ineedchamomile · 3 months ago
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THE REVERENT SILENCE, Character Introduction #7 - Aspen Rose
The publicist of Dawnrise Counseling Associates, Aspen handles the counseling group's marketing and public affairs, happily going wherever business takes him. The sixth of fourteen Automaton assistants created by a master artificer, Aspen eventually left the stifling environment of the workshop he was created in. While he managed to put together a small fortune taking on a number of odd jobs, it was Dawnrise's leader, Marielle, who approached him with the promise of something more... While he is unable to use Reverence (which is basically magic), Aspen has a decent knowledge of potion making.
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hello i have returned to tumblr
I got into a weird slump a few months ago which is why I haven't posted on here in a while, but I want to get back into the swing of things - and what better than to post another character intro for my webcomic amirite? :P (lighthearted)
What are your first impressions of Aspen? 🌸
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urahara-lovepage · 7 months ago
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honestly fuck aizen but you know how insane and sicknasty it would have been if kubo gave him a better motive than “loneliness” or at least explained it better. you’re not getting me w some sob story abt how he had no equal so he committed mass murder and colonized a place. that’s straight nonsense.
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swordmaid · 1 year ago
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suddenly filled with the vision of brienne shaving jaime that I keel over then explode, leaving only a crater and my shoes behind
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mycological-mariner · 1 year ago
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I love museum dates as much as the next guy, but what about archive dates? Where you both sit in an archive room with a letter or artefact or document and pour over it together, this piece of history between you as you feel the weight of all that time weigh heavy on you, some intangible thing that you get the privilege to hold, for just a short time, with someone you care about
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deiscension · 4 months ago
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﹄ ◇ ; @melodicbreeze / WHAT'S SHI QINGXUAN THINKING?
💭 I know it's been few interactions but---
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      ⌜◈⌟    ▌ ──  '𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙨𝙤 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙪𝙙𝙙𝙮 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙪𝙥 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣. Most people are knocked flat on their backs by the third or fourth round, but not my favorite bard in all of Teyvat!'
     𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫, even if The Angel's Share is a far cry from the splendor of Chenyu Vale's mountaintops. A blessing in many ways. The lingering sting of shame isn't quite as quick to reawaken when both scenery and company are so different from that bygone era. In its place appreciation blooms: for the boisterous tavern patrons, the endless flow of dandelion wine, and a companion at her side who laughs alongside her 'til both their sides hurt and the bartender has to tell them to quiet down. She's been accepted by him without question. That's enough for her.
     𝐎𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡. But without the shame to aid in smothering it, the ache for those long-gone days swells until her chest could burst from it. She's no longer Lady Wind Master. She never should have been. She knows this as well as she knows the back of her own hands. Is it so wrong for her to miss racing through the clouds? Is it so wrong for her to pine for the taste of sweet sake mingling with the scent of incense rising from the offerings of her beloved devotees? At times, being at Venti's side seems to exacerbate these pangs of nostalgia. Surely one of her favorite pagodas still stands atop the mountains, even if as overgrown remains. If she could somehow take him to one and manage to unearth a bottle of Thousand-Year Mulberry Mead along the way, then maybe...
   ...𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠? She's moved on. Besides, that mead had been brewed specifically as offerings to Adepti. More than a sip or two could easily kill a mortal. And speaking of--
     '--𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙄 𝙗𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧!? I know humans are sturdier than they look, but surely there's a limit to what their organs can handle. Aiyah, how many bottles did we go through last night? Wait... can he drink as much as me in a single sitting? Hmm...'
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iniziare · 5 months ago
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Tag drop: Guizhong (don't mind me re-dropping this with the fixed ones, shh)
#guizhong. [ many things only seem to surface beneath the moon's poignant glow. wherever its light shines; the heart is wont to follow. ]#guizhong: ic. [ wherever her spirit may be among the countless grains of sand and specks of dust between the harbor and the mountains. ]#guizhong: countenance. [ and because they are afraid; they try so hard to become more intelligent. this i understand. ]#guizhong: introspection. [ although she did not live to see the splendid sights of today: she was as much a hero as any other. ]#guizhong: meta. [ her manuscripts lie unfinished in her abode. the blank pages give cause for contemplation on what might have been. ]#guizhong: little notes. [ she always sought to make everyone happy and one must say: she had quite the gift for it. ]#guizhong: wishes. [ it took a treasure hunt just to preserve the commandments that were once the lifeblood of a whole civilization. ]#guizhong: etc. [ we think of human life as like a lantern that's lit one minute and extinguished the next. but are we adepti so different?#guizhong: mortals. [ at their full potential; they could be her equal. a human who has as much to teach an adeptus as to learn from them. ]#guizhong: guili plains. [ as guizhong once said: “it takes every blade of grass and every flower to make a homeland.” ]#guizhong: liyue. [ perhaps she will look at the liyue of today and steal a smile when she sees the prosperous land that it has become. ]#guizhong: realm of clouds. [ a voyage to a sanguine sky. ]#guizhong: mechanical arts. [ in one's heart; i knew that she was indeed the superior talent in the mechanical arts. ]#guizhong: glaze lilies. [ they were far more abundant back then. the entire fields would appear to the eye as a veritable sea of flowers. ]#guizhong: adepti. [ until the moon set and the sun rose. and only then would the banquet finally come to an end. ]#guizhong: morax. [ whoever it was that revered her so much was very clever indeed. ]#guizhong: guili. [ with shortness of breath; i will explain the infinite. and how rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist. ] delusiona#guizhong: marchosius. [ who would dare snub the stove god and his wondrous creations? at the sight: we would all drop any argument. ]#guizhong: streetward rambler. [ it almost felt like she was back again. sitting right there on the stone stool next to me; chatting away. ]#guizhong: cloud retainer. [ we each had our ideals; and neither one of us would yield to the other. ]#guizhong: skybracer. [ to who lived by the mountain; he was their savior. they thought higher of him than they thought of the lord of geo.#guizhong: osial. [ she would disrupt the silence around them with a hum; as if to sing along to the harmony of water. was this his song? ]#guizhong: sea gazer. [ he was quite the braggart when it came to those collectibles he was so fond of; he always loved to show them off. ]#guizhong: ganyu. [ if we planted flowers in the guili plains; do you think that one day we'd be able to recreate the sea of glaze lilies? ]#guizhong: v. descension. [ she descended whose dominion was over dust; and whose reach shrouded the skies for thousands of miles around. ]#guizhong: v. guili assembly. [ it's great to have it back but i want to go back to the world. and start with guili plains. ]#guizhong: v. archon war. [ they fought upon the plains; where black dust choked the heavens and a thousand rocks splintered. ]#guizhong: v. present. [ all wrapped up in a city that has existed for many moons to date. all these things: they are why people chase it. ]#guizhong: inquiries. [ hmph. she always had a way with words. ]
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honeyedlashton · 1 year ago
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goodbye goodbye goodbye, you were bigger than the whole sky 💛💜🩵🧡🌈
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identityarchitect · 1 year ago
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okay last month [aka a couple weeks ago] when i asked you about your rw ocs you said winter. has killed before . who did they kill (apologies for taking forever to ask this followup question i got nervous <3)
he's killed technically 3 people, but i only count two of them
Reverent Chorus, The Silence Calls was an iterator in his local group who went fucking crazy. they were basically just trying to kill as many iterators as they could, and were probably the cause of multiple other deaths in his local group. when chorus' attention fell on winter, he decided it was finally time to take care of the problem and killed him.
then theres Cycles Within Cycles, a sliverist who i think mightve wanted winter to stop working on the solution? im not entirely sure but i think cycles was willing to do a lot to stop winter (possibly cycles learned of winters' plan to manipulate No Peaceful Ending into ascending herself and watned to stop that?), so winter killed him.
i have no idea how winter did that btw. i presume he trained a slugcat to deliver a neuron to them which wouldve been infected and then killed them? probably by halting the process that allows them to use water, causing slag buildup and eventually collapse. he couldve also delivered a malicious pearl tho - a white pearl dialogue is "This is a malicious pearl. The data is meaningless, but the way it is formatted would cause older machinery to get stuck in an infinite recursion trying to read it. Luckily, I am more sophisticated than that." so he couldve used that depending on the age of chorus and cycles.
the third technical kill is No Peaceful Ending, who he manipulated into ascending herself. i dont count her because he technically didnt actually kill her, and she came back (altho she came back wrong)
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mintmentos · 1 year ago
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The final arc of clone wars had no right being as cinematic as that but I’m so glad they went off like that
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minnyminerva10 · 2 years ago
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Speak No Evil
"...often, I wondered why so many people found her lovely. Then I realized however she may have been tempted; she never spoke harshly to anyone or about anyone. 'Living or dead. That moment of frozen lucidity astounded and confounded me. It always will. I do believe in angels, however earthbound they may seem."
Unknown
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olliedollie1204 · 2 years ago
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where the FUCK are all the succession people on my dash
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ineedchamomile · 10 months ago
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THE REVERENT SILENCE, Character Intro #5 - Marielle Bélanger
The leader and founder of Dawnrise Counseling Associates, a magical counseling group that has recently opened a permanent location in the city of Blackfylde. The only child of a wealthy family with a respectable position in her nation's Parliament, Marielle graduated from the Reverent Seminary of Rotier with top honors before a particular turn of events led her to establish Dawnrise. While she is an enthusiast of all things spiritual, she has a tendency to use her knowledge and the practice for her own gain... Marielle can change all organic matter on a molecular level, but she also has a second power that allows her to get a basic reading of people's energies.
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Moving on to the antagonists in my upcoming webcomic, starting with the main villain herself! Marielle is a very interesting character to write about and she plays a major role in the past lore of the story and how things play out in the present, so I'm very excited to unleash her on the world.
What are your first impressions of Marielle? 🦉
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nomadman108 · 1 month ago
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Reflections on a Word
Henry David Thoreau Did you know that Thoreau, when he was staying at Waldon Pond would sometimes sit on the front steps of his cabin right after sunrise. Often he would look up and discover that it was already  midday or even late afternoon; he’d spent those several hours in a reverie. Being in a reverie is most often described as being a pleasant experience, just like a nice day-dream. It is…
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dixvinsblog · 11 months ago
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Un jour, un poème – Samira Sidri -Tous les mots mâchés dans le silence
Tous les mots mâchés dans le silenceTous les maux de l’impertinente absenceCreusent au fond des yeux des sillons,Rides sans couleurs à l’orée du temps. Toutes les portes closes sur les non-ditsToutes les lettres, les messages incomprisNous apprennent l’ordre du verbe à l’enversPiège à rebours, émaillé de vers et de revers. Tous les jours ne sont pas bons à conter,Moutons noirs des nuits…
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plutotheplum · 9 days ago
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Beating Hearts
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sylus x fem!reader
summary: following the aftermath of his match, sylus shows you how much he adores you.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, kissing, loss of virginity, oral sex, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, p in v, belly bulge, praise kink, inappropriate use of evol
wc: 4.1k
a/n: he was so sweet in this card <3 if you would like to read an mma au with sylus (mma fighter!sylus x manager!reader), then you can find it here! :)
also on ao3!
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“Are the strong always required to be strong?”
Sylus’ words ring out in your mind as you sit beside him on the stairs, draped in silence. He runs his hand through his hair, having wiped off the rivulets of sweat that were sliding down his skin with a towel.
Was he trying to be vulnerable with you? It’s the only reason you can think of as to why he would ask that question. The thought of him being devoid of strength is a nauseating one. He wouldn’t be the same without his strength, the raw power he carried, his Evol a testament to that. 
Absent-mindedly, you play with the ring he had given you. Onychinus’ leader is a confusing man. There’s an unexpected softness to him that you’re not used to. It unnerves you a little, the way Sylus had pressed his face into your hair in a gentle kiss.
You stare at the side of his face, Sylus’ eyes have slid shut due to the lack of conversation. He looks even more vulnerable like this and you can’t imagine what you’d do with yourself if he was hurt, or even worse killed if his healing abilities somehow failed him. It’s only then that you realize you care more about the asshole than you should. 
Still, it doesn’t stop you from sliding closer, your side pressing against his. Sylus’ eyes flutter open, a smirk pulling at his lips when he sees how close you’ve gotten.
“Something wrong, sweetie?” he asks in a drawl.
“No,” you shoot back, eyes slipping back towards the ring on your finger. “It’s just-” you sigh, avoiding his gaze completely, “the answer to your question is no. The strong aren’t always required to be strong.”
Sylus raises his brows, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. You glare back at him, cheeks flushing under his knowing gaze.
“What I mean to say,” you grouse, “is that it would be good if you were strong all the time, but if you aren’t, then- then you don’t have to be, around- around me.”
“Is that your twisted way of saying you care for me?” Sylus muses, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
“And if it is?” you murmur, leaning into his touch when he traces the tips of his fingers over the curve of your cheek.
“I’d be grateful,” Sylus replies, gripping your chin gently.
Your breath hitches when he leans forward, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. His calloused hands cup your cheeks afterwards, forcing you to meet his gaze. Sylus’ thumbs smooth over the expanse of your cheeks and you reach up, hands curling around his wrists.
“Don’t you think you’re giving too much of yourself away?” you whisper.
“Perhaps,” Sylus murmurs, his breath fanning across your face. “Will you use it against me?”
There’s no uncertainty in your mind as to what he’s asking of you. Loyalty. Yet, you and Sylus come from entirely different worlds, ones that don’t mesh well together, ones that would make blind loyalty a bitter curse.
Against better judgment, you shake your head. Sylus lets out a low laugh, surprise flashing through his eyes at your answer.
“Looks like we both have our weaknesses, sweetie.”
You let out a slow exhale when he tilts your head, lips pressing against your cheek in a reverent kiss. Sylus stares down at you, his thumbs running over your cheeks again. Your lips part when he nears, but he doesn’t kiss you the way you want, instead dropping a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering.
“You said you adored me,” you say weakly, trying to stop him from rising to his feet.
“I do,” Sylus says, smiling down at you. His hand reaches out, pulling you to your feet, his arm curling around your waist to pull you flush against him. “But I won’t show you how much I adore you here.”
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The ride back is a tense one.
You keep fidgeting in your seat, fingers alternating between playing with your dress and the ring on your finger. If Sylus notices, he doesn’t say anything, instead keeping his eyes on the road as he drives. It takes everything in you to stop yourself from reaching out for his hand and lacing your fingers together.
“Relax,” he murmurs when the traffic light turns red. His hand spreads over your thigh, warm and comforting and you bite back a whine, eyes slipping shut.
Sylus leans across the center console, his lips pressing against your cheek. You can feel his smile against your skin, your hand reaching up to run through his hair when he drags his lips down across your jaw.
“You’re not playing fair,” you mumble, tilting your head to the side so he can kiss your cheek again.
“I never said I would,” Sylus replies, squeezing your thigh again before letting go as the traffic light turns green.
Sylus helps you out of the car, nodding to one of his men to take it elsewhere while his hand encases yours, pulling you through the doors and down the hallway towards his room.
You watch as he manages to conjure up a vase, disappearing into the bathroom to fill it with some water as he unwraps the bouquet of flowers you had given him. It’s an unfitting image, the most dangerous man in the N109 zone and Linkon combined taking such care with the flowers so as to not crumple the delicate petals.
You wonder whether he’ll be just as gentle with you.
A squeak escapes you as his Evol surrounds you, the red tendrils lifting you off of your feet and bringing you closer to him, until you’re settled on his desk, legs dangling off the edge, feet not quite reaching the ground.  
Sylus steps between your legs, crowding into your space, his hands on either side of you, against the wood of his desk. Your head tilts back to meet his darkened eyes better, breath hitching when his hands squeeze at your waist. He pets his hands across your sides lazily, his forehead pressing against yours.
Soft, airy breaths leave you, back arching into his touch as Sylus’ hands roam over you, touching every inch that he can find. His nose nudges against yours, and you rise to meet the challenge, hands splaying across his firm chest before your arms wrap around his neck, drawing him closer.
“There’s something you should know,” you whisper when Sylus presses his face into the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin as he leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses.
“What?” he murmurs, tightening his arms around your waist and pulling to the edge of his desk.
“I-” your breath falters, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. You try again, but your breath gets caught in your throat, something akin to an odd gulp sounding in the quiet room.
Sylus draws back when he senses your hesitation, his brows raising. You blink up at him, shrinking under his piercing gaze. 
“Hey,” Sylus says when you try to avert your gaze, trapping your chin between his fingers and forcing you to meet his eyes. “What is it?”
“I’ve never done this before,” you blurt out in a rush, cheeks flushing deeper.
Sylus stares down at you in surprise, clearly taken aback by this new revelation. He doesn’t say anything for what seems like an eternity and the more uncomfortable you grow, trying to squirm off of the desk.
He doesn’t let you, gripping your chin tighter in a bruising grip, his carmine eyes boring down into yours.
“Never?” Sylus asks finally, his head tilting.
“Never,” you mumble, a pout making your lower lip jut out, feeling sullen at his reaction.
Sylus hums before a slow grin spreads across his face, his hands cupping your cheeks, thumb smoothing over the plush of your lips.
“Were you saving yourself for me, sweetie?”
“Shut up!” you retort, swatting his chest.
Sylus laughs, nuzzling into your cheek and kissing it. You lean into it, eyes fluttering shut when he strokes his hand over your hair, cupping the back of your head.
“I suppose I’ll have to take care of you then, hm?” he muses.
“You’re making it seem like a chore,” you huff out, pushing at his shoulders, sending him a glare.
He grins, hoisting you up into his arms. You squeak, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, hands tightening on his shoulders to steady yourself. 
“Quite the contrary, sweetie,” Sylus says, planting a kiss to your sternum as he carries you to his bed. “Once I have you, I won’t be inclined to let you go.”
You stare up at him shyly when he lays you down, his hand catching yours as he kisses your knuckles, fingers grazing the ring on your finger.
“Perhaps I ought to get you a better fitting one.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter, flushing at the implication of his words.
You reach for him anyways, lacing your fingers together and tugging him closer. Sylus’ body settles between your thighs, and you whine, lips parting as his face draws closer.
“I told you I wouldn’t let you go,” Sylus murmurs, peering into your eyes, “I meant it.”
The conviction in his voice has your heart fluttering, a satisfied smile pulling at your lips. Sylus laughs, the tip of his nose brushing yours gently as he lowers his head to kiss you.
You stop him, thumb pressing against his lips.
“Do you promise, Sylus?”
“I already lost you once,” he mutters, “I won’t lose you again.”
Your brows furrow, confusion flitting across your face. “What are you talking a-”
Sylus doesn’t give you a chance to finish, shutting you up with a kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, hand leaving untangling from his to cup his cheek instead. A soft gasp spills out of you when Sylus’ hands creep up under your dress, his fingers squeezing at the fat of your thighs.
His kisses grow hungrier, taking and taking until you’re all but gasping, tugging at his snowy hair in an attempt to get him to detach so you can breathe. Your lips are slick with spit and Sylus grins at the sight, collecting the drool that’s escaped from your mouth with his tongue, licking up the side of your cheek and into your mouth.
“M-more,” you whine needily, legs locking around his hips.
“Wet already?” he whispers, fingers reaching between your bodies to find your panties drenched. Sylus coos, his thumb pressing against your clothed clit to rub firm circles into the throbbing bud. “Is that all it takes? My baby just needs some kisses to make her cunt leak.”
You glare at him, pinching his shoulder at the vulgar words. Sylus smirks lazily and you squeal when he slaps your ass playfully, his body jostling closer to capture your lips in another hot, demanding kiss.
Sylus’ hardening cock grinds into your clothed cunt and you whimper, arms wrapping around his neck tighter. His hand smoothes over your hair, keeping you in place, fingers dragging against the skin of your thigh harshly as he pants into the crook of your neck. 
“Gonna let me lick that pretty pussy?” Sylus asks, his fingers toying with the band of your panties, “hm, sweetie?”
You nod hazily, sitting up for him. He helps pull your dress up over your head, your bra soon after, his eyes darkening when he sees your breasts and hardening nipples in the cool air.
“Don’t stare,” you grumble, shying away.
Sylus clicks his tongue, shaking his head before lowering it to press a kiss to your right nipple. You whine at the unfamiliar sensation, gasping when his tongue lolls out, licking over your nipple before enclosing his mouth around your breast.
“Oh-” you mewl, pulling his head closer, “S- Sylus, fuck- ngh-” 
He flicks his tongue against your hardened nipple, swirling around your skin for a moment before pulling away with a soft, suctioning pop. You fist his tank top, yanking him closer to smash your lips against his.
Sylus grins against your lips, squeezing at your hips as you shove at his chest and crawl up onto his lap. You’re pent up, and can hardly believe you have Sylus here, mouth dropping open as you drag your clothed cunt against his stiffening cock.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, gripping your thighs as he drags you up his body, stopping short of his face.
“W- wait,” you sputter, trying to squirm your way back down, “Sylus!”
“Sit on my face, baby,” Sylus says, smoothing his hands up your thighs and squeezing at your breasts.
“That’s- that’s weird,” you hiss.
He rolls his eyes and you shriek when his Evol wraps around you, picking you up with ease and places you onto his mouth. Your body jolts when his tongue licks across your ruined panties, hands gripping the pillows above his head desperately.
“Oh fuck-” you whine, voice strangled. You bite your lip hard, hands fisting Sylus’ hair when he pulls your panties to the side and licks across your bare cunt. 
The bridge of his nose presses into your clit perfectly, and Sylus taps your thighs, his eyes peering up at you as he urges you to move. You find yourself unable to look away, desperation swirling in your gaze as you rock your cunt across his mouth, heat shooting through your stomach as he stares up at you intensely.
Sylus presses his head back and you reach for his hand, squeezing tightly as he sucks his clit into your mouth. He runs his thumb across your skin, slurping messily at your cunt. You shudder, moans and whines spilling out into the air as he ravages your pussy with his mouth. 
It nearly makes you cum when he manhandles your body, hiccuping at the way his thick biceps flex as he pulls you off his face and places you flat onto your back. 
“Such a pretty pussy,” he rasps, thumbing apart your slick folds and groaning when he sees how messy you are, your slick and his spit coating your inner thighs, your cunt clenching around nothing pitifully.
Sylus buries his face back into your wet pussy, licking across your folds messily before splaying his large hand against your stomach, tilting his head to kiss your swollen clit. He strokes the calloused pads of his fingers across it gently and you twitch, tugging at his hair wantonly.
“Fuck,” he snarls, gripping your thighs roughly, fingers dimpling your flesh as he shoves his face in harder, trying to burrow into your cunt, “‘s not enough.”
“‘m gonna-” you whimper, “if you keep doing that- hah- ‘m gonna cum!”
“Good,” Sylus mutters, sucking your clit back into his mouth, “cum on my tongue, baby.”
You bite back a scream when he presses his fingers inside, curling them and thrusting them in and out of you. Your thighs tighten around his head, trapping him against your cunt and Sylus groans while you suck in a shuddering breath, watching with dazed eyes as his hips grind into the bed spread. The muscles in his broad back shifting drive you further to the edge, but it's the press of his nose against your clit that sends you over, eyes rolling to the back of your head, back arching as you twitch and jolt, legs kicking out as you cum.
He keeps you pinned in place, licking over your puffy folds, even as you tug at his hair desperately in an attempt to make him stop. Sylus’ eyes meet your wild ones, the corner of his mouth ticking up as he presses a sloppy kiss to your clit. He lands a few more soft kisses, massaging your thighs as you come down from your high.
“I- I need a moment,” you mumble out, body curling into itself, eyes slipping shut at the overwhelming pleasure.
Sylus slots his body behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as he tugs you into his chest. You lean into him tiredly when he kisses down your neck, his hands rubbing up and down your side soothingly.
“Was that good?” he asks quietly.
You can hear how smug he sounds, an irritated huff of air leaving you. Sylus smiles against your cheek and you tilt your head back, pecking his lips gently.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Now, now, sweetie,” he drawls, rubbing circles into your hip, “don’t be like that.”
You pout and he grins, dipping his head to kiss you again. Sylus’ hips have begun to move, his clothed cock rubbing into your ass, the hard length straining against the flimsy fabric of his shorts.
“Off,” you murmur, pulling at his tank top, “take it off.”
Sylus takes it off without complaint and you smile at the sight, hands spreading across his chest appreciatively. His shorts come off soon after and you swallow nervously at the sight, the bob of his thick cock entirely too intimidating.
“Relax,” he murmurs, lips pressed against your ear, “you’ll be fine.”
You moan softly when he kisses your shoulder, his hard cock grinding into your ass again. Sylus lifts your leg, and you whimper when he slots his cock between your thighs, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair.
“So soft, baby,” Sylus whispers, fucking his cock between your thighs, “so perfect for me. My pretty, perfect girl.”
“I think I’m ready,” you breathe out, feeling the head of his cock nudge against your clit every now and then, “just- just go slow, please.”
Sylus grasps your face, turning it back towards him to kiss you. It’s softer this time, lips working against yours as he grasps his cock, rubbing it through your folds and coating it in your slick before notching the tip of it against your pussy.
He kisses you through it, doesn’t let you squirm away, keeps his lips against yours as he presses his cock in. You shift uncomfortably and Sylus nuzzles into your cheek, letting out a low hum.
“Doing so good, sweetie,” he praises, seeing the tears prick at your eyes, “so, so good.”
Sylus is thick, practically splitting you open, forcing your pussy to accommodate him. You whimper in pain and he kisses you gently, brushing your hair away from your forehead as he continues to sink his cock in.
“Too big,” you pout, feeling completely and utterly full.
“Look,” Sylus whispers, his fingers brushing across your stomach when the entirety of his cock sinks into your stretched out pussy.
You peer down to where he’s pointing, flushing when you see the bulge in your stomach, his fat cock the culprit. 
“All mine,” Sylus murmurs, hooking his chin over your shoulder as he rolls his hips in, making you gasp and dig your fingers into his forearm. “My pretty fuckin’ baby, all fuckin’ mine.”
“‘s too much,” you hiccup, eyes fluttering shut and moaning when he presses down on the bulge gently, a tingle shooting through your body, making your toes curl. 
“Take my cock, sweetie,” he whispers, kissing your neck reverently, his fingers pinching at your nipples.
“Sylus,” you whine when he draws his hips back out and thrusts his cock back in, “want- want more.”
“Are you sure?” Sylus asks, staring down at you, “I thought it was too much?”
Your eyes narrow, hand reaching for his, letting your Evol flare, resonating with him. Sylus lets out a choked noise, his head dropping and eyes squeezing shut, body shuddering behind yours. You smile up at him, satisfied and smug. 
“Little brat,” he hisses, though there’s no real venom in his voice. “Again.”
You do as he wants, resonating with him again, moaning loudly when he humps his hips into you, cock dragging through your clenching walls. Somehow, you can hear your own heartbeat, the energy flowing through you heightening your senses as Sylus’ Evol strengthens. 
The red and black mist caresses your body, grazing across your nipples and your clit. You whine into the pillows, hand grasping his tighter. Sylus’ Evol eventually dims down the more he gets lost in the wet heat of your cunt, his arm curling around your leg to hoist it up as he fucks his cock into you.
Sylus moves your leg after a while, slotting his hips between your legs again, hips rocking into you. You let out soft airy noises and strangled moans, nails clawing down his back as Sylus presses his face against your neck, growling lowly.
“Feel so good,” he groans, leaving sloppy kisses across your skin, fastening his pace when he feels your legs lock around his hips.
“Sy- Sylus,” you moan, pulling his head up to kiss him.
He returns the kiss just as hungrily, planting his hand on your head to hug you to him as he tilts your hips up a little, cock driving into you. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, hugging him closer as he presses his body flush against yours, heavy balls slapping against your skin, the lewd sound emanating through the quietness of the room.
“Gonna make me fuckin’ cum,” Sylus rasps, dragging kisses across your sweaty skin.
“Then- then cum,” you hiccup, tugging at the strands of his hair gently, “want you to fill me up.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, peering down into your eyes, “want me to stuff this little cunt full?”
You nod eagerly, and he grins devilishly, pushing his thumb into your mouth. You suck obediently, eyes fluttering shut at the comfort of his thumb, losing yourself in him.
“Resonate with me when you cum,” Sylus whispers, his voice strained as he feels the walls of your pussy clenching tighter and tighter.
He laces your fingers together, bringing your hand to his lips. You can see the way he looks down at you, as though he can’t quite believe you’re here, his head tilting to press his lips against the ring firmly.
It’s a struggle to control your Evol, but you do as he asks, resonating when you feel the tight coil in your lower stomach snap as he shoves his cock inside of you all the way, gasping at the way it throbs inside of you. Your orgasm is blinding, body shuddering violently as you cum, Sylus’ Evol making you see stars.
It feels as though you’ve been set alight, somehow able to feel the energy pulsing around you, just like how his cock is inside of you. Sylus isn’t faring much better, his hips stuttering to a jerky stop as he slumps over you, gasping raggedly. His cum spills into you, hot and thick, adding to the haze in your mind.
The red and black tendrils stroke over your body gently and you whine softly, chasing after the mist of his Evol when it dissipates. Your thighs are sticky with his cum, his softening cock slipping out of you, cum leaking out soon after.
“I adore you,” Sylus whispers after a moment, pulling you into his chest, kissing your forehead.
“I know,” you say, eyes fluttering shut when he kisses you, slow and soft, his fingers sliding over your jaw and across the expanse of your cheek.
You smile up at him, body draped over his, chin resting on his chest. Sylus runs his fingers through your hair absentmindedly, scratches your scalp gently and presses his thumb against your lips for you to kiss.
“I’m glad it was you,” you murmur, head tilting to the side.
Sylus hums, leaning in to kiss you tenderly before he stands up. You bite your lip, watching his broad back as he disappears and returns with warm, damp cloth. He wipes your inner thighs with care, and over your puffy pussy, cleaning the cum and slick that soils your skin.
Your feet press against his chest playfully and he smiles, hands curling around your ankles to kiss the soles of your feet.
“Sore?” he asks, peppering lazy kisses to your ankles.
You nod, feeling a dull ache settle in your thighs and pussy. Sylus kisses your feet again and finds you a shirt to wear, pulling a pair of boxers up over his hips. You curl into him, staring up into his eyes.
“You said you lost me once,” you say quietly, fingers tracing over his chest, “but we’ve never met before.”
A pained expression comes over Sylus, his lips pulling down into a frown. You can’t understand what he’s so upset about, you don’t even understand what he meant when he said that.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sylus murmurs, his arm tightening around you, “I have you now.”
You purse your lips, examining his expression a little more intently, but whatever pain was there is now gone. His lips meet yours and you kiss, thumbs stroking over his cheeks soothingly.
“Then keep me,” you whisper, “for as long as you want.”
Sylus runs his fingers over the champion’s ring, sitting prettily on your ring finger. He holds your eyes as he brings it to his lips and kisses it again.
“Eternity, then.” Sylus whispers, forehead pressing against yours. “Crows keep that which is shiny. You, sweetie, happen to burn the brightest in my eyes.”
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ja3yun · 2 months ago
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Stretch it Out | P.SH
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instructor!sunghoon x ballerina!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, mirror sex, pet names (sweatheart, good girl), bad ballet references bc idk what i'm talking about, slight mention of self doubt, not proof read, anything else lmk! wc: 7.4k REQ: ballet intructor!sunghoon helping ballerina!reader stretch and you know where the rest leads to 😼 a/n: hi! i took this request and shuffled it around to make it this! hope this is okay anonnie and i am also so sorry for the late posting of it! i've been working on so much lately and with my little break i didn't do much writing. as always, comments, reblogs, and likes are all welcome!
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Applause echoes through the spacious studio as one of your fellow dancers finishes receiving her critique from Mrs. Yang. Her routine was strong, though it seems she needs to work on her turnout - something you hadn't noticed. Perhaps it’s because your nerves are clouding your perception; after all, it will be your turn once she's finished.
The Annual Exhibition is less than two months away, and this will be your first time presenting your completed routine for approval in front of an audience - especially Mrs. Yang, who is more than just an instructor to you; she’s your role model, the person you’ve looked up to throughout your entire ballet journey.
Throughout your high school years, you dedicated your evenings and weekends to ballet school, working tirelessly just for the chance to apply to the National University of Arts and audition in front of Mrs. Yang. For months leading up to this moment, you poured everything into perfecting your pliés and pirouettes. Blisters marred your feet, and exhaustion settled deep in your bones, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was proving yourself worthy.
“Y/N, you’re up,” Mrs. Yang’s voice echoes through the studio like a haunting ghost. 
Following her words, you get up and shake off any nerves you have, all too aware of the impact performing badly will have; she could cut you from the exhibition or tell you to scrap the routine entirely, and both of those are not an option for you.
Now, as you step forward to take your place at the centre of the studio, the weight of the moment presses down on you. Every muscle is tense with anticipation, and your heart races as you prepare to dance.
The music begins, and you launch into your routine. At first, the nerves are overwhelming - each movement feels too stiff, too calculated. But as you glide into an arabesque and sweep through a series of pirouettes, something shifts. The familiar rhythm of the dance takes over, and your body begins to move almost on its own, flowing through each step with a grace you didn't know you possessed.
You’re hyper-aware of Mrs. Yang’s presence, of her eyes following your every move, but instead of faltering, you find yourself sinking deeper into the performance. Each développé stretches to its fullest extent, each sauté feels lighter than air. Your breathing steadies and the tension in your muscles transforms into power and control.
As you close the final sequence with a grand jeté, landing with a precise yet delicate touch, you can feel the room holding its breath. You finish in a graceful reverence, chest heaving but mind calm. In this moment, all the hours of hard work, the pain, and the sacrifices feel worth it. You've given everything you have.
But as you glance at Mrs. Yang, it doesn’t look like she’s as satisfied with your performance as you are. Her face is stoic, unreadable, but you’ve been in her class long enough to decipher even the subtlest of her expressions. The slight raise of her right eyebrow sends a wave of dread crashing through you. That’s never a good sign. Her eyes cling to you with the intensity of an unwanted gaze, leaving an uncomfortable knot twisting in your stomach.
She remains quiet for a few minutes, the silence stretching unbearably as though she’s gathering her words. When she finally speaks, her tone is clipped, measured. “It’s good, modern, and meets the criteria.”
You brace yourself, knowing that a ‘but’ is coming.
“But,” she continues, and you wince slightly, “you are not sharp enough. I mean seriously, Y/N, how many times do I need to pull you up for this? Do you not want to improve?”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You don’t want to disappoint her. You gave everything you had in that performance, even though it was just a run-through. But it’s clear that it wasn’t enough.
You bow your head, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Yang’s irritation sharpens. “Then for the love of God, can you listen to me this time?” She stands up, her movements precise and deliberate as she walks over to you. Her voice is firm, tinged with exasperation. “This exhibition is crucial to your future career. It’s what sets you apart from the others, and yet you seem to lack such basic skills. Even the first years are forming lines better than you.”
Her words slice through you, each one a reminder of the standards you’ve failed to meet. The sting of her tone is almost unbearable, but you know deep down that it comes from a place of faith. She nitpicks because she sees potential in you, potential she wants to help you realise. Each six-month review she’s had with you, she’s made it clear that she believes you can make it far in this world.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Yang,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.
“Apologise to yourself, not to me.”
A chorus of snickers drifts from the edge of the room. You glance over to see a group of girls, giggling and holding in laughter, their eyes full of condescension. The sound pierces through your already fragile self-belief, making you shrink into yourself, every snicker chipping away at whatever confidence you had left. Doubt begins to creep in, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. You start questioning whether you’re truly cut out for this, whether all the sacrifices you’ve made have been for nothing.
Before you can spiral too deeply into your own thoughts, Mrs. Yang’s fingers press firmly against your cheek, gently but insistently turning your face to meet hers. “You can’t do this on your own, so I’m assigning you a coach.”
“But you are my coach,” you reply, your voice tinged with confusion.
“Yes, but I don’t have time to give you hours of one-on-one training,” she says, rolling her eyes as if that statement should be obvious. She strides back to her seat, preparing to evaluate the next girl in line. “I have someone in mind. They’re very fluid and pointed in their gestures. They should whip you into shape. I’ll book you an out-of-hours studio for the foreseeable.”
The words hit you like a ton of bricks. You stand there, rooted to the spot, unable to fully process what she’s just said. Sure, she’ll still be your instructor during scheduled lessons, but this means that on top of your gruelling 12-hour days, your endless rehearsals, and the constant pressure to perfect every move, you’ll now have to spend extra time with a new coach.
It’s overwhelming. The thought of adding yet another layer of intensity to your already packed schedule makes your head spin. Your body, already pushed to its limits, protests at the idea of even more hours in the studio. Your heart sinks as the reality of the situation sets in. How will you manage it all? How will you balance the expectations of not one but two demanding mentors?
You want to succeed, to rise to the challenge, but a part of you is terrified that you’ll crumble under the weight of it all. The path ahead, already steep and treacherous, has just become even more daunting.
As Mrs. Yang calls out the name of the next dancer, you force yourself to step aside, the familiar sting of exhaustion settling into your bones. 
You can only hope that this new coach makes it worth your while.
_____
The long day of classes has left you drained, every muscle aching with the residue of endless rehearsals and critiques. The last thing you want to do is spend more time in the studio, yet here you are, trudging down the empty hallways of the performance centre with your gym bag slung over your shoulder. The familiar scent of rosin and sweat lingers in the air, and you can't help but feel a pang of dread at the thought of more practice. Your mind buzzes with the memory of Mrs. Yang’s words earlier this week, her disappointment, and the pressure of living up to expectations weighing heavily on your shoulders.
As you push open the door to the studio, your eyes fall on an unfamiliar figure - a boy standing with his back to you. He’s tall, strikingly so, with broad shoulders that taper down into a lean, athletic frame. His dark hair is tousled, falling just above the nape of his neck, and he’s dressed in loose joggers and a fitted white tank top that highlights the sinewy lines of his muscles.
You hesitate in the doorway, momentarily taken aback by his presence. The studio had been booked for you, and the last thing you want is a confrontation with a stranger. You clear your throat softly, hoping to catch his attention. “Um, hello?” you say timidly, your voice barely above a whisper. You hope that a gentle approach will encourage him to leave without any fuss.
The boy whips around at the sound of your voice, and your breath catches in your throat. His face is nothing short of breathtaking; sharp, elegant features softened by a small, almost shy smile. His eyes, a deep, captivating brown, seem to sparkle with quiet intensity as he takes in your appearance. For a moment, you’re struck by how impossibly beautiful he is, like a sculptor’s masterpiece brought to life. He seems too perfect, too unreal, and you feel a strange flutter in your chest as you meet his gaze.
“Hi,” he says, his voice smooth and warm, like a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. He’s still studying you, and you can’t help but take the opportunity to do the same, noting every detail of his flawless face - the way his lips curve slightly upwards, the sharpness of his jawline, the softness of his eyes.
You blink, trying to regain your composure. “I don’t mean to be rude,” you start, hoping to keep your tone polite, “but my teacher booked me this room for a few hours.”
He raises an eyebrow, his small smile never fading. “Four hours to be exact, yeah. She also booked you…me.” The confusion must be evident on your face because he adds, “I’m your coach, Sunghoon.”
“You?” The word slips out before you can stop it, and you instantly regret how incredulous you sound. The last thing you want is to offend him, but the shock of the situation has thrown you off balance.
“Yeah, me. Why?” His tone is still light, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in his voice, and that sends you into a mild panic. You quickly shake your head, trying to salvage the situation.
“No, no, I’m not trying to say anything negative,” you stammer, holding up your hands as if to ward off any misunderstanding. “It’s just… I’ve never seen you around the performance centre, let alone the ballet corridor.”
He nods, seeming to understand your confusion. “That’s because you’ll find me in the sports centre.”
You take a moment to size him up, your mind racing as you try to figure out what sport he could possibly play. He’s too lean to be a rugby player, his legs too slender to be a footballer, but he’s tall enough to be a basketball player. You consider the possibility of him being a rower or maybe a gymnast, but nothing quite fits. He’s a mystery, one that piques your curiosity.
As if reading your thoughts, he interrupts your internal questioning. “I’m a figure skater.”
The revelation surprises you, and you can’t help but blurt out, “Oh.” You pause, trying to piece together why a figure skater would be chosen to coach you in ballet. Placing your bag to the side of the room, you turn to him again. “So why are you coaching me?”
“Why can’t I?” he counters, his tone holding a subtle challenge that makes you feel slightly defensive. “Mrs. Yang said you’re having trouble looking elegant and punctuated in your movements. Skaters have the same problem.”
You nod slowly, but a part of you is still sceptical. “But you guys have ice and skates. I have a wooden floor and ballet pumps.”
A laugh escapes his lips before he quickly covers his mouth, a look of apology flashing across his face. “Sorry, it’s just…what does that have to do with anything?”
You frown, still not entirely convinced. “You guys have blades to move you. I have to coordinate my legs to move me. You guys can think about fluidity and movement.”
He crosses his arms, his expression becoming more serious as he regards you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound? We have to balance on a tiny blade and have every chance to slip or crash from a jump.”
His words hang in the air, and you suddenly feel a bit foolish for your assumptions. Of course, figure skating requires immense skill and precision - maybe even more so than ballet, given the added challenge of balancing on ice. 
“Okay, fair point,” you admit, feeling a bit sheepish. You also hate it when people underestimate the skill and energy it takes to perform ballet, and yet here you are doing it to him about his own sport. 
He steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and you find yourself holding your breath under his gaze. “I know you were expecting some ballet genius to help you but our arts are similar. It’s about control, balance, and grace,” he explains. “On the ice, every movement needs to be both powerful and delicate. The same applies to ballet. You need to find that balance between strength and elegance. That’s where I come in.”
You nod slowly, beginning to understand his perspective. The way he speaks, the passion in his voice, makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this might actually work. “And you think you can teach me that?”
“I know I can,” he says confidently, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “If you’re willing to put in the effort, that is.”
There’s a challenge in his words, one that you can’t resist rising to. You’ve always prided yourself on your work ethic, and you’re not about to let anyone doubt your dedication.
“I am,” you reply firmly, meeting his gaze with determination.
Sunghoon starts the session by having you go through your routine. His eyes are sharp, missing nothing as he watches you move across the floor. You’re acutely aware of his presence, the way his gaze seems to weigh on your every step, every turn, every jump. It’s unnerving at first, but you push through the discomfort, focusing on executing each movement with precision.
When you finish, he steps forward, nodding thoughtfully. “You’re good,” he says, and the praise sends a warm flush of satisfaction through you and a blush to your cheeks. “But you’re too tense. You’re overthinking every move, and it shows. Ballet is as much about feeling as it is about technique. You need to let go a little.”
You frown slightly, not entirely sure how to do that. “Let go?”
“Yeah,” he says, moving to stand beside you. “Your muscles are too tight, your movements too calculated. It’s like you’re afraid of making a mistake, so you’re holding back.”
You look down at the floor, his words hitting a little too close to home. You’ve always been afraid of making mistakes, always felt the pressure to be perfect. It’s something that’s been drilled into you since you first started dancing, and it’s hard to shake.
He must sense your hesitation because he steps closer, his voice softening. “Hey,” he says gently, and you look up to find his eyes full of understanding. “I get it. But if you keep holding back, you’re never going to reach your full potential.”
There’s something in his voice that makes you want to trust him, something that makes you feel like maybe he understands you in a way that others don’t. You nod slowly, taking a deep breath as you try to let go of the tension in your body.
“Good,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. “Now, let’s try something different.”
_____
For two hours straight, you push your body to its limits, executing each movement with precision and determination. Sunghoon’s voice fills the studio, giving you sharp, pointed instructions that you follow without question. But as the minutes tick by, the atmosphere begins to shift. The calm, encouraging demeanour he started with fades, replaced with a growing tension that seems to coil around the two of you, tightening with each correction he makes.
“Extend more,” he snaps as you move through a series of arabesques. His tone is snappier now, the softness from before replaced with something harsher. “You’re still too stiff.”
You grit your teeth, focusing on stretching every muscle to its fullest, making sure each line is as precise as possible. But no matter how much you try, his dissatisfaction only seems to grow.
“Again,” he commands, his voice laced with frustration. You try to push your discontent down, channelling it into your movements, but the more you try, the more his critiques seem to cut through you.
“You’re losing focus. How are you going to perform on stage if you can’t even manage this in practice?”
The sting of his criticism hits you deep, and you can feel your confidence waver. Are you really that bad? You’re hitting the moves correctly, focusing intently on your lines - the very aspect of the performance Mrs. Yang had criticised you for. You’re doing everything he’s asking, so why is he still so frustrated? Shouldn’t he be pleased that his coaching is starting to take effect?
You execute a pirouette, landing with precision, but the instant your foot touches the ground, Sunghoon’s voice cuts through the air. “No,” he says sharply, shaking his head. “You’re not following through. Where’s the energy? The intention?”
“I’m trying!” The words slip out before you can stop them, frustration bubbling over. Your chest heaves with exertion, and you meet his eyes, desperate for some sign that he understands how hard you’re working, how much you’re giving.
But his expression remains hard, unreadable, and that only fuels the growing tension between you. “Trying isn’t enough,” he snaps back, stepping closer, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You need to do more than just hit the moves. You have to feel them. Right now, you’re just going through the motions. There’s no passion, no fire.”
His words cut deep, and you feel a flare of anger mixed with hurt. “I’m doing exactly what you asked,” you retort, unable to keep the edge out of your voice. “I’m focusing on the lines, on the form. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes,” he says, his frustration palpable, “but you’re missing the point. It’s not just about form; it’s about bringing the movements to life. Right now, you’re nothing more than a marionette, moving because you’re being told to, not because you’re actually feeling the dance.”
The comparison stings and you can feel yourself reaching boiling point. You’ve been working so hard, pushing yourself beyond what you thought you were capable of, and yet here you are, being told that it’s still not enough. A part of you wants to shout at him, to tell him that he doesn’t understand how hard this is, how much pressure you’re under. But instead, you swallow the words, letting the irritation simmer beneath the surface.
Sunghoon’s gaze softens, just a fraction, but it’s enough to make you feel the weight of his expectations even more acutely. “I know you can do better. Mrs. Yang told me you’re one of her best students,” he says, his voice gentler now with the content, though no less intense. “That’s why I’m pushing you. I need you to push yourself. You’ve got so much potential, but something’s holding you back. What is it?”
His question hangs in the air, heavy and probing. For a moment, you’re at a loss for words. Why are you holding back? Is it the fear of failing? Fear that you’ll never be good enough? Or maybe, deep down, you just don’t believe in yourself.
The silence between you stretches, thick with hostility. Sunghoon steps closer, his presence almost overwhelming, the heat radiating off him nearly suffocating. You can feel the intensity of his gaze, a challenge flickering in his eyes, daring you to shatter whatever invisible barrier is restraining you.
He’s so close now that you can see the tight set of his jaw, the way his eyes blaze with a fire that sends a shiver down your spine. The frustration is palpable, a tangible force crackling in the air, making it feel electric, charged with something both exhilarating and frightening.
With a firm but gentle touch, Sunghoon places his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face the mirror. He steps in behind you, closing the space between your bodies. “Look at yourself,” he says, his voice low and resonant. “See how tense you are?” His large hands slide down from your shoulders, tracing the line of your body. “Every muscle is knotted up. You can’t perform at your best unless you loosen up. Stop overthinking. Just…let go.”
Your eyes meet his in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and in that instant, the world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, close enough to feel each other’s breath. Then, almost instinctively, his fingers press into your sides, firm and commanding, gliding up your waist and torso with deliberate slowness. The sensation sends a wave of heat through your body, and your breath catches as he lifts your arms, stretching your upper half with a fluid motion that leaves you feeling vulnerable and exposed.
“Feel this,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the nape of your neck, sending another quake over your body. He holds your wrists above your head with one hand, the other pressing into your lower back, making you hyper-aware of the heat emanating from him. “See how good that feels?”
Using his knuckles, he circles the bottom of your spine, dissolving any knots and doubts from it. You resist the urge to moan but your eyes roll to the back of your head as you push your hips into him, aching for more of his magical touch. Out of all the massages you have ever had, this tiny glimmer of one beats them all.
His breath spreads over your skin, and his fingers tighten slightly around your wrists as he holds you in place. Once you bring your eyes forward, he locks in with yours in the mirror. His piercing stare is intense and your heart quickens, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. 
“You like that?” Sunghoon asks, the smirk plastered on his face as he feels you grinding onto his growing boner. He can see you wanting to let go in the reflection of your eyes as well as the neediness in your breaths, giving him all the consent he needs to take this further.
As he releases your wrists, his hand trails down your shoulders and back to meet the other. The heat of his touch seeps through the fabric of your top, firm yet tender. His fingers glide along your spine, coaxing your body to arch into the movement, a soft sigh escaping your lips. His touch is skilled, knowing exactly where to press and where to ease, melting away the tension in your muscles, leaving you pliant under his hands.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers, the edge in his voice betraying his awareness of the effect he’s having on you. The connection is almost too intense to bear. But you can’t look away, drawn to the magnetic pull between you. He slides his hands over your sides and across your lower abdomen, fingers digging slightly into your muscles, the pressure both soothing and intoxicating as he massages your belly and hips.
You instinctively begin to lower your arms, the proximity making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. But his grip tightens around your waist in warning. “No, keep your arms up, sweetheart,” he says, his tone demanding, the instructor in him resurfacing.
Resting his hand flatly on your stomach, his fingers spread as he pulls you flush against him, your back meeting the solid expanse of his chest. The contact makes you acutely aware of every point where your bodies touch, your heart hammering in your chest as your breath catches. His hands linger at the waistband of your leggings, before slowly, his hands dip down, fingers brushing against your skin, exploring with deliberate, teasing slowness. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through you, your skin tingling under his touch.
His hands move lower, the anticipation building with every inch he covers. You can feel your muscles trembling, your arms still stretched above your head as he asked, but the effort to maintain the position becomes increasingly difficult with every passing second.
His fingers find your folds, slipping between them with an agonising slowness that leaves you gasping. The sensation is overwhelming, your body instinctively moving with his fingers, but he’s quick to remind you of his control. “Keep your arms up, be a good girl and listen,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a quiet authority that leaves no room for disobedience.
The smirk on his face is unmistakable as he watches you struggle to comply, the tension between following his instructions and giving in to the intoxicating pull of his touch almost unbearable. His fingers continue their slow exploration, teasing and tormenting you with a skill that leaves you trembling, your resolve weakening with every passing moment.
Impulse begs you to let your arms fall, to collapse into his embrace, but his gaze holds you in place, that smirk still playing on his lips as he watches you battle with your own desires. The contrast between his command and the sheer pleasure he’s coaxing from your body is dizzying, leaving you on the edge of surrender.
Yet, despite the intense need coursing through you, you force yourself to keep your arms raised, stretching above your head, the effort only adding to the thrill coursing through your veins. His fingers move with deliberate intent now, pressing deeper, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body that make it almost impossible to think, to breathe.
Sunghoon’s fingers expertly play with your pussy, two of them circling your sensitive nub with a maddening precision that leaves you dizzy. “Do you feel how exhausted your arms are?” he asks, his voice tinged with a hint of smugness, as though expecting an answer despite your obvious distraction.
Nodding, you squeeze your eyes shut so tightly that white spots dance behind your lids, a kaleidoscope of fleeting lights against the darkness. The burn in your arms is a sharp contrast to the way your hips instinctively move, undulating in perfect sync with his skilled fingers. It's a delicious torment—the strain in your muscles somehow amplifies the pleasure coiling low in your belly, turning every sensation sharper, more intense.
Suddenly, his lips are on your neck, a gentle press of heat that sends a shiver cascading down your spine, threatening to unravel you completely. The warmth of his mouth on your skin is your undoing, and before you can stop yourself, your arms give way. You collapse forward, hands scrambling to find purchase, seeking him instinctively as if he's the only thing keeping you grounded. Your fingers dig into his arms, nails biting into his skin as you cling to him, desperate for stability in the storm he's unleashed within you.
"See how loose you feel?" His voice is a murmur against your neck, each word a hot, teasing caress. "How your body wants to move on its own, to give in? That’s how your performance should be."
As if to punctuate his point, his fingers slide inside you, the sudden, intimate invasion tearing a sharp gasp from your lips. Your hips buck against his hand, craving more, driven by the need he’s ignited in you. His other arm tightens around your waist, holding you close, anchoring you to him as his fingers continue their relentless rhythm, each stroke designed to push you further, closer to the edge.
The atmosphere around you thickens, every breath heavy with the electric tension between you. The heat radiating from his body seeps into yours, an overwhelming presence that consumes you, making it impossible to think of anything but the here and now. The scent of him - musky, intoxicating - fills your senses, making you feel lightheaded, dizzy with desire. You can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing insistently against your lower back, a solid reminder of his own need, adding fuel to the fire already burning within you.
His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, more urgently, more demanding. "Even your pussy is so tight," he murmurs, his tone more observation than criticism. "Do I need to open this up too?"
Your laboured breathing is your only response, mingling with the slick, rhythmic sounds of his hand moving inside you. The coil of pleasure in your core tightens with every thrust, winding tighter and tighter, the pressure building until you feel like you might shatter from the intensity of it.
Your hands clutch at his arm, desperate, seeking something solid to hold onto as your legs threaten to buckle beneath you. His fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot that sends your vision spinning, a raw, needy moan escaping your lips. The feeling of his hard length pressing against you, coupled with the masterful way his fingers work you, has your entire body humming with sensation, alive with the need to surrender to the pleasure he’s offering.
Sunghoon’s mouth returns to your neck, lips brushing over your sensitive skin, his teeth grazing lightly as he sucks, sending another jolt of arousal through you. "That’s it," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, rough command that vibrates through you. "Let go. Feel it. This is how you should be."
His words wrap around you like a spell, breaking down the last of your restraint. Your body moves with his, falling into the rhythm he’s set, lost in the heat and desire pulsing between you. Every stroke, every touch, draws you deeper into the abyss of pleasure, until all you can do is let go and let him guide you.
“Fuck, Sunghoon,” you manage to mewl, your voice trembling, breathless, as you throw your head back, letting it rest against his chest.
A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, the sound reverberating through you, adding to the fire already blazing in your veins. His lips trail up to your ear, his tongue flicking against your earlobe, a playful, teasing nip that sends another shiver racing down your spine. “That’s it,” he whispers, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and desire. His fingers curl inside you again, hitting that spot that makes your entire body jerk in his hold, another gasp torn from your throat. “You like this, don’t you? You’re such a perfect student, so eager to please.”
All you can do is nod, biting down on your lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill over. He hums appreciatively, his hot breath brushing against your ear, the sensation sending another ripple of pleasure through you. “Good,” he purrs, his voice low and commanding, like the instructor he is. “You’re a quick learner when you want to be. You respond so well to guidance.”
Without warning, his hand shifts, thumb finding your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips jerk involuntarily. Your vision blurs, stars dancing before your eyes as the pleasure crashes over you in waves, each one pulling you deeper into the sensation. His fingers move with expert precision, relentless in their pursuit of your release, pushing you closer and closer to the brink.
In the mirror before you, Sunghoon’s eyes lock onto you, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he relishes in watching the pleasure contort your face. "You’re moving perfectly, not overthinking, just feeling how you should," he murmurs, almost to himself, pride evident in his voice. 
Just as you feel yourself teetering on the brink, he slows his movements, dragging out your pleasure, keeping you suspended on the edge. You whimper with need, the desperation in your voice only making him grin wider. His lips brush against your ear, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that sends your brain into orbit. "You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you? Be a good dancer and let go, show me how well you can perform."
It’s not a question; it’s a command. And with one final, skilled stroke, he pushes you over the edge, sending you spiralling into a climax that tears through you, leaving every atom in your body shaking with intensity and your muscles instantly tensing, just to relax once again.
As the tremors subside, you feel his hands shift, fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings. “We’re just getting started,” he murmurs, a hint of something dark and promising in his voice. Slowly, he pulls them down, the fabric dragging against your skin, heightening your sensitivity. “You’re still tight,” he observes, voice low, almost thoughtful. “We need to work on that.”
He positions himself behind you, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cool air against your bare skin. Pushing his joggers and boxers down to his thighs, he lets his hard cock spring free, your body shielding it from the mirror in front of you, but as he drags it along your folds, you get a sense of the thick, long shaft he is about to impale you with.
His hand moves to your hips, guiding you, adjusting your stance, and your hands find home on the mirror in front of you, fingers splaying across the cool glass. “Arch your back,” he instructs, voice firm yet gentle, as if this were just another rehearsal. “Relax into it…let me in.”
With a measured, almost calculated precision, he enters you, the sensation of him filling you completely making you gasp. In the mirror, your reflection catches your eye, your mouth falling open as you watch him disappear inside you. “Oh god,” you moan, the image of your bodies coming together, the way he stretches you, only intensifying the sensation. “Sunghoon…”
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet, wrapping around you, pulling you deeper into the moment. “Look at yourself,” he commands softly, his breath hot against your ear. “See how your body opens up when you let go? When you stop fighting and just let the movement happen? That’s how you get perfect lines.”
His pace is slow at first, methodical, every thrust a deliberate stroke meant to coax your body into submission. Your eyes lock onto your reflection, the sight of his hips moving against yours, the way your skin flushes with arousal, captivating. “Fuck, your pussy is sensational,” he breathes, a hint of strain in his voice as he pulls back slightly, only to push deeper. “Almost as good as your allegro.”
You let out a broken moan, your gaze flicking between his intense expression in the mirror and the way his muscles are contracting in his arms as he firms his grip on your waist, focusing on pounding into you with fervour. “Sunghoon… more… please…”
Each movement of his hips is like a masterclass, each squeeze from his hands and twitch of his cock only making your body ache for more. “Don’t hold back,” he whispers, his grip on your hips tightening, pulling you closer. “Let your body respond to mine.”
Your eyes widen as he leans forward slightly, the angle allowing you to see more of him in the mirror, his jaw tightening with every thrust. “Feels so good,” you manage to gasp out, your voice breathy, desperate as you push back against him, trying to take him deeper. “Please, don’t stop…”
The mirror reflects the sheen of sweat forming on your skin, the way your body arches into his touch, how every line of your form matches the rhythm he’s set. Your body moves with his, every thrust pushing you closer to that edge again, every word sinking deeper into your mind. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers finding your clit once more, adding that extra layer of stimulation that has your legs shaking. “That’s it,” he coaxes, voice rich with approval. “Give in to it. Let your body move the way it wants to…the way it needs to.”
“Sunghoon… oh, god… I’m gonna-” Your words cut off in a whimper as his pace quickens, the pace he sets becoming more intense, more demanding, each thrust designed to unravel you, to push you past your limits.
“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs into your neck, his gaze flickering up to meet yours in the mirror, watching how your breath fogs up the glass in front of you and your fingers claw down the flat surface in an attempt to grip onto something tangible. The sight of you coming undone in the reflection only seems to spur him on, his hips snapping against yours with renewed vigour.
“Sunghoon, I-” you try to speak, but the words dissolve into a moan as he thrusts deeper, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur and stars dance before your eyes, the bell of his cock kissing the sensitive spot inside your walls.
“Show me,” he commands, his voice like a conductor’s baton, directing the crescendo. “Show me how beautifully you can fall apart.” 
Sunghoon’s arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling your trembling body back against his chest. The new angle allows him to thrust even deeper, the motion sending shockwaves of pleasure through you, each stroke of his cock searing itself into your memory. You feel completely filled by him, the sensation overwhelming as your reflection quakes, your body obeying every demand he silently makes. Your muscles clench around him, and as your head falls back against his shoulder, you cry out his name.
The mirror captures every detail - the flush of your skin, the arch of your back, the way your mouth opens in a silent scream as another intense climax rips through you. This one is even more powerful than the last, leaving you utterly undone, your body shaking in his arms as he holds you steady.
As the waves of pleasure begin to ebb, your eyes lock onto the mirror once more. You see yourself as Sunghoon sees you raw, vulnerable, but also strong, capable of surrendering and finding beauty in letting go. For a moment, all you can see is the perfect dancer he’s crafted, the one who’s learned to trust the rhythm and fall apart beautifully.
Chasing his own release, he begins to buck his hips in a fast, sharp manner, aware that two orgasms on your end could make you extra sensitive. Your pussy milks his cock as he cums deep inside of you, his nails scratching your hips and down your ass, as he moans out your name, chanting it like a hymn during confession. 
His chest heaves against your back and he kisses anywhere he can on your neck and shoulders to ground himself in the present, bringing himself down from his high.
As he slowly slides out of you, his arms never leave your body, keeping you close. He gently lowers you to the ground, sitting you down and holding you against him. Your body feels like jelly, completely spent, but his embrace is comforting. He presses soft kisses to the back of your head, his breath warm against your damp skin.
"You did so well, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice tender, full of pride.
You tilt your head back slightly, looking up at him with a small, exhausted smile. "I don’t think I’m supposed to be this relaxed when I perform at the exhibition," you manage to say, a breathless giggle escaping your lips.
Sunghoon chuckles along with you, the sound vibrating through your body where you're pressed against him. He shakes his head, brushing a few strands of hair away from your sweaty face. "No, you should have some feeling in your bones," he agrees, wiping the moisture from your brow with the back of his hand. "But do you see how, when you let yourself do what your body wanted, you felt a million times better?"
You nod, the memory of the intensity still fresh in your mind. "Yeah…I did. It felt different…freer."
"Exactly," he says, his eyes softening as he gazes at you. "That’s how ballet is supposed to be. You can’t bring emotions to an audience if you’re too busy concentrating on getting the next move right."
"But Mrs. Yang always talks about perfection," you counter, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "She says, ‘You need to be perfect to achieve perfection.’ She repeats it all the time."
Sunghoon sighs, a look of understanding crossing his features. "It’s the same for us," he admits, his tone tinged with a mix of disdain and resignation. "Every skate has to be better than the last, or else you’re a failure." His voice carries the weight of someone who’s heard those words too many times, who’s internalised them and yet knows there’s more to the story.
"But perfection isn’t something you learn from a textbook. It’s not something you can force." He pauses, looking down at you, his expression thoughtful. "You need to find your own colour, your own style. That’s where true perfection lies - when it comes from within, not from trying to meet someone else’s standards."
You hold his gaze, the truth in his words sinking in. For years you have tried to live up to Mrs. Yang’s expectation that you lost your real love for the art. Or maybe, not lost the love, but rather buried it under the weight of being perfect. 
"But…what if I never find it? My colour."
Sunghoon’s lips curve into a small smile, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. "To be honest, you’re better than most. You’ve got the skill, the technique, but you’re holding yourself back because you’re so focused on being perfect." His eyes bore into yours, sincere and encouraging. "You need to let your posture breathe, stop worrying about being flawless, and just…dance. That’s what’s holding you back - then you’ll find it."
His words resonate deeply within you, stirring something that’s been buried under layers of self-doubt and external expectations. "So I just need to let go?"
"Exactly," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "Let go, trust yourself, and let your body move the way it’s meant to. Just like we did there."
You take a deep breath, feeling the weight on your shoulders lift just a bit. "I’ll try," you whisper, the words carrying more determination than you thought possible.
Sunghoon smiles, a warmth in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a gesture so tender it nearly makes you melt. "That’s all anyone can ask for," he murmurs, his voice reassuring.
You nod, feeling a newfound resolve build within you. As you sink deeper into his embrace, the world around you seems to blur, leaving behind the certainty that you’re ready to let go, to embrace the dancer you’ve always been meant to be.
After a moment of quiet, Sunghoon pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips, grounding you. "How about we get you cleaned up, and then we run through it again?" he suggests, his tone light yet purposeful.
You smile, the idea of starting fresh with this new perspective sparking a sense of excitement in you. "Yeah," you agree, your voice steady. As Sunghoon helps you to your feet and fixes your outfit for you, you feel your heart burst with determination and adoration, both for ballet and the man in front of you.  
You’re going to have to thank Mrs. Yang for this by giving the most passionate performance at the exhibition.
Maybe Sunghoon can keep coaching you until then. You do need to work on your flexibility after all…
---
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