate here between your legs if you keep yanking on him like that.

Not that he'd complain. ~

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Cherry Picking.

Boyfriend!Reid x Messy!reader

Summary: After your first night with Spencer, you wake up and see that he's left you two dollars and a thank-you note on your bedside table.

Words: 2,3k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!reader. bau!reader. lots of mentions and references to sex, but nothing completely explicit. the reader is quite dramatic and has little faith in men (literally me, sorry). SO MUCH chaos and lack of communication but happy ending. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This idea just came to me out of the blue, and I have to say that Sex and the City has had a bit of an influence. I love the chaos, the conversations between friends, and Spencer being the best man in the world (I'm picturing him kind of like in his season four version).

Saturday afternoon

“Two dollars?!”

Penelope's and JJ's simultaneous exclamations and surprised faces when you finished speaking were pretty much to be expected. They noticed a change in your expression and took a moment to compose themselves, as did the rest of the people in the room, who glanced curiously at your table from time to time. It was certainly a fascinating sight, three women having an animated conversation about their lives over milkshakes as if they were drinks, especially considering that one of them was pregnant and her belly looked like it was about to explode.

You didn't blame anyone for reacting that way, especially not your friends. You were still pretty shocked by what happened, especially by how thoughtless the man you'd developed feelings for and worked closely with over the past few years was. It was a unsettling to find a tip on your nightstand after one of the most memorable nights you'd ever had. You still remembered the excitement you felt when you went to Spencer's apartment yesterday to watch a movie as part of your fourth or fifth date. He seemed nervous when you started kissing more intensely, and the couch wasn't the best setting. The sensation of your body on his bed and his lips on your skin was incredible.

It was a good memory, extremely good if you took away the embarrassment of waking up the next day in his empty bed with money waiting for you, as if you had performed a service.

“Maybe there was a misunderstanding and the money was left on the table by mistake.” Jennifer spoke again in a reassuring tone after turning the matter over. “Spencer can be a little clumsy sometimes.”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line as you listened to her attempt to provide an explanation for his actions. But given their friendship, this was to be expected.

“And he was in a hurry to catch his plane and go to his mother.” Garcia added with a forced smile, trying to lift your spirits. “It all makes sense.”

Yes, it was understandable that he was leaving in a hurry because he had to catch a flight to spend his weekend off with his mother. That didn't worry you, but there was something else that was curious.

“How do you explain the thank-you note?” You asked, taking out the paper and the two dollars you'd pulled out to show them as proof from your purse.

“It was a thank you for hanging out with him, a sweet gesture.” JJ said, taking a sip of her milkshake and patting her belly.

It seemed more like a sour gesture to you, that you had been left with your dignity on the floor. As you left his apartment, you didn't know whether to cry or laugh because it sounded like a bad joke that the only man you thought was decent and for whom you allowed yourself to have feelings would do such a thing.

“My love life is going downhill.” You said.

Just then, the restaurant door opens and Emily appears. After greeting her and apologizing for her late arrival, she asks about the cause of your apparent distress. As a profiler, she was astute enough to know something was wrong just by looking at you.

“What's wrong, honey?” She started talking as soon as she sat down next to you and took a quick look at the table. “Those milkshakes look good, I want one.”

“Spencer thinks I'm a prostitute.” You spoke up without thinking, which surprised Emily and caused her to briefly lose her grip on the menu.

There was a long, awkward silence.

Perhaps you were too direct in saying something that you had been trying to ignore for your own mental health.

“Just a heads-up, we've got a baby in the room. No need to say that word!” Penelope was the first to speak, gently covering JJ's belly with her hands. “He can hear you.”

At that moment, Reid and his comments about pregnancy data at every stage came to mind. You felt a little uncomfortable because you knew it was a little unrealistic to focus on the positives at a time like this.

“Oh, I'm so sorry, baby.” You looked regretfully at your friends and spoke to Jennifer's belly, giving it a gentle caress. “Don't listen.”

“I need context, please.” Emily said confusedly, trying to understand what was going on and why you had said what you had said.

You let out a deep breath, preparing yourself to recount the story once more.

“Okay, Spencer and I made...milkshakes. Very good milkshakes, really good if you know what I mean.” You tried to explain slowly, watching your words and your friends' expressions. “I woke up when he was leaving, he gave me a kiss on my forehead and said to keep sleeping, that he had to catch his flight.”

“That's sweet, but weird to know.” Emily commented quizzically, looking at the menu intently again. “What's the part...you know?”

“Oh, when he thought I was-” You stop yourself as you see how JJ looks at you. “A pie maker.”

You could tell from their expressions that they were about to laugh at your attempts to keep the conversation friendly.

“I woke up hours later to find two dollars on the nightstand with a thank-you note.” You finished the story. “To him, I'm worth two fu...sugary dollars.”

Prentiss stared at you for several seconds, waiting for me to tell her it was a joke. Only when that didn't happen did she speak. “That sounds weird and awful, but I don't think he would do something like that on purpose. Especially you, he really likes you.”

“He likes me enough to give me two dollars.”

When you finished speaking, you experienced a moment of discomfort in your stomach as your own words took effect. You were surprised to find that on a deeper level, what had happened was causing you more pain than you had anticipated.

“That doesn't sound like Reid at all. I've known him for years, and he's not that kind of man.” Penelope said with a frown, trying to reassure you. “I'm sure it's a mix-up.”

You were looking for the same thing and hoping it was just a misunderstanding, but your previous bad experiences made you think otherwise. You'd met enough men to know that they could always be worse. What was different now was that you really liked this particular man. You really longed for him to be different from everyone else.

However, things weren't always as you'd hoped. You'd invested a lot of hope in making your fairy tale come true, and it was starting to take its toll.

“Have you had a chance to speak with him?” JJ inquired.

“He's with his mother, I won't bother him.” You replied with a strange simplicity that made your friends suspicious. “I'm fine, I've calmed down.” You added as you saw their worried faces.

“I love you, but sometimes you scare me.” Emily said, watching you drink from your smoothie as if it contained a painkiller. “It's not okay to pretend that everything's fine.”

“It's understandable to feel a bit discouraged about this. Things may seem challenging at the moment, but I believe things will improve when you discuss this with him.” Jennifer's hand gently touched yours, offering a comforting gesture.

“I'm sure everything will be fine. You have our support if you need it.” Penelope joined in with the motivational words and gave you a reassuring smile.

You took the last sip of your milkshake and leaned back in your seat for a moment before replying. “I'm fine, girls. I don't plan to lose my head over a man, I promised myself.”

They looked at you with some skepticism, but you didn't flinch. You were confident that if you were mentally prepared not to be defeated, or at least not to look defeated, you would be well prepared for the day of the meeting.

You weren't going to lose your mind over this.

Monday morning

You were definitely losing your mind, and no cup of tea or internet video that promised to do so had been able to relax you one bit. You had been cooped up in the office you shared with Penelope for several minutes, pacing in your chair while everyone in the conference room waited for information about a new case and your presence. The mere thought of having to face Reid again was making you feel pretty uneasy.

All weekend, you had been trying to reassure yourself that you were doing well, that you were not hurt or affected by what happened, that it was just one more disappointment to add to the long list you had written since you were a teenager, and that it was normal for someone with your luck. You were not a princess, you were not going to meet a prince, and you were old enough to know that.

But being in the same building as your prince turned toad was not as easy as you had hoped. You prayed that your presence would not be necessary and that the jet would soon take off to take them all away, especially him.

A few sudden knocks on the door startled you. You automatically thought it was your boss coming to scold you for being late, and your blood froze.

“I apologize for the delay, Hotch. I assure...” You spoke promptly as soon as the door opened and a male figure appeared.

But obviously, it wasn't him.

“Oh, sorry, I'm not Hotch. But hey, how are you?” Spencer smiled at you and walked toward you, looking a little nervous.

“Fine.” You replied dryly, getting up from your seat to grab your tablet and some folders to carry into the conference room.

In your mind, you had planned to make a scene as soon as you saw him and make it clear that you didn't cost just two dollars. But after thinking about it a lot, the fear of losing your job over it was greater. And now it was a mixture of that reasoning with your feeling of paralysis at actually having him in front of you.

“I...I missed you over the weekend.” He stopped you before you could walk away, gently holding your hand. The feeling alone made you stop and look at him angrily. “I thought about you a lot, too much, and I bought you something.” He let go of your hand to pull a small box out of his pocket.

“How dare you?” You blurt out, taking a step back.

He looked a little uncomfortable and seemed to be in pain. “I'm sorry if I overstepped. I didn't mean to impose. Did I cross a line? I'm sorry, I just thought—”

“What? That you could embarrass me even more? Didn't I already go through enough?”

That's when you took out two dollars from your purse and gave it to him.

“Could I ask why this is?” Spencer was still frowning and looked just as hurt as you.

His apparent lack of understanding of the situation made you much angrier. You had thought he was probably the smartest man you had ever met in your entire life, but suddenly, in your eyes, he was an idiot.

“I'm refunding your payment, Reid.” You replied firmly, without hiding your frustration.

The confusion on his face seemed to multiply as he tried to understand. “What are you talking about? I gave you your money back.”

You tilted your head slightly to one side.

“Saturday morning, I left on the nightstand the two dollars you lent me a week ago when we bought coffee. You know I don't like being in debt.” Spencer began to explain calmly, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and present the facts in a clear and concise manner.

Oh, you do remember lending him money at some point, or rather, inviting him for coffee that he said he'd pay you back. That day when his hair was perfect in the wind, when he smiled at you and told you some interesting facts about coffee beans.

“I mentioned it when I said goodbye, but you looked so tired that I left you a thank you note in case you forgot.” He went on to explain. “A lot of studies say that you wake up to full strength at least 20 to 30 minutes after you actually open your eyes. And you still had them closed when I said goodbye.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I...I thought you—” You fell silent as you saw the stunned look on his face. You didn't want to look crazy, so you quickly added. “I just thought wrong.”

“I'm sorry, I don't understand.” He said, a little embarrassed. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh, no, I just...did you bring me a gift?” You changed the subject, taking the box he had previously offered you. Inside was a necklace with a cherry blossom charm.

“Your computer wallpaper is a picture of cherry blossoms. And I saw this necklace in a store when I was walking with my mom, and I thought you might like it. But it's okay if you don't want it—” He spoke fast until you interrupted him.

“I love it, thank you.” You smiled at him and took the necklace out of the box. “Could you help me with this?”

With some trepidation and uncertainty still present, Spencer positioned himself behind you with the jewel in his hands, carefully brushed your hair aside and fastened the necklace around your neck. The sensation of his fingers brushing against your skin made you feel a slight shiver.

“Thanks.” You said as you turned around to face him. You gave him a hug, though you were a little unsure.

He returned your embrace, feeling a sense of relief that things between you were okay. “You don't have to thank me.”

“It's not about the gift. It's just a way to say thanks for being you.”

Perhaps he was your prince after all.

[coldfanbou]

Kinkcember Day 22: Size Kink

Today, we have actress Park Bo young, getting some extra practice with how her character acts.

Length 1.2K

Park Bo Young X Mreader

Boyoung felt your bulge rub against her as the two of you acted through the sex scene.  Even though you were both wearing modesty garments to protect yourself, she felt your cock through it; she could feel your size. It was making her wet as she felt your strong hands hold her wrists by her head. She wasn’t acting. Boyoung was getting turned on. Her soft moans were real. You kissed her passionately. Boyoung wrapped her legs around your waist, and her tongue lingered in your mouth as you played your part. The moment the director said cut, you pulled back; Boyoung reached forward, wanting to continue before she caught herself and realized the scene was over. “Everyone, we’re taking an hour break. Thank you for your hard work!” The director yells before climbing out of his chair and leaving the sound stage. Some of the stagehands begin cleaning up as you grab bathrobes for you and Boyoung. The young woman puts the bathrobe on and remains seated on the bed as you walk to your dressing room.

Boyoung takes a deep breath and tries to slow her heart rate as the last scene replays in her head. The work she had done with you previously didn’t set her up well for this scene. While she had always liked you, she saw a new side of you that she loved. The strength you showed when you held her down, the way you dominated her with your size, awakened something in her. She stood up slowly and went to your dressing room, wanting to continue the scene but actually performing the act this time.

You head to your dressing room after, trying to relax, when you get a knock on the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s Boyoung!” You walk over to the door and invite your costar inside. “Thanks for letting me in. What do you think about our scenes so far?” She asks, you sitting on your couch.

“I think they’re coming out pretty well. This last one, though… it's a little awkward, isn’t it?” You reply, feeling unsure about your performance in a sex scene.

“No, no! You’re doing great; I could feel everything,” Boyoung curses herself as she realizes what she’s said. “That’s not what I meant, hold on. I just mean that I could feel you putting everything you have into your performance.”

“Ah, that’s what you meant. I was a little worried you could feel me through the modesty garments.” You look down. The modesty garments covered your private areas, but wearing them didn’t give you the most confidence, especially considering your size. “These things are a bit thin, and it makes me a little self-conscious.”

“Ah, you shouldn’t be; you’re perfectly fine,” Boyoung says, patting your chest. “You’re nice and strong in more ways than one. Boyoung purses her lips, considering how to bring up the subject. “I don’t know if you know, but I like to get into my roles. So I’d like to take things a little further.”

“How do you suggest we do that?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Boyoung says bluntly. Throwing caution to the wind, she continues, “I could feel your…cock rubbing against me, and I want to know more about how she would actually react. I need you for this,” Boyoung admits, dropping her robe and removing the modesty garments, bearing her body to you. She steps closer to you, her small hands taking off your modesty garments before reaching for your cock. Her hand can barely wrap around it. Boyoung gulps, mesmerized by your cock; her hand slowly moves from the base to the tip. She brings her other hand to your cock, rubbing the tip against her palm as she squats down. Boyoung was getting excited just holding your cock. “May I?”

You give the small woman a nod; being next to her in the last scene turned you on, and you wanted to fuck her. “Yeah, let’s get more into our roles.” Boyoung squats down, coming face to face with your cock. She gives it a few licks, her small tongue running along the underside before she begins to jerk you off. Boyoung used both hands, amazed at your size. She was getting wetter just thinking about you using it on her. Her mouth barely fit the head of your cock; her lips hollowed as she sucked on it, her tongue licking it like it was a lollipop. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to get it down her throat, Boyoung spit on your cock and spread it around your shaft with her hands, pleasing you as she mentally prepared herself. “I think you’re ready,” She says quietly, 

You picked the small woman up easily, holding onto and squeezing her thighs. You align yourself with her entrance and lower her onto your cock. Boyoung squirms in your arms as her walls wrap around your cock. She groans and whimpers as your cock stretches her small cunt, separating her walls and splitting her in two. You move her along your shaft, slowly taking in more of it until you’re buried inside her. Boyoung bites her lip; she can feel your cock stretching her; her fantasies are being fulfilled as you use her like a toy, moving her along your cock. She clings to you, moaning into your ear about how good it feels to have you inside her. 

“You’re so tight,” you grunt in response, reveling in how her walls flex around your cock as you drive it into her. If Boyoung hadn’t been clinging to you before, she would have needed to know that you moved faster. You were getting into a good rhythm, making her bounce on your cock. The older woman moaned your name and begged you for a kiss. You gave in to her demands; your tongue traced her lips until she allowed you inside. You explored each other's mouths. Boyoung moans in the kiss, arching her back as you thrust deeper into her. You make her shiver as you run your hand down her spine; she moans louder, every touch making her entire body tingle. 

“Oh, fuck, you’re so big. I’m going to cum,” She whines, her walls tightening around you. “I want you to cum inside me. I don’t care what happens. Just fill me up.” Boyoung presses her body against your chest, her moans growing louder as she bounces on your cock. 

Nearing your climax, you hold onto Boyoung’s waist tightly, forcing her up and down your shaft as you thrust into her, crushing her womb. “Oh shit! Yes! Fuck me!” Boyoung cries as you use her more like a toy. Her tongue begins to hang out of her mouth. The woman before you was a far sight from the coworker you know, but it only turns you on more. You continue to fuck Boyoung senseless, pistoning in and out of her until you bury yourself inside her suddenly. You cum rushes inside the small woman, painting her walls white before filling her cunt. You rest Boyoung on your cock, letting her recover from her orgasm. You move over to the couch, setting her down on it before pulling out. “Thank you,” Boyoung mumbles, placing her hand against her cunt and collecting your cum; she sucks on her fingers, a look of lust on her face as she tastes the salty liquid.

A knock on your door alerts the two of you. “We’re going to start filming again! Let’s get going!” One of the staff yells from outside. Boyoung looks at you, worried about her disheveled appearance, but quickly gets dressed and puts on her modesty garments and a bathrobe before walking out. You take an extra minute to clean yourself up before walking out, ready to film more scenes with Boyoung. Any scene that involved the two of you making love would be followed by the actual thing in your dressing room.

[centaurianthropology]

You know what I like most about the Murderbot/Gurathin dynamic at this point in the series? They’re both broken, both hurting, and both WRONG.

Gurathin has background we don’t yet know, but he is clearly traumatized after his experiences in the Corporation Rim. He is understandably suspicious and hostile toward anything coming out of the CR (see him reacting similarly to MB and LeeBeeBee). He sees SecUnits as a tool of oppression, as rent-a-cops (and rent-a-guns) of the corporation, and his reaction to having to be in close proximity to one is understandably suspicious and hostile.

But it’s so suspicious and hostile it tips into paranoia. He is so damaged by what happened to him that he can’t see what happened to someone else. He can’t see that it’s in a very similar position as he likely once was, with just as little choice. He can’t extend grace to it, can’t even extend personhood to it, because he finally has something to direct his fear and his pain and his trauma at.

And SecUnit absolutely responds in kind. It is an enslaved, constructed being owned by a corporation that would melt it down at the first opportunity. And this person (whose opinions it frequently agrees with), is openly suspicious. He’s performing what he might consider a stress-test on the SecUnit, which MB experiences as an excruciating stare-off. And from there, MB has the first human it’s openly allowed to loath. All of its own pain, its own trauma, has an outlet.

And its frustrations bubble over into a physical assault. It doesn’t matter if it was completely in control, if it had no intention of actually harming Gurathin. Gurathin was an asshole to it, and so it used its far superior physical strength to throw him against a wall, hold him by the throat, and aim a charged weapon at his face. Its reasons are understandable, but its actions go too far. Both their actions go too far.

They are just such a delicious example of “hurt people hurt people”. You can see the line of their reasoning, and when they step over the line. You can see that they go after one another because they’re both outsiders to this group, both damaged by the same source, but turning on one another in their pain.

It feels so real. This is what people do. This is what messes people are. They don’t turn their pain on its source, because they can’t reach the source. They turn it on the first target they deem acceptable, and they cross the line from trauma to traumatizing.

[witch-of-snow-and-stars]

Some Advice for Beginner Witches/Advice I Wish I Got

I'm by no means an expert in anything magical or an expert witch, this is mostly just advice/tips that I wish I had had when I was first starting my practice OR advice that I think a lot of beginners could benefit from. Resources will also be linked at the end.

This is a rather long post so everything else is under the cut, but I've divided everything into general advice, spiritual practice advice, and community-oriented advice. Links to applicable sources are under Miscellanea.

General Advice/Things to Keep in Mind

Consider the mundane stuff first! Use naturally-sourced/biodegradable and ecologically safe offerings/magic components when working outside or if you're going to return something to the earth (ex. salt will kill plants/damage soil so don't do a salt circle- use crushed eggshells instead and don't bury anything non-biodegradable/naturally sourced), practice good fire safety (ffs every witchy person I've run across has at least 1 'fire incident'), make sure not to expose crystals to things they'll react negatively to (ex. pyrite in water will form sulfuric acid), etcetera etcetera.

You don't need to get all new specialty equipment or a ton of things to start your spiritual practice. You may want to but you by no means do you have to. A lot of everyday items that you may already have can perform magical uses, so just use the things you have until you run into specific items you may want to add to your practice (ie you might make an alter out of things you already have and then switch out elements with new preferred items as you get them). Honestly things might work better if you use older/mundane items you have a close connection to.

Similarly, you don't need to go and get the most expensive things for your craft either. If you're wanting to splurge on anything, splurge on safety supplies (fire safety supplies or anything that will make your practice more safe practically are good places to start) and workhorse items that you will be able to use frequently long-term. This doesn't have to be a major strain on your budget and shouldn't be a financial burden to you.

Magical/Spiritual practitioners DO NOT all believe the same things. Spiritual practices/Spirituality is more of an umbrella category that encompasses many different practices (or practitioner communities) rather than a specific belief system/community and most practitioners ascribe to schools of practice or systems of belief and combine those systems with their own unverified personal gnosis (typically called UPG). Overlaps in beliefs or practices happen fairly regularly, but will be different for different practices.

You can learn something from most practitioners, even if they come from a different belief system or practice (disclaimer: do not take from/try to practice closed practices/religions, I am not telling you to do that). By this I mean that other practitioners will probably have different bases of knowledge and perspectives that may be of help to you even if they come from a different type of practice. Personally, if I'm struggling with understanding a specific concept or I'm having issues linking something up within the rest of my practice, hearing someone else's viewpoint or seeing how they link/incorporate different aspects of their practice can be a catalyst for working through those issues

Take care of yourself. Look into spiritual psychosis and what to look out for, and and try to not fall down the rabbit hole of convert fervor. Most people are not expecting you to have your entire practice nailed down within the first week (tbh your practice will probably change and evolve throughout your life), so take your time and go at a pace that's sustainable for you. You'll probably even have rest/break periods of low/zero engagement in your practice, and if that happens that's fine too!

Magic Advice & Spiritual Practice Tips

I would recommend starting where you are most interested or start working with what you're most inclined towards. For example, don't start with candle magic if you're more interested in plant magic just because it's more recommended for beginners. You're more likely to be able to genuinely engage with and enjoy your practice if you have a connection with what you're doing. Personally I started with astrology and crystals, and then got into divination work with pendulums and tarot before expanding into everything else I do because that was the path my interests aligned with. Your path is probably going to be different, and that's great!

However, if you're looking for easy places to start, I do have recommendations based on how easy they are to access and incorporate into your everyday life. Kitchen witchcraft is pretty easy to start with assuming you already cook (or would like to learn how) and can become very intuitive once you have a good grasp on cooking and magic. Small bits of glamour magic or sigil work can also be easy to do since you're already bathing/clothing yourself (charming clothing and toiletries is fairly easy and beginner friendly). Cartomancy can also be a solid way to go, since a cheap or DIY'd tarot deck or a playing card deck can be fairly accessible for most people. Pendulums, runes, and bone throwing kits/magpie oracles can also be DIY'd easily or bought depending on your preferences.

Incorporate the knowledge and skills you already have! A lot of practical skills you may already have can be of practical application to your practice. I've also found that my magical understanding of concepts is deepened when I understand how things work on a mundane level.

Going along with that last point, I think skill building/skill use can have devotional applications (if devotional actions are part of your practice). Ex. if you worship a deity that is associated with craft or a particular skill, you can absolutely dedicate your pursuit of knowledge in that skill or dedicate a project to a deity/spirit of your choice. Alternatively, dedicate that skill building to yourself or your practice (for example, dedicate the creation of a homemade alter cloth to an alter or towards the growth of your craft/practice)

I have found that there's a lot of advice regarding cursing and doing magic when your experiencing heightened emotions. Personally, I'm curse neutral I don't really do them (I've just never felt the drive to) but I have no issue with them. Do as you will, but be prepared to deal with whatever consequences may arise (tbh this is good general advice for your practice). Regarding doing a working when you're in a heightened emotional state, I would just say in my experience that doing magic in that state can lead to impulsive actions or not thinking something through. Do whatever you're going to do, but maybe calm down or proceed with caution for best results is all I'm saying.

Sometimes the best thing to happen with a working is for it to fail. Maybe you were working with something you shouldn't (like a closed practice that wouldn't pertain to you), or it's something you wouldn't be able to handle, or maybe it's something that would end up being regrettable if it actually worked. There are a lot of reasons why something not working can be for the best, but that is sometimes the best outcome for a working (even if you don't realize it in the moment).

Look for ways to evolve your practice and think outside of the box! Experiment with new applications of different working (like glamour magic to be forgettable/unnoticeable instead of noteworthy), involve new components if they make sense (ex: enchant some ink if the working has a written component), or make your own correspondences based on how things work for you

I have found that location can effect a working quite a bit (and effect you if it backfires). One of the more helpful pieces of advice I've gotten is if you're planning on doing a bainful working/cursework/negative working, don't do that where you live/exist regularly (like your job). Like, if you're wishing bad luck towards someone you don't want to have it backside on you where you sleep and live (working off property at least or at a crossroads world be ideal in this case). Similarly if one was to do a beneficial spell regarding sleep, do that at your home in your bedroom.

This also applies to community advice but: if you come across someone else's working, I would advise that you not tamper with it unless you have to. Beyond not knowing what it's for/affecting, the working may have hazardous components you aren't aware of (sharp bits, mold, toxic/allergic reaction causing substances, etc)

Community Advice & Relationship Building

Like any group of people, magic/spiritual communities can have bad/malicious actors within them, typically in the form of grifters, different types of alt-righters, and cults. I would recommend learning to spot and avoid alt-righters and nazis quickly as the alt-right loves magic & occult spaces and they will try to recruit or radicalize you if they get the opportunity. Familiarizing yourself with ways to spot grifters, red flags for cults, and common symbols/red flags of by the alt-right in magic/ occult spaces is important (learn quick and early and then stay up-to-date on that information for the safety of yourself/others).

You can make your practice as private or collaborative as you'd like, but having friends or community connections is nice! Being friendly and polite will generally go a long way to meet people and see if you would want to try to form connections within different practitioner communities online and offline.

In person locations/events might be a good but unreliable venues for meeting local practitioners, getting supplies, and learning new skills for your practice. Your local shops (depending on availability in your area) will probably have a mix of customers, but there's a decent chance there are regulars that you can meet and maybe form relationships with as well. Metaphysical shops, independent groups, and even areas/towns will also sometimes put on events/meet-and-greets/workshops that can be a fun way to connect with practitioners in your area.

Being friendly and respectful will get you pretty far with creating relationships in different magical spaces/communities. Reaching out to other people (online or irl) can be a good way to network and learn new things

Miscellanea

The Witch of Wonderlust's offering cardigan video here. She also has a plethora of educational videos on her youtube channel

Frankie/ChaoticWitchAunt on youtube also has done good educational content. They primarily do Italian-American folk magic and tarot and I've learned quite a bit from them

@breelandwalker and her show Hex Positive are also wonderful resources.

@friend-crow and @windvexer are also two great witchcraft bloggers

thetarotguide.com has some great guides for the Rider-Waite-Smith tarot cards, the card guides are quite detailed and well written. There is also a small but not insubstantial community of tarot/oracle reviewers on YT that is a nice resource if you are wanting to get a new deck

I've also found the work of Jason Miller to be quite informative. Miller had published multiple books and what I've read of his work had been quite enlightening.

Not to plug my own stuff, but my #tarot musings tag, my witchy recipes, a workshopping correspondences post, charm necklace post, and star jar workings might be some fun and easy places to experiment. I also quite liked my

For more experienced people, please add any advice you'd want beginners to know! For beginners, I hope this helps a bit! Thanks for reading💜

[failbettergames]

Welcome to Chandley

Hello everyone, and thank you for the warm reception you've given to Mandrake so far! Here's Chris Gardiner, lead writer on Mandrake, with our first devlog.

When you arrive in the village of Chandley at the start of the game, Rosen – the village leader – greets you. "Welcome to Chandley! It's small, it's complicated, and everyone's got an opinion."

Chandley is one of the most important places in Mandrake. It has the densest concentration of characters, and because it's where many useful services are available, you'll spend a lot of time there. It acts as a window onto the wider world – this is a whole new setting, with its own mysteries and secrets to uncover. And it gives context to your arrival and actions as its residents react to them.

After all, the Mandrakes were once the overlords of Chandley, and everyone knows they're sorcerers. Some even say it was Mandrakes that turned the world upside down. So it's impossible not to have an opinion on one turning up at your doorstep. Nessa, the village smith, knows what it's like to be an outsider. She wasn't born in Chandley but arrived as a child with her father, fleeing a curse that befell their old home. Old Eseld, on the other hand, comes from fallen gentry, and insists on treating you with the archaic courtesies due your lineage (whether you want her to or not). And Kenway has a healthy scepticism of aristocracy. Chandley has got on fine without the Mandrakes, she reckons, maybe they should have stayed gone.

To manage this, Chandley has to feel authentic. Not realistic – we're not creating an accurate economic simulation, here, or depicting a specific place at a specific time in history. But it has to feel plausible, to have a convincing level of detail and, frankly, messiness. Our inspirations here are actual traditions, histories, and experiences.

At this point, I would like to talk about the duck race.

The duck race doesn't exist in Mandrake – it is a real actual thing that happens in the real, actual village I live in.

Every Boxing Day – crisp, cold, and at a frankly unreasonable hour given that we're all still recovering from Christmas – the locals deposit one thousand individually-numbered yellow plastic ducks into the river, and accompany them in an ambling procession as they wind through the village. This takes some time, as the river is actually a stream, and the ducks don't move very fast. Wellington-booted volunteers wade through the waters behind them, picking up straggler-ducks and hurling them towards the front, in what I presume is the historical origin of rubber-banding in Mario Kart.

At some point, the village's actual ducks try to muster a last-ditch defence of their river, only to flee, disgraced, before a yellow tide of inevitability.

The first plastic ducks to reach the bridge outside the church are hailed the winners, and the people who sponsored them get prizes. At this point, the village's troupe of Morris dancers begin their performance, clashing sticks and jangling bells, their costumes a-flutter with rags. They do this right in the middle of the main road, causing extensive traffic jams. When they deign to allow cars through again (that is, when it's time to go to the pub) one of them accosts the drivers, claiming that they have driven over his "invisible rat" and must pay for a replacement (the proceeds left over after acquiring a new invisible rat all go to good causes).

The rest of my family all grew up around here, and regard the duck race as something essentially mundane, rather than the sacred institution of glorious British eccentricity that it clearly is. To me, it embodies the best of village strangeness: communal, preposterous, utterly admirable and immaculately-organised; an immense effort that runs like clockwork every year and has become, by repetition, normal.

But that's only the tip of the local peculiarities, many of which speak to a more difficult and complex past. A bridge over the same river the ducks pass along each Boxing Day is named after the local 17th-century rector who was almost swept away while fording it in the rains. He had to be rescued, and the bridge was built to insure against future rector-attrition. In the churchyard there's a grave of another clergyman – a reverend – who died young, and the trauma of his parishioners is clear in the gravestone they raised to him: a monumental broken column of marble, upon which is engraved the warning 'BE YE ALSO READY.'

Within the church itself is the Witchcraft Tomb, on which two marble effigies of children kneel, each holding a skull. It contains the remains of two young 17th-century heirs of the local duke, supposedly killed by witchcraft. Two local women were hanged for the crime. Village life isn't always nice. Sometimes there are atrocities, or tragedies. In the last few years, peregrines have come to nest in our church spire. A camera has been set up, and a closed-circuit TV and chairs laid out at the bottom of the belltower. A dedicated cadre of residents come to watch them – every time we've been to the church the last few months, someone has been there watching the nest and hoping all will be well. Tragically, this year none of the fledglings reached adulthood.

These are the sort of details and textures, sorrows and celebrations that have inspired Chandley. Its rook-crowned tree, under which ceremonies are held and promises made. The long-running rivalry between its two largest families: the Iveys and the Isbles. The tragic loss of Rosen's first husband to the night. The secret Nessa keeps in her forge.  The empty, broken, weed-ravaged cottage that belonged to the last resident to practice the forbidden arts of horticulture…

So this is Chandley: small (in the sense of dense, and detailed, and intimate), complicated (by the knotty relationships of its inhabitants) and opinionated (because its inhabitants have a lot to say for themselves). We hope you'll enjoy it there.

[john-carle123]

React Performance Optimization: 10 Expert Tips for Lightning-Fast Apps

Boost your React app's speed with these pro techniques. Learn about code splitting, memoization, and more to create blazing-fast user experiences.Lets get started, hire a developer.

[marishoodie7]

How slashers would react to you getting on top

Includes: Billy Loomis, Charlie Walker, Patrick Bateman

Content Warning: 18+! P in v, overstimulation, riding

(No pronouns mentioned, but reader has female anatomy!)

***

: ̗̀➛ Billy

Your head was hitting the headboard with every thrust, his cock buried deep inside you. You forced your eyes open, “Fuck Billy,” you managed.

He grunted in response. You braced your hands on his shoulder and wrapped your legs around his hips. You rocked to the side and flipped him over. His dick slammed into you, even deeper and you moaned as you made yourself comfortable on him.

The strands of hair that had been flopping around had flattened on his forehead. His demeanor changed and he gave you a sly smile, his eyes darkened and his moved his hands to your hips. You rocked back and forth, slowly bouncing on him before finding a steady pace. You bit your lip as you neared your release, a tight knot that had formed in your stomach was unraveling slowly as you neared release.

Your legs shook and your walls clenched tightly around his dick. Billy bucked his hips up sloppily to meet you halfway before going limp. He let out a deep moan and came. You slowed your movements and gave one last bounce before coming onto him. You laid down on his chest and drifted off to sleep as he praised your performance that night.

:➛ Charlie Walker

“Let me take care of you this time.” You urged.

“Fuck, okay,” Charlie gasped as you stroked his cock, “Jesus.” You smiled at his reaction and gently pushed him onto the bed.

“Lie down.” You commanded. You lowered yourself onto him, his dick stretched out your walls. You didn’t know Charlie was so big. You put your hands on his chest and started to roll your hips. He felt so good inside you. You sped up and Charlie’s eyes rolled up into his head, he whimpered as you clenched around his hardened cock.

He bucked upward and desperately grasped at your hips. Hot tears were streaming down his face, and you could feel his dick twitch inside you. He was close, but you had no plans to stop or slow down.

“Fuck, y/n.” He whimpered as he came. You fucked him right through his orgasm, his face was reddening with overstimulation, his eyes were clenched. His hips stop bucking and he let you do all the work, guiding him towards his next orgasm.

Charlie moaned as he nearing his next release, you were getting closer too, but you didn’t stop, you couldn’t. A hot feeling filled you as you came on him. You rolled your hips a few more times before pulling off before Charlie could come. He lay on the bed, whimpering.

“Poor Charlie,” you tutted, without sympathy, “you were such a good boy but I couldn’t let you come this time.” You tan your fingers through his hair as his breath slowed and lost its raggedness. He turned to you and smiled.

“we’re gonna need to do that again sometime.”

: ➛ Patrick Bateman

Patrick drilled into your ass. He loved to hear the pretty screams of pleasure you let out as he fucked you. You were on all fours on the bed and Patrick was grunting above you. He pulled out suddenly and lay down on the bed, his dick rock solid and standing up, and his arms around his head.

“Why don’t we try something different?” He suggested casually as if he hadn’t been pounding into you a moment earlier.

“So you want me to ride you?” You deadpanned. You wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. You had been dreaming of the day where you would get to take charge.

“Yes.” He grinned. You couldn’t help but smile back as you pushed yourself onto him. He tangled his hand into your hair and braced himself for you to quicken the pace. You dig your fingers into his shoulders and sped up, rocking your hips back and forth. His length was stretching out your walls and you could feel his tip hit your g-spot.

You tried to throw your head back but he pulled your hair and forced your face closer to his.

“There you go, slut, ride me like the whore you are. I know how eager you were to wrap my dick around your pussy.” He growled in your ear. Your legs shook and you felt warmth spread through your body. You came on him, and tried to slow down your pace. He only tugged harder and encouraged you to keep going, no matter how sloppy you got.

“Come baby, just ride me a little longer, you got it.” He praised. His dick twitched and he finally released. Your core warmed when it was met with his thick, hot ropes. You unmounted him and slid next to him in the bed. He wrapped his arms around you.

“I should really let you take control more, huh?” He laughed.

“Yeah,” you smiled, “that wasn’t half bad.”

A/N: this is my first time doing head cannons like this! There may be more in the future who know? I hope you enjoyed!

[the-pen-pot]

Your all time top ten favorite Merlin fanfics you have read.

Oh it took me too long to get to this ask anon, but here you go. These are all in no particular order, complete, ratings are various, Merthur, read the tags 😁:

My Significant Bother by Leandra (96k) - Modern Royalty AU, no magic

Merlin's job as PR junior on the royal account isn't as glamorous as people believe: Most nights, he's saving Arthur, Duke of York and black sheep of the family, from possibly committing monarchy-shattering shenanigans. When tragedy hits and Arthur is now second in line to the throne, the public doesn't react too favourably to the new Prince of Wales. A solution has to be found and Merlin's contribution is key to the problem: Roped into posing as Arthur's fake boyfriend, he's supposed to make Arthur's popularity levels rise with his steadfast and relatable presence and elevate him from scandalous rake to romantic figure...

Fools of Us All by Adelagia (11k) - Canon Era

Merlin accidentally makes everybody in Camelot fall in love with him. Everybody except Arthur, that is.

All Things Loved and Lovesick by Horsecrazy (90k) - Modern Vet AU, no magic

In which Arthur runs a horse breeding farm, and Merlin is a livestock vet. B's note: Having to choose just one of Horsecrazy's fics is practically a crime, but this one has a special place in my heart I can't deny. That said, all of their Merthur is 10/10 and I particularly love the Modern AUs.

In Want Of A Wife by Syllic (43k) - Canon Era

When Merlin first hears that Arthur has been betrothed, his ribs pull inwards with an odd little hitch, and he only allows himself a second—which he needs in order to coordinate spinning in place without falling on his face—before he’s running to Arthur’s chambers.

Favorite by Astolat (13k) - Canon Era

Arthur was tipped back against the wall, his mouth open for breath and staring at the small arrow-slit window over Merlin's head, trying to work out how it could possibly be that good with Merlin, of all people.

The History of Two Conversations (On Paper) by Takadainmate (11k) - Canon era

Books are defaced. But it's all for a good cause. Really. (Arthur finds merlin's magic book)

Gadarene by Unpossible (76k) - Canon era AU

“You’re the Prince?” Merlin says, eyeing him. He hesitates, then adds, defiant, “The Mad Prince of Camelot.” Arthur doesn’t move. There’s quiet for a long time, then he says it. “I am.” “You don’t seem mad,” he says. The smile wells up from somewhere deep, and very sad. “Well, Merlin,” he says, “give me time.”

Charting Stars on the Stained Glass Ceiling by Mornmeril (80k) - Modern AU WITH magic

Merlin leads a relatively content life - or as content as is possible under the rule of a magic-hating King. When the arrogant son of said magic-hating King starts becoming a regular at his coffee shop, Merlin is a little puzzled. When said Prince prat then proceeds to ingest a love potion on Merlin's watch that results in him having to move into the Royal Palace as Prince Arthur's (fake) boyfriend, Merlin wonders which deity he has angered. Things only get more complicated from there.

We Are All Diamonds by Footloose (130k) -Modern AU with some magic)

As the precocious heir of a diamond magnate and a famous designer, Arthur lived his entire life sheltered, protected, nurtured and spoiled. He always knew that he would have to step out from behind the scenes and into the limelight to run the family business some day, but he never expected that it would happen so soon or that he would encounter resistance from a board of directors who believe that his disability makes him unfit to lead. Merlin has stood on every stage in every city in the world, performing to critical acclaim, but after years of globetrotting, he's well and truly burnt out. He didn't quit -- he ran away from stardom, dropping to obscurity in the blink of an eye, forgotten, just another face in the crowd. He's aimless and without purpose until a friend asks him to fill in on a job. Neither Arthur nor Merlin are looking for salvation. They don't think there's any for them, that things are just too rotten, too far gone. But in the end, Arthur's quiet strength will be a balm to Merlin's broken soul, and it will be in Merlin's steadfast faith that Arthur finds courage. (B's Note: Loaded March by the same author gets a lot of love and is also a fave, but this particular fic is just breathtaking to me. Well worth it!)

Dower The Stars by RurouniHime (40k) - Canon AU. Court sorcerer Merlin and King Arthur.

During a time of great prosperity in Albion, the Druids offer Emrys a precious gift. Arthur is not amused. (aka, "The Great Conjunction is at Hand, Everyone Kiss Merlin!")

You can also check out my AO3 bookmarks for more 💖

[gotaksboyfie]

seo juntae nsfw hc's

female reader + male reader + general

gif creds: @slytherinshua

» for your guys' first time, he cums all too fast (two pump chump) and he swears he'll make it up to you. slowly but surely, juntae begins improving his performance and his thrusts start becoming more controlled and sharp.

» so nervous to touch you. he doesn't know what would feel good and what wouldn't, so he just caresses you lightly, like you'll break at even just the slightest pressure

» obsessed with your hands on him. he loooves handjobs from you, always melting under you and cumming quick. the visual of your hand wrapped around his dick is always enough to tip him over

» like sieun, juntae's a huge bottom. he likes the feeling of you in control and on top of him. the few times he does top, his thrusts have an inconsistent rhythm and are slightly weak, but hey it's the effort that counts <3

↳ i feel like with a boy he'd get a lot less experience topping (cause he's always bottoming for you), making him a lot worse at it compared to if he was with a girl.

» really wants to ride you, but he just doesn't have the strength for it. he lasts maybe 40 seconds before he collapses and sniffles into your shoulder, pathetically asking you to take control again

» so so so sloppy and messy when giving head. being as inexperienced as he is, he gags and drools all over you. it's not bad at all because his enthusiasm makes up for everything. it just gets incredibly messy afterwards, because juntae's always salivating at the thought of your dick

» the perfect cockwarmer, whether it be his moutj or hole. juntae loves the feeling of being full, even outside a sexual sense. he'll sit at your feet while you're doing work at a desk, just warming your cock and dozing off on your thigh. sometimes he suckles lightly at it in his sleep, making you wake him up by shallowly thrusting into his mouth.

» freeuse. he's available at your service anything and anywhere. he starts plugging himself up whenever he knows he's gonna hang out with you, just to make the prep go by a bit faster

» biiig big fan of getting creampied. the sensation of you filling him up even further with your cum makes him tighten up around you, enticing you with another round

» extremely sensitive. he reacts to every little touch, making teasing him very easy. just a few minutes of kissing and he's already rock hard in his pants, thrusting into the air while panting into the kiss. he hates (he loves it) feather light touches because he always wants more, but you wont give it to him

» on the smaller side and pretty skinny. a little under 5in

» he cums so fast and most of the time it's without warning because juntae can barely warn you first. his orgasms always hit him like a truck, coming out of nowhere. he gets so whiney after one

» very innocent at first, but starts becoming more dirty/perverted further into your guys' relationship. at first he stops himself from thinking sexual thoughts about you because he feels ashamed of them, but when he realizes that you want him back in that way, the floodgates explode for him

» likes getting tied up. the restraints tug against him as he tries to break free and escape the onslaught of fierce pleasure, but he can't. he's forced to sit there and take it

» so loud. he moans with his full chest, and is 100% a whimperer. he's too scared to moan the first couple times but after plenty of reassurance he starts to stop holding back. even with a gag, the sound leaks through

» subby and incredibly obedient. he always wants to service you, doing anything that you'd like. praise gets him so turned on, just hearing the words "good boy" from you makes him leak precum

» into a bit of puppyplay. he wont full on bark or do anything extreme, but he enjoys the babying that comes with it. wearing the dog ears makes him feel.. pretty in a way. the head pats+rubs from you makes his head fuzzy too

» drools everywhere. the pleasure is too intense for him, and his tongue lolls out slightly. it leaves a trail of spit running down his chin, or marks on the sheets if he's face down

» willing to do anything you want. if you like it, he'll try it. juntae's open to basically anything, and he wants to make you happy

» getting choked is one of his favorite things ever. the powerlessness and the reminder that he's at your mercy is a feeling he's in love with

» would hate if his glasses broke during sex so he takes them off. but if he kept it on, it would look so cute. they'd bounce with every thrust, sliding off his nose slightly. if you want them to stay on, he'll keep them on

» tries to stay awake for you, but is completely knocked out after 3-4 orgasms. he's fine with you continuing to use him after he's asleep. blinking slowly and coming to his senses, he'll savor the feeling of you chasing your peak with his body

fin

a/n this one goes out to all my fellas out there 🙏 and to my fem readers i am sorry 💔 it's so hard to picture juntae with a girl for me o(〒﹏〒)o

[yearofthesnape]

Meta: "DON'T CALL ME COWARD!" as Grief Response

"Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward —" "DON'T —" screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly demented, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them — "CALL ME COWARD!" -HBP ch. 28

This scene is not, primarily, about Snape's dislike for being named a coward.

I'm not saying there's less going on than that very real and warranted dislike. Many excellent metas have been written about why Snape doesn't like being called a coward, and that does make sense; he has just performed a feat of moral courage, after all, and it has to hurt to have that attributed to cowardice. He has also just been provoked by Harry's trauma-triggering attempt to use Levicorpus — but, interestingly, that isn't what tips him over the edge into uppercase instability. Nor is it, I argue, the term "coward." McGonagall and Harry both call Snape a coward in their canonical last words to Snape, but Snape doesn't react this way to McGonagall. Nor did Snape absolutely lose it the first time Harry called him a coward in this scene. While there is a cumulative effect from the repeated insult, the extremeness of Snape's reaction gives one pause. The most obvious conclusion is that something else is going on. In this case, I argue, that "something" is Snape grieving.

Snape is not usually permitted to openly grieve, and this scene is no exception. He is a double agent; he cannot let it show that he misses "those whom he could not save." Therefore, we have to read between the lines, avoiding Snape's careful misdirection of his feelings into allowable ground (upset over an insult) and away from dangerous territory (grief over people he isn't supposed to care about).

The dialogue is also party to some misdirection. If you read only the dialogue in this scene and the preceding pages, you might assume that the "him" that Harry is talking about is Harry's father. This makes no sense, as Snape didn't kill James. The narration, on the other hand, explicitly sets up Harry in this scene to look exactly like Dumbledore before he died, making it clearer that both Harry and Snape are thinking of Dumbledore now, not James, despite Snape's attempts to keep the conversation on the (ironically) safer ground of James Potter. (Snape was the first one to bring up James in this interaction, and I think that's intentional.)

The narration is also pointing us to a bigger picture in its use of reporting and interrupting speech. Snape's paragraph splits what could have been a straightforward sentence ("DON'T CALL ME COWARD!") into two parts, with so much narration in between that we are invited to speculate on what Snape doesn't want Harry to do. The effect gives Snape a little pause, a breath, so that he probably says "DON'T — CALL ME COWARD!" That breath in the middle gives Snape a hairbreadth space to change his initial reaction to something appropriate to his cover. This is the closest we ever see Snape to blowing his cover, but (eminently capable as he is) he salvages it regardless, so thoroughly that many fans can't see past it either. I didn't, until recently.

But the narrative does. We'll see confirmed in The Prince's Tale in the next book that "DON'T" is Snape's automatic grief response; he cannot bear to hear his loved ones spoken of:

"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans's eyes, I am sure?" "DON'T!" bellowed Snape. "Gone... dead..."

In the HBP scene, Harry has just mentioned Dumbledore's death; Snape is being confronted by someone else about it for the first time. Furthermore, Snape knows at this point that Harry must die, and we know that being told that by Dumbledore agitated him deeply. So the parallels between Harry and Dumbledore here are even more heartbreaking for Snape. Snape is actually having to work towards Harry's death for the same reason he had to kill Dumbledore. In this scene, he has to watch Lily's son looking up at him with her eyes, looking up the way Dumbledore just did, and he has to hear that son yelling at him about how he must bury every last vestige of everyone he most loved, while that son simultaneously reminds him that the whole world, including Lily's closest representative, will hate him for it. No wonder he's reacting with "DON'T." I would too.

Even without knowing what "DON'T" means in Snape code, however, we have other narrative clues. Snape's face is described as:

demented

an unusual word, linked in the Harry Potter universe to the Dementors, who prey on despair. Being demented could just mean being deranged or unstable... or it could mean being the subject of a Dementor-like sadness so crushing it threatens to take your very soul.

inhuman

This adjective recalls a scene from OotP, another case of all-caps shouting, where Harry is torn up by grief for Sirius:

"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human —" "THEN — I — DON'T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN!" Harry roared, and he seized one of the delicate silver instruments from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room. -OotP, ch. 37

Lastly, the HBP scene compares Snape's pain to that of Fang stuck in Hagrid's burning hut:

as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them

Dogs are symbolic of loyalty, and Snape really is in a similar situation, trapped in an utter catastrophe in which he is collateral damage for his loyalty (in his case, to Dumbledore). The next time Fang howls, at the end of this chapter, is in grief for Dumbledore's death, drawing the parallels still closer:

Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand, and his eyes burned with tears as behind him Fang began to howl.

Unlike Fang, Snape is not allowed to express his true feelings. Even Dumbledore, the person who understood him most, redirects him to act and not lament, and Dumbledore is dead. A metaphorical tie to a nonhuman character who is able to grieve later is as close as Snape gets. He cannot go to the funeral, just as he could not for Lily; he cannot talk to anyone; he will later be confronted with a horrifying specter of Dumbledore at Grimmauld Place. In light of all this, when Snape gives Harry the memory of himself crying over Lily's letter, it's not just him giving Harry back the correspondence. It's Snape reclaiming: I, too, grieve.