#and often times the sizing is REALLY limited

[starrysharks]

Just out of curiosity since its my special interest; what kind of fashion styles would you say you wear/would like to wear? smile

ooo i feel like it's a mix of multiple styles! my friends irl either say that i dress emo or y2k style (i wear a lot of skirts over jeans, fun hats, leg warmers, lots of accessories and stuff...) my main style inspirations are stuff from fruits mag and random outfit pics from pinterest - i buy a lot of my clothes from chinese indie brands like cfierce, eyeelike, and double punch if that gives a good idea!

in short - in warmer months, my style is more harajuku/y2k/etc inspired - colorful oversized shirts, lots of hairclips, keychains, and accessories, cargo pants and shorts, etc!

and in colder months, more emo (according to my friends - i personally don't consider myself emo)/mori kei/twee??? idrk - dark patterned cardigans and sweaters, layered leg warmers, scarfs, hats (like ushankas and baker caps etc)!

if i could dress any other way, i would dress every way. i love all alternative fashion styles so much!!! i've loved alt fashion since i was a wannabe fairy kei 8 year old haha

[unnonexistence]

it's true that hermann's clothing aesthetic is mostly something along the lines of "dorky professor," but i think it's really more like 80% dorky professor, 20% military surplus. (that 20% is probably all ppdc gear, but the Aesthetic™ of the ppdc gear is milsurp).

like, hermann's a practical guy. he cares more about the function of his clothes than the appearance (see: glasses cord, oversized parka). he's also been working for the ppdc since he was in his mid-20s. you can't tell me he doesn't own, like, fleece quarter-zip tops in neutral colours and too-big "one size fits all" sweatpants with "P.P.D.C." stamped on the side.

[sitronsangbody]

Please, please be considerate of your fat friends' needs and limitations. Fat bodies are heavy to carry around. I move about the world slower than my thin peers, and I've often had to choose between pushing myself to keep a pace that takes absolutely all my energy, or being left behind, when walking in a group. I don't always feel safe to ask that everyone walk slower, because there's a prevalent idea in society that fat people need to exert themselves as much as possible at all times in the service of weight loss, and that we never "really" need rest, therefore it's a good thing whenever we're exhausted. Fat people and thin people alike are taught that fatness is a flaw, one that fat people ourselves are to blame for, so we're not entitled to any accommodation or consideration. A friend of mine who is fat recently told me about a dinner party she went to where the chairs were far too small for her and she was sitting very uncomfortably. After the meal she politely suggested moving the party to the couch, but the others didn't want to. She spent another couple of hours in unnecessary pain, and didn't dare tell them about it. I love my thin friends, but some of them just don't realize that I weigh probably twice as much as them, and yet I balance it all on the same size feet and carry it on about the same size bones. I'm like if they had a whole other them to carry around at all times. Why would that not have an impact on how I function? Please - take us into consideration when we're part of activities. Ask us which activities work and which don't. Adjust the pace so no one has to be dry heaving and sweating barrels on what's supposed to be a casual walk. Make sure venues have seating that fits us. Make it safe for us to speak up if we need something. When we do, don't treat us like we're the problem. Finally: yes, we have heard of losing weight. Even those of us who might (and many never will, whether you like it or not), won't do it on a moment's notice. If your response to "fat people deserve accommodations" is "what if they weren't fat though", you're playing a fantasy game. It's pointless. We are fat and we are here and we do partake in society. Work with that.

[bunnys-kisses]

the jailbird

prisoner!simon 'ghost' riley

a full fic based on this post

cw: prison!au, civilian!reader, pen-pals, smut,romance/romantic!simon, domestic, missonary, wife kink, size kink, nudity, tattoo kink, body worship, cuddling

bunny says: like the fic? leave a comment! really like the fic? suggest your own! reblogs are always welcomed!

it started out as a flyer at the bus stop near your house. it was for a service that connected prisoners at a nearby prison with civilians as pen-pals. you had seen the flyer often over the course of work as you went to work.

you honestly felt bad, those people must be isolated. the organization prided itself on giving prisoners a bit of their humanity back by not cutting them off from those on the outside. so on a rainy friday you took a photo of the flyer and filled out the form on the organization's website.

that was how you met simon riley, or as he was called on the inside 'ghost'. what caught your attention wasn't his face scar that ran from under his nose down to the left side of his chin, but rather his brown eyes. how intense they stared into the camera. it was almost intimidating.

but you kept the photo on your desk as you typed out your first letter to send to him. you heard of places who did it through email, but screen time for those could often be limited and to send a physical letter would ensure that it would be sent to them.

the letter started out simple, you asked how he was and if it was okay to ask what he was in prison for. you asked him other questions, like if his health was doing well, what did he do most days while on the inside. you ended the letter with a little information about yourself.

you thought it would be nice to take a few photos and print them out on photo paper to be included with your letter. just so he had a better idea of who he was talking about. once you tweaked the letter with a bit of editing, you printed it out and thanks to the Royal Mail, your letter was sent to him.

you didn't actually expect for him to respond. nor did you expect for the letter to be do detailed. it was almost three pages double sided in neat hand writing. your eyes went wide when you saw the thickness of the envelope with the stamp of approval from the prison for it to be sent to you.

simon sent you a bracelet made of string that had been braided together. he said you were the first person from the outside to reach out since he got locked up. that broke your heart. it only broke further the more you read.

he was a military man who was tossed aside once the ptsd got too intense. he had been between jobs, and it felt like everything was just too much for him. he got wrapped up in large scale theft, while it paid good, you could only rob so many banks before it all caught up. he had been in for three years now, he was thankful it wasn't a life sentence. not much was stolen, and there was minimal violence. he said that his stature alone intimidated enough people that he didn't need to be violent.

you re-read his letters and it wouldn't be until almost six months of speaking that you finally wore the bracelet. when he said, "i want to see you in it, since i can't buy you a ring." you sent a photo of you wearing it and since then you hadn't taken it off.

the letters were nice, you sent them at least twice a week. even though you two had never met face to face, and the only photos you had of him were mugshots, he knew all the gossip in your work place. he knew the names of all your friends, your favourite saturday night treat and how you took your coffee.

he told you he'd be happy to make you coffee every morning before you went to work. that comment made your cheeks burn.

he often called you his 'wife' to the other prisoners. he had your photos on the wall near his bunk. he even kept the pictures where you looked terrible after you tried to cut your bangs one night. he knew the exact location of where your favourite take out was. he said that he was writing down ideas of where to take you once he got out. "i gotta make the missus feel special."

he even made you a birthday card. his cellmate 'soap' even signed it. you knew all about the explosives expert mactavish. when you looked into his case on the news, your eyes went a little wide. this guy was.. something.

simon did admit that 'soap' had a bit of a crush on you. but he said that 'johnny' was harmless and probably just liked the photo of a woman in the cell.

"he hurt ya, there will be no cell that could keep me from killin' him. no god either."

simon remembered everything.

the way he spoke about you and to you in his letters were nothing but soft. while he had to put on a tough guy exterior, his letters were filled with gentle words. like when he wrote out that he loved you in big text on a spare piece of paper so you could tape it on your mirror to look at every morning.

"i want to be what you get ready to."

"i want to be with you when you wake up."

"i want to come home to you every night. please make me an honest man."

you knew he was a trained killer. he was in special forces before his brief stint as a criminal. he was trained to kill, but in the margins of your letters, his love shined through. despite it all, he was capable of love.

and he wanted to pour all that love into you, his (future) wife.

you two would go on to write letters every week, for almost two years. when you got the letter from him asking if he could put you down as a permanent address when he got out, you cried. of course!

it was a cold spring morning, the sky was misty as you stood outside the gates of the prison. your heart raced, you even arrived early in the hopes he'd be released sooner.

and then you saw him.

those eyes. hard and stern, until he caught sight of you. his shoulder visibly dropped and his pace quickened as he made his way towards you. before you could step forward to meet him, he had you in his arms. his strong arms, littered with tattoos, wrapped around you as he held you close to his strong chest.

you held onto him as the air left your chest from the force he held you. you clutched onto his shoulders and choked out a sob. you squeaked, "holy shit."

he pulled away from you, but still kept you in his arms. you swore you saw minimal mistiness in his eyes. he reached to cup your face. he said quietly, "soft... like i imagined."

you beamed up at him, "of course, si."

"your voice is so nice." he groaned as he then pulled you close once more and buried his nose in your hair. he inhaled the scent of your shampoo and relaxed, "i'm home."

you thought transitioning from being the only person in the flat, to having this hulking, strong man in your home as well, was going to be a bit hard. but that didn't matter when simon got you through the door. his hands were on you, he promised on the universe that he'd romance you tomorrow.

but tonight was just going to be the two of you.

you managed to get his hands off you in order to get your shoes off before you led him to your bedroom. he was close behind you, he had a hand on one of your hips. he wanted to be as close to you as he could, you two had spent enough time apart.

you couldn't even close the bedroom door before he was pulling at the waistband on your pants. his calloused, strong hands felt delicate on you. it was like he was going to break you and he had to be as delicate as possible.

"si."

"i know, darling." he said quietly as he started to undress you. with your help the both of you were soon nude in the afternoon light in your bedroom. you tried to cover your chest with your arms but he pulled your arms away and looked at you.

your eyes met and you got up on your tip-toes to kiss him gently on the lips. soon he picked you up like you weighed less than a bag of potatoes.

he placed you on the bed gently when you half expected him to toss you like a shot-put. he admired your body down on your soft covers and soon got onto the bed too.

you reached for him as he pulled you into a tight kiss. his lips were chapped and you could tease the fresh skin underneath. your nails raked at his strong back, that you knew was covered in tattoos.

you wrapped your legs around him and held him. from a moment he dropped to his side and you two held each other. you tucked his head under your chin as you laid together naked.

it wasn't even meant to be sexually stimulating, you both just wanted to feel one another. to hear your lover's heartbeat meant more to you than anything in that moment.

you kissed the top of his head, you felt his blond hair against your face as you soaked in his warmth. you could almost cry from how nice it felt to be so close to him.

after everything, you had your man.

he said in his low tone, "you feel so soft. after everything, i have you. you made every day in the can worth it." he sighed, "thank you." he kissed at your bare chest.

you replied, "i loved your letters, i have them still." you chuckled, "i didn't want to throw any of them away. it made me feel closer."

"well. i'm not goin' anywhere." he looked up at you and smiled, "you're home and i'm finally here." he pulled away and got him between your legs. he rested on his knees and carefully moved you to his liking. he sat there between your legs and waited for your command.

you looked at him and nodded, "yeah, si. you can go." then tightened your legs around your lover. you held your breath as he slowly pushed his cock into you. you didn't realize how big it was until he was fully inside of you.

"are you alright, love?"

"golden."

the two of you moved together. it took a little bit to get used to the size, but the pressure and speed of his movements made heat spread through your body. like two pieces of the same puzzle, you fit together perfect soon after. it was like you two were always meant to be.

you felt so loved by him, it was so sweet. this was your first time with him and you only had a few sexual experiences with others prior to him. but the entire time you knew each other you didn't sleep with others, you wanted to wait for your man.

"that's my good wife." he groaned as he held onto your hips, "i know, you wanted this for a long time. i bet you thought about me when i was locked up."

you blushed and replied, "i did, si. i thought about you all the time, i even had your picture in my office. i wanted this, i wanted to be with you!" you whined a little as his cock dragged against a sensitive spot.

he chuckled softly, "yeah. i thought about my missus when i was locked up. i used to jerk off to your letters, your photos. messed one of 'em up by gettin' my spunk all over it." he licked his lips, "but now i can see it every day in person."

you smiled when he rested his body against you and continued to thrust up into you. you felt the curl of pleasure of your gut get together which each of his heavy thrusts.

the kisses you shared were intimate and hot. the air of your bedroom was warmed as you made love on the bed you would share together. your soft noises together filled the air.

you clenched onto him, you dug your nails into his shoulders. they were so strong and broad that they were much bigger than your hands.

he kissed you one last time as he quickened his pace. the bed moved against your movements as you both climaxed at the same time. it was like a shock to the system, the heightened euphoria before your head felt full of cotton.

you let out a soft groan as your grip on his loosened and you relaxed into the bed. you felt yourself partially get crushed by your lover but he gave a few more earnest thrusts as he made sure that his cum shot to the back of your womb.

he pulled out and dropped beside you. he tucked some hair behind your ear and wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of his hand. your breathing was heavy, but you were both so happy. to share your first time together felt so special.

you nestled yourself into his arms and held his hand. you exhaled contently then said, "my husband."

he kissed the top of your head, he felt complete, "my missus."

part two

[3liza]

man it sucks so many people on here have absolutely convinced themselves that entire categories of consumer goods like perfume are bougie. you are depriving yourself of little treats by just assuming you cant ever afford anything! this isnt an avocado toast post either im not saying 'just save up and buy it lol', i would never say that, what im saying is perfume (that is: scents in liquid, paste, oil or solid form intended to be worn as a personal adornment) as a commodity starts at "free" and gradually increases in price from there. my favorite perfumes are priced everywhere between $0 and $300. one of the most lauded amber scents in the world (regrettably JUST discontinued), "Amber Paste" by Kuumba Made, is one of those little hippie oils you get at Whole Foods and it cost $10.

and im not telling you to wear perfume, obviously people have allergies and shit, or just dont care for it, im talking to the people who WANT to own fragrances. im saying they aren't all going to cost $150.

you can also get unlimited (unlimited over a long enough timeline, they limit you to a couple or three per visit) free samples at a lot of sephoras and nordstroms if you live somewhere that has those stores (this depends on the location and a lot of other organic factors, you'll have to check ahead of time or just try it if you're nearby, it's sort of random). if you're actually buying something at sephora (and they have a lot of stuff that isn't a million dollars as well, despite their branding) ask for every free sample at checkout that they have. they will often load you up, and not just with perfume. secondhand outlets like Value Village and Goodwill also do huge business in perfume because people are ALWAYS donating it.

sephora also does perfume refills. if you actually do buy a full size bottle, they can refill it for much less than buying a whole new bottle of the stuff. i don't know exactly how much it costs because i havent used this service myself. and idk how careful yiou have to be about reeceipts either, but look into it if you bought a full size and its running out

idk it just bums me out there are all these people who actually want perfume and seem to think it's out of their price range. the really basement-tier dupes of popular brand scents are so good these days it's often worth dropping the $10 at Walmart or Rite Aid too.

some of my favorite ever perfumes were some weird crap i got in a crystal wizard store, or a drug store, or a goodwill, or whatever. if you want perfume you can get it

[mostlysignssomeportents]

You should be using an RSS reader

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

No matter how hard we all wish it were otherwise, the sad fact is that there aren't really individual solutions to systemic problems. For example: your personal diligence in recycling will have no meaningful impact on the climate emergency.

I get it. People write to me all the time, they say, "What can I change about my life to fight enshittification, or, at the very least, to reduce the amount of enshittification that I, personally, experience?"

It's frustrating, but my general answer is, "Join a movement. Get involved with a union, with EFF, with the FSF. Tell your Congressional candidate to defend Lina Khan from billionaire Dem donors who want her fired. Do something systemic."

There's very little you can do as a consumer. You're not going to shop your way out of monopoly capitalism. Now that Amazon has destroyed most of the brick-and-mortar and digital stores out of business, boycotting Amazon often just means doing without. The collective action problem of leaving Twitter or Facebook is so insurmountable that you end up stuck there, with a bunch of people you love and rely on, who all love each other, all hate the platform, but can't agree on a day and time to leave or a destination to leave for and so end up stuck there.

I've been experiencing some challenging stuff in my personal life lately and yesterday, I just found myself unable to deal with my usual podcast fare so I tuned into the videos from the very last XOXO, in search of uplifting fare:

https://www.youtube.com/@xoxofest

I found it. Talks by Dan Olson, Cabel Sasser, Ed Yong and many others, especially Molly White:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTaeVVAvk-c

Molly's talk was so, so good, but when I got to her call to action, I found myself pulling a bit of a face:

But the platforms do not exist without the people, and there are a lot more of us than there are of them. The platforms have installed themselves in a position of power, but they are also vulnerable…

Are the platforms really that vulnerable? The collective action problem is so hard, the switching costs are so high – maybe the fact that "there's a lot more of us than there are of them" is a bug, not a feature. The more of us there are, the thornier our collective action problem and the higher the switching costs, after all.

And then I had a realization: the conduit through which I experience Molly's excellent work is totally enshittification-proof, and the more I use it, the easier it is for everyone to be less enshittified.

This conduit is anti-lock-in, it works for nearly the whole internet. It is surveillance-resistant, far more accessible than the web or any mobile app interface. It is my secret super-power.

It's RSS.

RSS (one of those ancient internet acronyms with multiple definitions, including, but not limited to, "Really Simple Syndication") is an invisible, automatic way for internet-connected systems to public "feeds." For example, rather than reloading the Wired homepage every day and trying to figure out which stories are new (their layout makes this very hard to do!), you can just sign up for Wired's RSS feed, and use an RSS reader to monitor the site and preview new stories the moment they're published. Wired pushes about 600 words from each article into that feed, stripped of the usual stuff that makes Wired nearly impossible to read: no 20-second delay subscription pop-up, text in a font and size of your choosing. You can follow Wired's feed without any cookies, and Wired gets no information about which of its stories you read. Wired doesn't even get to know that you're monitoring its feed.

I don't mean to pick on Wired here. This goes for every news source I follow – from CNN to the New York Times. But RSS isn't just good for the news! It's good for everything. Your friends' blogs? Every blogging platform emits an RSS feed by default. You can follow every one of them in your reader.

Not just blogs. Do you follow a bunch of substackers or other newsletters? They've all got RSS feeds. You can read those newsletters without ever registering in the analytics of the platforms that host them. The text shows up in black and white (not the sadistic, 8-point, 80% grey-on-white type these things all default to). It is always delivered, without any risk of your email provider misclassifying an update as spam:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/10/dead-letters/

Did you know that, by default, your email sends information to mailing list platforms about your reading activity? The platform gets to know if you opened the message, and often how far along you've read in it. On top of that, they get all the private information your browser or app leaks about you, including your location. This is unbelievably gross, and you get to bypass all of it, just by reading in RSS.

Are your friends too pithy for a newsletter, preferring to quip on social media? Unfortunately, it's pretty hard to get an RSS feed from Insta/FB/Twitter, but all those new ones that have popped up? They all have feeds. You can follow any Mastodon account (which means you can follow any Threads account) via RSS. Same for Bluesky. That also goes for older platforms, like Tumblr and Medium. There's RSS for Hacker News, and there's a sub-feed for the comments on every story. You can get RSS feeds for the Fedex, UPS and USPS parcels you're awaiting, too.

Your local politician's website probably has an RSS feed. Ditto your state and national reps. There's an RSS feed for each federal agency (the FCC has a great blog!).

Your RSS reader lets you put all these feeds into folders if you want. You can even create automatic folders, based on keywords, or even things like "infrequently updated sites" (I follow a bunch of people via RSS who only update a couple times per year – cough, Danny O'Brien, cough – and never miss a post).

Your RSS reader doesn't (necessarily) have an algorithm. By default, you'll get everything as it appears, in reverse-chronological order.

Does that remind you of anything? Right: this is how social media used to work, before it was enshittified. You can single-handedly disenshittify your experience of virtually the entire web, just by switching to RSS, traveling back in time to the days when Facebook and Twitter were more interested in showing you the things you asked to see, rather than the ads and boosted content someone else would pay to cram into your eyeballs.

Now, you sign up to so many feeds that you're feeling overwhelmed and you want an algorithm to prioritize posts – or recommend content. Lots of RSS readers have some kind of algorithm and recommendation system (I use News, which offers both, though I don't use them – I like the glorious higgeldy-piggeldy of the undifferentiated firehose feed).

But you control the algorithm, you control the recommendations. And if a new RSS reader pops up with an algorithm you're dying to try, you can export all the feeds you follow with a single click, which will generate an OPML file. Then, with one click, you can import that OPML file into any other RSS reader in existence and all your feeds will be seamlessly migrated there. You can delete your old account, or you can even use different readers for different purposes.

You can access RSS in a browser or in an app on your phone (most RSS readers have an app), and they'll sync up, so a story you mark to read later on your phone will be waiting for you the next time you load up your reader in a browser tab, and you won't see the same stories twice (unless you want to, in which case you can mark them as unread).

RSS basically works like social media should work. Using RSS is a chance to visit a utopian future in which the platforms have no power, and all power is vested in publishers, who get to decide what to publish, and in readers, who have total control over what they read and how, without leaking any personal information through the simple act of reading.

And here's the best part: every time you use RSS, you bring that world closer into being! The collective action problem that the publishers and friends and politicians and businesses you care about is caused by the fact that everyone they want to reach is on a platform, so if they leave the platform, they'll lose that community. But the more people who use RSS to follow them, the less they'll depend on the platform.

Unlike those largely useless, performative boycotts of widely used platforms, switching to RSS doesn't require that you give anything up. Not only does switching to RSS let you continue to follow all the newsletters, webpages and social media accounts you're following now, it makes doing so better: more private, more accessible, and less enshittified.

Switching to RSS lets you experience just the good parts of the enshitternet, but that experience is delivered in manner that the new, good internet we're all dying for.

My own newsletter is delivered in fulltext via RSS. If you're reading this as a Mastodon or Twitter thread, on Tumblr or on Medium, or via email, you can get it by RSS instead:

https://pluralistic.net/feed/

Don't worry about which RSS reader you start with. It literally doesn't matter. Remember, you can switch readers with two clicks and take all the feeds you've subscribed to with you! If you want a recommendation, I have nothing but praise for Newsblur, which I've been paying $2/month for since 2011 (!):

https://newsblur.com/

Subscribing to feeds is super-easy, too: the links for RSS feeds are invisibly embedded in web-pages. Just paste the URL of a web-page into your RSS reader's "add feed" box and it'll automagically figure out where the feed lives and add it to your subscriptions.

It's still true that the new, good internet will require a movement to overcome the collective action problems and the legal barriers to disenshittifying things. Almost nothing you do as an individual is going to make a difference.

But using RSS will! Using RSS to follow the stuff that matters to you will have an immediate, profoundly beneficial impact on your own digital life – and it will appreciably, irreversibly nudge the whole internet towards a better state.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

[parfaitblogs]

risk ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you have the sweetest regular, and it’s probably too soon to tell him you love him!

pairing: spencer reid x barista!reader genre: fluff tags: s1 spencer. who rambles. biblically accurate career!reader sorry if some of the coffee talk makes no sense to you. reader makes all the first moves. y'all kiss (aww). written in timeskip sorta it's not crazy (like maybe a month). not proofread sorryyy (im not). word count: 2.2k a/n: first instalment of my spencer reid eras tour🙂‍↕️ season 1 spencer reid i freaking adore you. he's so cute. gif!! i thought gifs in this series could be cute lol. envisioned 1x10 spencer bc of his nightmares if that means anything. enjoyyy ily im off to work 🏃 

series masterlist

There are many reasons you come to work each morning. The money (an obvious one), your coworkers who usually make each day a little bit more bearable. And Spencer. A regular who had become a little notorious for having an odd coffee order, that most of the store workers hated making. 

Except for you. 

It wasn't especially odd. But in a store that thrived on making the perfect cup of coffee, sometimes it meant remaking it three or four times because the shots didn't pour at the right amount of time, and recalibrating the machine was a hassle you all didn't want to deal with in the middle of the morning rush he usually came during. 

You had taken note of him the first few times he came in — always keeping to himself, flashing the most awkward smile you think you've ever seen on a human being, and ordering his old order (a large latte with as much sugar as you could fit in the cup). It was by the seventh time that had you thinking of him a little more often than just while you were at work. 

He looked a lot more exhausted than usual. His usually tame hair now loose and hanging over his face as he took a weary step towards the counter, fingers brushing strands away and tucking them behind his ears. 

"The latte, right?" you had asked him, and he had frozen, and you stood in fear of this not being the Spencer you thought he was, and you had just asked a total stranger about a coffee they've never ordered. 

But then he let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head. "Uh, no. Not today. Um—do you guys have a limit on how much coffee I can have?"

Your eyebrows furrowed. "No... we don't. I wouldn't recommend any more than like five shots in our largest size, though. It'd probably taste gross. But we can add as much as you need."

"Five's good. Yeah," he nodded his head, fingers wrapped tightly around the leather strap of his messenger bag. 

"Just... a five shot latte?" you clarified, and he froze again, shaking his head once more. 

"Do you recommend anything else? I—uh, I want it to be sweet enough still."

"I can do you a mocha?" you offered. "White chocolate mocha if you're looking for it to be even sweeter."

"I'll try that," he nodded his head, and out came his awkward smile, which had you smiling back just as awkwardly. 

Which was how he got to his current usual. It honestly became a test to ensure your coffee machines were actually running well, considering pulling five well-done espresso shots at once was no easy feat. And, again, most of your coworkers hated making his drink. 

Which was why it was palmed off to you. Every single morning without fail. And maybe in another universe you would join them in the hatred for this man's frustrating drink order. But then, in that universe, you wouldn't get to talk to him every morning (and slowly break him out of whatever shell he had locked himself up in). 

"I never asked," you began, staring at him over the top of the coffee machine while putting white chocolate fudge into the bottom of the cup. "Why did you change your order randomly?"

He parted his lips and his eyebrows creased together for a few seconds, as if he was deciding whether or not to tell you. You were kind of grateful he concluded on trusting you. 

"I wasn't really sleeping. When I asked about changing my order," he explained, hands letting go of the bag strap so he could talk with them. "Then I guess I just liked the taste of it? And it kept me awake. Which is a bonus."

"I can imagine it would," you nodded your head in agreement, flashing him a small smile, which he returned, bashfully. "Why weren't you sleeping?"

He went silent, and you almost cursed yourself for asking. Maybe you had gone too far. It was why, when you had begun to busy yourself with making his drink a little faster, you jumped when he spoke up again.

"I was getting these nightmares," he said, and your head lifted from the milk you were steaming. "Because of what I do for work."

"Law, right?" you asked, and he let out a small laugh, tucking hair behind his ear. 

"Sort of. I'm with the FBI."

"Oh, that's right," you replied, nodding your head in recognition. He had said that to you at some point in the earlier days when he first started coming in, because you had asked where he works so close by to be coming in as often as he did. "Can you tell me what part? Or is that confidential?"

"No, no, I can. I'm with the Behavioural Analysis Unit," when your face twisted into confusion, he added, "We use psychology to analyse serial killers and catch them. Well, not just serial killers, actually. But that's what we focus on."

"And it works?" you asked, eyebrows rising as you placed a lid atop his coffee, sliding it out on the pick-up section where he was standing by. His face fell slightly, and so you were quick to add, "Not—I didn't mean it like that. I just mean I'm shocked. That psychology is all you really need to catch a serial killer."

"It's not all we need. There's a lot of other elements that go into finding one. But our primary focus is how their brain works and we use behavioural science to figure that out. Actually, we used to be called the Behavioural Science Unit when it was first created."

He was too busy talking animatedly with his hands for him to have picked up his coffee, and you were too busy watching him with a smile to remind him it was ready. 

When he did reach for it, you could feel the familiar pang of disappointment that had started shooting through you every time he was picking up his coffee and leaving. A weird sensation that left you clawing at the walls of your brain to come up with something to say to keep him there. 

It was probably why you blurted out, "Are you seeing anyone?" Which was followed by stunned silence from him, and regretful silence from yourself. What a question. 

Slowly, he began to shake his head, his lips twitching into a confused frown. "No. I'm—I'm not." 

It shocked you a little. He wasn't jaw dropping, per se. But he was attractive. You had said it a few times to your coworkers whenever they asked why you talked to him so much — there was a running joke that you were already secretly dating him behind their backs. Not funny.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to..." you hesitated. "Go out for dinner? Maybe? I'm so sorry if I'm totally overstepping. In fact, I encourage you to say no, because this is a little weird. I'm so sorry," you rambled when you were met with only silence from him, wondering if you had weirded him out of the ability to talk. 

"With me?" he pushed out, his voice a little higher pitched than usual, and you nodded your head, because maybe he wasn't weirded out. Maybe you had just flustered him. You hoped so, at least.

"Yeah," you said. "Is that weird? Or is it okay? To ask that?"

"It's okay. Yeah. Yes. I would love—like to. I mean, that would be nice. Yeah," he stammered, and you smiled. 

"Here," you held your hand out and gestured for his coffee, taking it back and picking up a Sharpie to write your number atop the lid, before you slid it back to him. "I get off work at one. Call me?"

"I will," he nodded, eyes fixated on the number for a few seconds more, before he returned his eyes to you. "I will. Um—bye!" he took a step back, and you let out a loud laugh when he stumbled into a chair behind him. 

He was sheepish as he waved to you, bidding you another goodbye, the sound of the bell above the door ringing once, and then again when it fell shut. 

And you had, somehow, secured a date with Spencer.

Which turned into two dates. Then three. And then, with some weird stroke of luck and twist of fate, you were spending every evening you could at his apartment, and him at yours. 

But you were yet to kiss. 

Not by any particular reason. Really, nothing either of you did ever really called for a kiss. Which was as frustrating as it was understandable. Frustrating, because you felt like you were simply friends, who sometimes went out for dinner, and had feelings for each other. But he had told you very early on he'd never been with anyone before, let alone ever been on a date. Hence; understandable. 

But frustration was more overwhelming than you had thought, because you were on his couch, blanket draped over both of your bodies, as he read you a book — The Chameleon. A short story by Anton Chekhov (an author whom you were only barely familiar with). And yet, all you could think about was kissing him. 

In your defence, he was very kissable, as you stared at his lips while he spoke, your heart stuttering quite uncomfortably in your chest. You weren't sure what it was precisely about him that made him like that. Maybe it was the natural pout of his lips, or how they twitched in humour at the little jokes Chekhov had written into the book that only made sense in Russian, despite him attempting to translate it for you. 

Whatever it was, it was overriding your senses, and in true Spencer fashion, he hadn't noticed you weren't intently listening to his reading until he glanced down to catch a reaction to something he said. You caught as he closed the book and placed it off to the side, jostling you from your haze. 

"You don't like the book, do you?" he asked, and you were quick to shake your head. 

"No, I do," which was true. The parts you were actively listening to you enjoyed. "Sorry, I'm distracted."

"By what?" he shifted on the couch to face you.

You fell silent at that, the answer hanging on the tip of your tongue, unsure whether or not saying it could ruin things. You didn't think it would. "You."

"I'm distracting?" he asked, eyebrows creasing together and a confused frown pulling his lips down. 

Which confused you. "Yes?"

"I don't think I'm meant to be sorry for that," he said. "But I am."

"You shouldn't be," you breathed out with a small laugh. 

"Right," he nodded his head, laughing too, awkwardly. "How am I distracting?"

You studied his face for a few moments, which ended up being a pathetic excuse for a lip study, because you were fixated on them again, and you decided Spencer probably didn't even realise that that was what you were doing. 

"We haven't kissed yet," you told him, instead. 

"No. We haven't," he agreed. 

"Do you just not want to kiss me?" you asked.

He did that thing he does when he's thinking — furrowed eyebrows and parted lips, eyes blinking a few times, before he comes up with his response. 

"I just don't want you to be disappointed. I've never kissed anyone before."

"I concluded that," you answered. "I won't be disappointed."

"You might be," he mumbled, and his gaze averted from your own, which had another smile stretching across your lips. 

"Only one way to find out, right?"

He hesitated before nodding his head, lifting his eyes back up to look at you. It was then that you learned that, like everything else, you might have to make the first move on him. Again.

The thought made you laugh, and though he wanted to, he didn't get a chance to question why you were laughing, because your hands were on his face and you were pulling him into you, lips meeting his in a gentle kiss that elicited a surprised squeak from him. 

"You've gotta kiss me back," you murmured against his lips, and his response was a quiet 'oh'. 

But he was a fast learner, because soon after he was. Objectively, it wasn't the best kiss you've ever had in your life. But it got better by the second, and he was doing enough to make your heart stutter in your chest, his hands reaching up to cup your own face, palms and fingers covering the mass of your cheeks. 

His hands there provided him the ability to keep you there, and you had to pry them off your face so you were able to pull back for air, breaths coming out in short pants. Only for a short second, because he was chasing your lips again, and you laughed, before letting him kiss you again. And again. And again. 

Until both of you were out of air, and he was glassy-eyed and pink-lipped. Though, you were probably his mirror image of that.

And he smiled at you, crookedly. And you wondered if it was too soon to say you loved him. 

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[overwhelmed-overweight]

Alright, can we take a second to clarify what a binge is?

As someone with BED I'm so sick of seeing "oopsie doopsie I'm so fat, I binged on 3 slices of bread uwu" because it diminishes the struggles of people who ACTUALLY deal with binge-eating. And yes, I'm 100% gatekeeping, this shit is getting so out of hand.

Let's look at the definition of a binge:

Notice the keyword in all of these definitions: EXCESSIVE

A binge is not

Eating a normal sized meal and regretting it

Going past your calorie limit for the day

Just eating quickly

Eating until you're full (or just a little past)

"Oh nooo, I had 2 apples in 1 sitting, I binged so hard 🥺👉👈"

It's really fucking damaging to a lot of people when you try to make binge-eating look dainty and quirky.

I have functional control over my binges now so they are nowhere as bad as they used to be, but they were horrifying in the past. My binges entailed panic and a total lack of control. I've been in the midst of a panic attack while stuffing my face more than once. I've had many blackout binges in my life where I can't even recall having binged, but the evidence is all right in front of me. I've woken up with a bruised stomach lining, making it excruciating to even sit up for days. I've gotten lightheaded from eating so much and so fast that I'm not taking enough time to breathe. I've thrown up blood, bile, and acid after binges before. I've eaten so much that I've had to throw up, not in a purging way, but because the food physically isn't fitting in my fucking stomach. I'm so lucky I never ruptured my stomach, I honestly don't know how I didnt. But despite everything, no matter what, I would be right back to eating in as little as an hour. It's a vicious fucking cycle.

It's. not. fucking. cute.

You will KNOW when you have binged. Sure, it can look very different for different people, but the fact remains that there is a MASSIVE fucking difference between an actual binge and just eating a lot. Binges are often the result of an emotional AND physiological impulse, not just emotional eating.

Please just be more considerate with your wording the next time you go to tell everyone that your life is over because you ate a fucking granola bar.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

snow white

kinktober, day fifteen

a/n: i really wanted to play around with a fairytale this kinktober season and i came up with maybe too many ideas for a bunch of different ones, but this one just stuck with me for months, so i had to go with this one.

summary: that was often how it was with your seven miners. In certain moments, they just became something else, something entirely different and much more ethereal than seven mortal men, but instead fused together into a sea of love that they let you float in. 

warnings: snow white!reader x various, dark!prince!billy russo, miners!steve rogers, bucky barnes, thor odinson, miguel o'hara, marc spector, matt murdock, frank castle, dark content, smut, fairytale retelling, innocent!reader, references to loss of virginity, arranged engagement, assassination attempt, violence, poison apple, kidnapping, somno, polyamory, reverse harem, time jump (for domestic and slutty purposes), kissing, fingering, dirty talk, size kink, manhandling, overstimulation, oral, handjob, squirting, multiple orgasms, gangbang, penetrative sex, anal, double penetration, double penetration in one hole, unprotected sex, creampie, dark ending

word count: 6746

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2024

Once upon a time, there lived a princess. 

You, to be exact. 

However, your day-to-day life, that wasn’t a part of you that one could define as something very regal, not lately, not since your father had died and left you in the hands of his late wife, a vain woman he had only married a short time prior to his passing. 

There wasn’t much you were allowed to do any longer as your stepmother was perhaps a bit too overprotective of you in her own cold way, even though many of the chores the sea of servants that buzzed within the castle took care of, that for some reason wasn’t off limits to you, if not encouraged by the queen. 

But it was all out of love, wasn’t it? 

“Oh, there you are!” your gaze fluttered up to find the prim and familiar figure stalking towards you in the gardens, “what in the world are you doing out by this ghastly old well?”

“Prince William,” you stiffened up slightly at his presence and swiftly did a curtsy, “w-what are you doing here?” 

“Ah, come on, Snow,” his palm brushed against the edge of the stone well, briefly cleaning it a bit before he leaned against it, “how many times do I have to tell you to call me Billy?” 

“Your Highness,” you swallowed nervously, “I’m just not sure that would be completely appropriate. You deserve to be paid with the utmost respect.” 

“Oh, I agree,” a sly smirk slithered across his chiselled features, “though, I do think my fiancé should be allowed just a little leniency.” 

“Oh,” you put on a smile for the royal, “you got engaged? Congratulations! Is it to someone I know?” 

“I’d sure hope so,” he grinned, and the next words that rolled off his tongue caused your face to drop, “it’s you.”

Blinking back at him, you couldn’t help but flinch as he stepped to get closer to you.

“…excuse me?” you breathed, your hand fluttering up to the neckline of your modest gown as you felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest.

“We’re to be married,” he caught your hand and kept on smiling, “I just sorted the last of the details out with your mother a few moments ago.” 

“Stepmother,” you corrected him hazily before uttering, “I–… how come I didn’t know about any of this? Why didn’t anyone think to ask me what I wanted?” 

Billy’s face then scrunched up at your question, as if it was the strangest of reactions to have at such news, “well you know now.” 

“That’s–,” you stared back at him, your eyes wide and horrified before you ripped your arm back out of his hold, “no.”

“What?” 

“No, I don’t wanna marry you,” the words flowed out of your lungs. 

But to your astonishment, the prince of the neighbouring kingdom then only chuckled, “what do you mean you don’t want to marry me? Of course you do, everyone does.”

“Well, I don’t.” 

Slowly, he seized your arm in a bruising grip before inching closer to you and leaning down to sternly whisper in your ear, “you better get rid of this attitude before you become my wife.”

The following week when the queen suggested that you go for a walk through the nearby woods, an activity you’d formerly thought to be banned as all your previous pleas throughout the years had failed, you nearly stumbled as you rushed to accept the opportunity. 

Where this newfound kindness had come from that you had no clue of, though you weren’t going to argue now as the chains around you slowly began to slacken. 

The queen’s protective nature for you stayed fast however when she sent a guard to accompany you, though one you’d never encountered before as you spent so much time in the castle that you knew all of the others by name. Perhaps he was just new? 

Though when you eventually came upon a clearing and you decided to take a small break in that peaceful and serene glen, it all changed so quickly that you nearly got whiplash. 

One moment, you were grinning up at the treetops, whistling back to the birds building a nest up there, and the next, the guard shadowing you had raised a dagger up high and lunged it down upon you. Thankfully, luck was for once on your side and you managed to twist just enough for it to miss your sternum and instead slice through your sleeve and cut your shoulder. 

When you tried to run, a shrill scream erupting your frame, the knight caught your arm before you could manage to escape.

Though just as all hope seemed lost, when the dappled sunlight caught and reflected in the shiny blade as he rose it back up high, it never pierced your heart as a pickaxe instead suddenly appeared from out of nowhere, flying through the air and lodging itself right above the guard’s brow. 

He stayed standing for a second, blood trickling down his face, before the warrior’s body fell backwards and collapsed on the forest floor. 

Your frame shook like a leaf on the wind as you stood there, eyes wide with horror, watching his brain leak and stain the moss below your feet. 

“Are you alright, my lady?” a deep voice called from behind you, though it still took you a moment before you were able to rip yourself out of your petrified state. 

As you slowly twisted around, you saw seven men standing at the edge of the clearing, all of them except the blonde one in the middle with a pickaxe clutched in their hands. 

“Are you hurt?” the miner missing his tool spoke again, taking a ginger step closer. 

Still reeling, unable to fathom that you nearly just lost your life, you blinked, “I–… I–…” though just continued to stand there, frozen in the middle of the storm. 

“You’re bleeding,” a dark-haired man further down the line uttered before the muddled confusion that bloomed on your horrified features caused him to gently gestured to your arm and guide your gaze down to your shoulder. 

“O-oh…” you blinked back at the gash, though still couldn’t pierce through the fog to do anything more. As your glossy eyes flickered back up to gaze at your heroes, the woods around you began to spin as you then blubbered, “you saved me… I–… I–…” before the whole forest went black and you collapsed into a pair of quick arms. 

“Wow, it’s alright,” a voice washed over you as soon as you came to, “you’re okay.”

After your eyes had found the source of the deep timbre, they then flickered around to take in the unfamiliar home you now found yourself in.

“Where am I?” you asked hesitantly as you sat up in the bed you’d been planted on. Looking around the space, it wasn’t the only one as the whole room was filled with enough sleeping arrangements for all of the strangers. 

“Don’t worry, you’re safe,” the long golden locks on the man sitting by your feet rustled slightly as he raised up both hands in a gesture of goodwill, “you’re in our home,” he informed you before his neck twisted and he shouted out the open bedroom door, “hey guys! She’s awake!”

As the rest of the men from the forest began to filter into the dormitory, your legs curled up beneath the blanket and you swiftly hugged your knees to your chest. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” one of them asked in a careful tone. 

“I–…” you felt your heart thump in your chest as your wide eyes danced between the burly figures, “what do you–, w-why did you take me with you?” 

Taking a step forward, a dark-haired one said, “well, we couldn’t in good conscience just leave you back there and let you bleed next to your assassin,” he then tilted his head, “plus my healing supplies were all back here.” 

As you glanced down to discover your slashed sleeve cut off and missing with a bandage instead wrapped around the ghastly cut on your upper arm, you then blinked back up at the stranger and asked, “you’re a healer?”

“No, not really, I’m a miner, we all are,” he gestured to the others. 

“Yeah, we work in the mines out west on the other side of the village,” the one leaning against the doorframe shared. 

You faintly recalled the mines they spoke of, though you hadn’t been out there since you were a child, the memory however of the glimmering jewels it produced still sparkled brightly in your mind. 

“Hey, do you mind me asking,” the one standing beside the pickaxe-throwing blonde spoke, “why in the world would a royal guard want to kill you? I mean, forgive me if your looks are deceiving, but you look like just an innocent young girl.”

Averting your gaze to the quilted blanket draped over your form, you uttered, “it’s probably because my stepmother commanded him to…”

“Wow…” one of them breathed, “she has that kinda power? Then you must be, what–, some kind of lady?”

“Princess, actually,” you blinked up at them and watched as they all froze up, instantly growing so quiet that you would have been able to hear a single pin drop in the cottage, “thank you all so very much for saving me. I can’t even begin to fathom what would have happened if you hadn’t intervened.” 

“Oh, well…” the blonde one in the middle shifted slightly, visibly nervous at the discovery of who you truly were, “you’re welcome, your–, uhm, highness.”

“Please, just call me Snow. That’s what everyone does,” you waved a hand and offered him a soft smile, “what are your names?”

“Well, I’m Steve,” the one who’d thrown the pickaxe pressed his palm to his broad chest, “and that there is Bucky, Thor and Marc,” he gestured to the other miners, “and that’s Matthew, Frank and Miguel.”

“Miguel,” you spoke the name of your healer, “thank you for patching up my arm.” 

“Does it feel alright?” he glanced down at the bandage, he too clearly not having a clue how one should act around a royal, “because I could go get some herbs if you–”

“No, thank you, I think I’ll manage” you gently declined before uttering, “although, I–… what’s to happen now? I can’t just go back to the castle, I’d be dead within minutes.”

“Don’t you have anyone you trust somewhere else? Someone you could stay with?” the one named Matthew asked. 

The only person your mind managed to scrounge up was the prince you’d been unwillingly promised to, and he wasn’t just an individual you didn’t trust, but also one you feared.

“No…”

“Uh…” Marc exhaled before his glance flickered across the rest, “would you excuse us for a moment?” 

And as you offered a nod, they all filtered back out the bedroom and huddled up just outside the door, though you could still faintly catch a word or two in their discussion.

“Okay,” Steve crossed his burly arms across his chest when they all entered the room once more, “you can stay here for tonight, and then tomorrow we’ll help you come up with a plan.”

The following day, when all the miners had gone off to the mountains for the day’s work, they’d said their goodbyes before leaving you in the cottage, fully expecting you to no longer be there once they returned. 

But you didn’t leave, you couldn’t have. Where would you have run off to?

So instead, to both try and convince the entire group of you staying, yet also in a makeshift attempt at thanking them for how they’d come to your aid, you spend the day cleaning their messy abode and welcoming them home to a dining table brimming with a roasted feast, a simple comfort none of them had seen in a while. 

It had only been one of them who hadn’t instantly jumped onto the unanimous agreement to let you become a part of their household, but he swiftly received an elbow to the rib to help change his tune.

Not long passed before you soon grew close, and one night, after weeks of you experiencing a sensation you’d never even known existed, something unfamiliar that each and every one of them evoke and flooded your senses with, you finally couldn’t hold your tongue any longer as your innocence had begun to thrust you into the abyss of worry. 

You still hadn’t received a permanent sleeping arrangement even though you’d been here for a while, each one of the miners still took turns letting you borrow one of their simple beds, all of them lined up along the perimeter of the shared bedroom, and let you rest there for the night while they took the humble couch. 

So as you sat on your bed for the night and your gaze shadowed the men as finished getting ready for the night, shedding their clothing and washing up in a small basin by one of the windows, the unfamiliar feeling fluttered once more in your lower belly and drove you to part your lips and utter, “hey Miguel?” you caught the attention of the healer of the lot, “I think there might be something wrong with me…” 

Patting his damp face dry with a small rag, he brought it down upon his shoulder as he furrowed his dark brows over at you, “why would you think that?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you met his glance, “I feel strange…”

“Strange how?” he took a seat at the foot of the mattress you were curled up on, “explain it to me.”

“Well,” you began hesitantly, “ever since I got here, since I met you all, this weird feeling keeps bubbling up inside of me, like I’m about to faint or something, like I can’t think, and all I can focus on is just this odd tingling sensation almost, like–, I don’t know how to explain it, I know it sounds weird, but I swear, something’s going on, I don’t know what, but it’s weird.”

The man’s head then promptly tilted to the side and you heard him exhale, “oh, honey…” 

Your explanation also caught the attention of the rest of the miners and even conjured a small laugh in some, though Steve swiftly stepped in and barked, “hey! Shut it!” rapidly putting a holt to Bucky and Marc’s amusement. 

Placing a palm on your blanket-covered shin, Miguel then uttered gently, “I think what you’re describing isn’t something bad.”

“Are you sure?” you sat up a bit more. 

“Positive,” he nodded, trying his best to keep a straight face unlike some of the men behind him who still struggled even after getting scalded. 

“So, I’m not sick?”

“No,” he shook his head, “you’re not.”

“Your Highness,” Frank then spoke up, “have you never–, uhm, been with someone else?” 

“What do you mean?” your brows knitted together. 

“Okay, uh…” Thor sighed softly, taking your confusion as enough of an answer, “have you ever–, let’s say, kissedsomeone before?”

“Well, yeah, I’ve been kissed before,” your thoughts drifted to Prince Billy, though none of those times had stirred any sensations of this sort, “but I’ve never felt like this, not ever,” your gaze then danced between and caught each of the stares the seven miners directed at you, “what’s going on? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Have you touched yourself while you feel like this?” your eyes suddenly grew at Bucky’s bold question, “does your little honeypot get all wet from this feeling?” and when you found yourself too stunned to conjure an answer, he went on, this time with a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, “I mean, if you’d like, one of us could help you. Teach you how to make it feel better…” 

“You know how to make it better?” you blinked back at him.

“Oh yeah,” his gaze dipped a bit as his grin grew wider. 

“Do you want one of us to help you?” you then heard Steve offer. 

And as your head began to rock in a soft nod, Marc asked, “which one do you want?”

But as you stared around at all of them, you murmured, “I–… I don’t know…”

“Just pick the one that gives you the most butterflies,” Matt tried to aid your decision, “the one that makes you feel like your heart lives between your thighs.”

“…do I have to pick?” you asked quietly as you blinked around at all of them, now clustered by the small bed, “couldn’t you all just help me?”

“…you want all of us to help you?” Miguel’s head dipped slightly as he tilted forward in surprise. 

“At once?” Frank asked. 

And as you offered them a nod, they all exchanged looks, silently agreeing before Steve uttered, “alright.” 

With all of the miners surrounding the bed, they swiftly kneeled down on the floor in a half-moon around you before they began. 

Before Marc, Thor and Frank the furthest from you grabbed a hold of the blanket draped over you and began to tug it down and let it crumble below your feet, Matt and Miguel to your right gently prepared you and began to undo your confusion. 

Each of their touches were feathery in the beginning as their fingers ghosted over your frame. At first, it wasn’t even in that scandalous of places as Steve and Matt even continued to hold your hands long after the thin chemise you wore had been tugged at, the neckline pushed down to expose your boobs, heaving with every fierce breath you sucked in, and the skirts shoved up, letting the linen bunch well above your hips to uncover the place where the dizzying sensation peaked to unimaginable heights. 

When the first touch fluttered between your legs, your eyes swiftly flickered up to find Bucky and Steve’s directly to your left as the pleasure was one you’d never even thought possible. 

You rapidly melted into the bliss as lingering embarrassment faded away and you soon let them crack you open even further, folding up your legs to grant them all better access to your haven. 

Even before your eyes fluttered closed, the job of deciphering which hand belonged to who was an impossible task. Floating in the sea of touches, not a millimetre of your skin was left unexplored, and neither were your untouched holes as they all turned you so molten that at one point everyone had at least one finger warm within you at once. 

Four digits stretched out your lips and both gave your mouth something to drool around and also let your moans melt against their flesh. Three of them slipped in and worked in tandem to stretch out your virgin cunt. They’d even gotten you so relaxed that two managed to sneak a finger inside of your tight little ass, plugging you up completely.

And when the still unfamiliar high began to bubble within you and creep near, worry first began to billow out of you once more, though after some soothing sentences and an ask of trust, they carried you through the overwhelming ecstasy till you were trembling in their hands and begging them to grant you that gift one more time, like an addict, already craving that sweetness once again.  

ONE YEAR LATER

“Ah-ha-ha!” Thor’s jovial rumble was the first sign you got that any of the fellows had returned after a day at the mines, “come here, princess!” 

As he entered the cottage, arms spread out wide, he excitedly caught you in a hug and lifted you up as he swung you around till you became no more than an ethereal giggle in his hold. 

“Oh, no,” you complained light-heartedly through your laugh as his stale smell of sweat mixed with soot flooded your senses, “you’re so dirty!” you tried to glance down at your dress to see if any of the grime from the mine had transferred.

Letting out a chuckle as he only tightened his hold around your frame, “you love it,” he tilted his head out of the crook of your neck and planted a kiss to your lips. 

“You’re not–,” you continued your giggle even as his own mouth tried to smother the sound, “Thor, you need to bathe first.” 

“Oh, really?” he cocked his head and slyly narrowed his eyes, “you sure you don’t wanna repeat the welcome home you gave me yesterday where you couldn’t wait? I mean, I could barely get in the door before you had your lips on me, struggling to fit my balls inside that little mouth of yours?” 

His lips first pressed against your now hot cheek before they wandered across in a straight line down to your own, not simmering down his eagerness even as the rest of his fellow miners began to filter into the cabin. 

“Oh, so that’s why you ran ahead,” Marc’s sigh caused you to break the peck, “of course.” 

Still entangled in Thor’s strong arms, you glanced over at the familiar men who crossed the threshold and slowly began to set down their tools and peel off their muddy boots.  

“Heya, boys,” a warm bubble burst within you as you flashed them all a smile. Attempting to slip out of the burly hug, Thor still kept his palm interlocked in your own as you made your way around through the crowd and began to greet the others, “how was the mine today?”

“It was fine,” Frank muttered in your ear when you hugged him. 

And as your free arm lastly found Steve’s broad shoulder in an embrace, his low voice tickled the side of your neck as he exhaled, “hi Snow.”  

“Hi,” you pressed a soft kiss to his bearded cheek. 

As you retracted and let Thor pull you back against his warmth, Miguel asked, “so, what’s for dinner tonight?” as Thor leaned back against the sturdy dining table and dragged you with him, half planting you in his lap as he leaned you back against him. 

Though as the softness of your bottom came to rest against the miner’s pelvis, a palpable hardness distracted you even through the layers of your dress, “uhm, I’ve got a lentil stew going over the fire,” your breathing began to grow unsteady as he discreetly grinded you down against his desperation, “it should be done soon.” 

“Good,” Miguel smiled, haven not yet noticed the nefarious activities that had begun right under his own nose, “I’m starving.” 

“What else have you gotten up to today?” Matt asked as he sat down on the bench where Marc had already planted himself, “did you begin that book we were talking about?” 

“I–, uh, I started it, but I didn’t get that far,” your words became a struggle to form as you tried to fight through the fog Thor thrust you into, “ended up taking a nap instead.”

“Well, that’s good,” Bucky noted, “you were tossing and turning so much last–,” though his sentence then promptly crumbled as a soft whimper finally slipped out past your lips and drew his attention to the way Thor’s hands on your hips subtly rocked you down against him, “seriously?” he swiftly scalded him, “you couldn’t keep it in your pants for even two seconds?” 

“Right,” Thor scoffed, “like I'm the only one who’s desperate,” he then buried his grasp in your skirts and before you had the chance to protest, picked it up to prove his point. 

It was frankly a bit embarrassing how wet you already were, though when Thor grabbed ahold of your thighs and lifted you up, your back plastered against his chest as his hold on you spread you wide for all to see, your cunt couldn’t help but drool for them so fiercely that even the one furthest away from you could catch a glimpse of the glimmer glinting back at him in a lewd plea.  

“Hm…” Bucky hummed warmly as he kneeled down before you, though only let his palm come up to ghost against your inner thigh and didn’t grant you the sweet relief of petting your pussy as she cried out for his touch, “your Highness, are you sure it wasn’t something else you were doing all day while we were off at work?” 

“I–,” an airy chuckle innocently escaped your lungs, “what are you implying?” 

“Well, either you were too impatient to wait for us,” you sucked in a breath as his hand finally drifted up to offer your core the softest of pets, teasing you further into madness, “or just the mere sound of the front door opening got you dripping the way that you are right now…” 

“So, which is it, princess?” Frank smirked, arms crossed as he leaned back against the wall beside the fireplace, “are you a whore or is it just for us?” 

“You already know the answer to that…” you hazily smiled, though swiftly let out a whimper as Bucky removed his hand, denying you of any further pleasure. However, before you could part your lips in a complaint, Thor set you back down on your now wobbly feet. 

Your gaze found Steve’s as he took a seat beside Marc, unlike the rest of the men who began to swarm around you, their broad hands swiftly reaching for your dress. It nearly didn’t even get the chance to drop back down and cover you from how Thor had torn it up, before they nearly ripped it to shreds. 

And when no fabric was left to conceal your frame, your moment with your feet on the ground turned out to be more fleeting than you’d thought as both Frank and Miguel then shifted to stand behind you and their grasps found your form, first guiding your arms around their necks for support before they plucked you up. 

As Matt stepped up and seized your flaming cheeks to dip his lips down to yours, a whisper then washed over you as the sweet kiss ended, “can I have a taste?” and as your head began to nod, your nose momentarily nuzzled against his own before his knees buckled. 

Both Thor and Bucky enveloped a hand around your ankles, keeping you spread wide even as Matthew dropped down and made you squirm as his hot breath fanned across your glistening core. 

As your lips parted in a gasp, staring down at Matt as he dipped down to kiss your puffy pearl, in your periphery you just managed to spot how everyone’s free hand had found the tent in their pants, squeezing it for an ounce of relief as they watched you intently. 

When Matt’s tongue lapped through your petals, it wasn’t till he tilted his chin and sucked your clit into his mouth that your gaze fluttered up to find Marc’s across the room. 

“O-oh, fuck,” you moaned into the cottage, “I need–, I–, I need more–,” the plea left your lips as you tried to keep your stare lock. Though the love pecks felt incredible, it was bordering the line of crude torture, only tickling at your senses and not granting you the sweet relief the deepest depths of you yearned for so fiercely. 

It seemed like an eternity that Marc took to get up from his seat and actually cross the small room, though when he did, his palm briefly patted Matthew’s shoulder and caused the kisses to cease. 

“How much more, princess?” Marc asked as Matt got up and let him switch places. 

Though when your answer came in the form of your gaze dropping to his hard length, freed and heavy in his tight fist, one of the men holding you up murmured in your ear, “you want him to fuck you, huh? Is that what you want?” Frank’s deep timbre seeped directly into your bones as his lips dipped down to nip at your neck. 

“Uh-huh,” you nodded hazily, keeping your eyes glued as Marc stepped up and briefly swept the bulbous head of his cock through your folds. 

For a second, you thought it had been Marc himself who had slowly thrust his entirety inside of you, though in actuality when Miguel and Frank’s hold on you tightened, they’d been the ones to tilt your body just as the girth caught your entrance, and lower you down on it in one fell motion. 

“There you go, Snow,” Bucky breathed as your eyes fluttered at the stretch. Halting his palming of himself, Bucky’s hand soothingly swept up the length of you till it found your tit and cupped it gently, his calloused thumb stretching up to flick against your pebbly nipple and get your eyes to blink back open. 

Marc’s efforts were purposely slow and he gently began to warm you up for what you expected was in store. Though on one of his long and deep strokes, plunging all the way inside of your little pussy before yanking himself out completely, you only blinked and when your eyes fluttered back open, it wasn’t Marc’s cock that was buried deep within you, but instead the last man to join the fray. 

“S-Steve, o-oh!” your head tilted back slightly as his fat girth split you open. 

“Oh, how do you always feel better than I recall?” Steve groaned, the tip of him already bumping against your cervix. 

“It’s that fucking princess pussy,” Thor grunted, “I swear it’s like magic or something.” 

“No matter how many of us try and fit inside of you at once, we just can’t ruin you,” Miguel kissed your cheek, “you just snap right back and we have to stretch you all the way back out again.” 

Steve, Marc and Matt before you then took turns, fucking you slowly and building a rhythm till they became like a river, each of them only sinking in and letting their balls tap against your slick skin before they pulled back out and let the other one take a dive. As the silky pattern pushed you closer to the peak and made you dazed out of your mind, you stopped being able to tell who was fucking you when, as they all just flowed together and worked your body as one soul being. That was often how it was with your seven miners. In certain moments, they just became something else, something entirely different and much more ethereal than seven mortal men, but instead fused together into a sea of love that they let you float in. 

Once your first of many orgasms washed over you and rocked through your soul, your body was set back down, though only for a mere moment before Bucky picked you up into his arms and carried you with him as he lowered himself onto one of the long benches that stretched out on either side of the dining table. 

As he settled you atop of him and slipped inside your still throbbing cunt, your head tilted up in the direction of the men whose hard lengths were still glistening with your juices and your hands fluttered up to motion for them, grabbing for their girths, way before your fingers could reach them, though when they did, Steve didn’t let your touch linger on himself but instead plucked up your face and parted your lips with his cock, letting your hands take care of Matt and Marc on either side of him while he gently fucked your mouth. 

“Oh, shit,” Frank then appeared before you, wedging himself in beside Steve’s bulky form, “share some of that sugar,” his palm found your cheek and stroked it softly. As your lips left Steve with an audible pop, Frank’s fingers drifted up to bury themselves in your locks before he guided you to him and groaned as he finally felt you swallow his cock, “yes…”

However, what you didn’t expect was how Steve’s hand too fluttered up to tangle itself in the other side of your hair before they both took over your head’s movements, passing you back and forth between the both of them, though only granting themselves one long bob at a time.  

When a pair of fingers softly swept over the last of your holes, your eyebrows knit together at the familiar teasing. 

“What do you say, Snow?” you heard Thor utter from behind you as he brought his palm down to smack the curve of your ass, watching intently as Miguel’s fingertips rub against you, only shyly dipping inside the hole just above where Bucky split you open, “exactly how much more are you in the mood for today?”

And when you took your chance to catch your breath, you shot back your needy answer through your heaving intakes of air, “all of it.” 

It wasn’t till Miguel let out a gravelly groan that you knew which one had gotten the chance to claim your ass first. When a dollop of his spit landed upon your skin, his thumb wasted no time to soar up and rub it in, swiping over your little rosebud as it stretched to take his girth. 

The task of keeping up your attention to the four miners at your head became an impossible task as they gave your mouth a break for your breathless moans to flow freely and they instead came to your aid and helped guide your hands around to grant them all a bit of affection. 

With both of your holes snuggly filled up, you felt yourself near the edge once more, though it was Thor who pushed you over it as his hand coiled around your waist and snaked down to find your swollen clit in a lavish pattern. 

Though when you buried your face in the crook of Bucky’s neck and trembled between his and Miguel’s burly forms, Thor’s touch dissipated and though you half expected him to join the rest up top, it still didn’t manage to surprise you what he opted for instead. 

“Holy shit!” you shakily gasped, your palm nearly slapping Bucky in the chest as you felt Thor angle himself behind you and press his cock in beside Miguel’s, who’s dick was already more than enough for you to handle on its own. 

“Shh,” Bucky tilted your chin down for you to catch his eye, “don’t act like this is your first time, princess,” he kept his own pace selfish as the silky wall parting him from the rest grew thinner than ever, “you can take it,” his palm tapped your cheek lightly as he smiled at how you overcame the staggering sensation, “just as you always do.” 

And take it you did, soon gushing all over them as the three miners emptied themselves into your holes, pumping you full and leaving you a leaky mess for the remainder to enjoy while they all found a seat to relax in and watch you descend further into madness. 

It was Frank who then flipped your molten form around, planting himself on the very same bench, and twisted you around for your back to be melting down against his front. He slipped in effortlessly as the two loads that dripped out of your ass aided his fat girth as he buried himself completely, fucking the other miner’s cum that much deeper inside your utterly wrecked hole. 

“How’s she doing, huh?” Steve asked as he and Matthew stepped up between your parted legs, his fingers coasting down to spread open and inspect your pussy as it too leaked, “you think she can take a bit more? You think she can take on the two of us?” he briefly pumped two of his fingers into your quivering hole as he awaited your answer. 

“I–, you can try,” you panted, hazily blinking down at how Matt’s digits too came down between your thighs and began to draw rude patterns over your puffy pearl, “I don’t know if I can do it, but you can try.”

“Atta girl,” Matt flashed you a smile before each of their touches was traded out for something much more overwhelming. 

With Marc as the last one remaining above your head, he stayed patient and simply stood there, stroking your hair and even dipping down to press his lips to your cheek as your poor pussy struggled to take the two cocks your loves attempted to ease in there. Though, when your eyes widened at the eventual success, the man behind you only let you stare at the severe stretch a moment before he tilted your head back, supporting it with both of his hands as you caught on and parted your lips for him. 

As he fucked your face, one of his hands briefly swept down to your throat as he fed you more of his length and spotted how a dull bulge of him appeared each time you gagged around his girth. 

You felt as if you’d slipped into a trance by the time everyone had gotten the chance to cum inside your sweetness, yourself falling apart around them enough times that you lost count. Though even so, as you layed there, various burly men enveloping your half-continuous form in their warmth, your eyes blinked open and spotted the few who’d gotten the privilege to go first and how they’d at some time grown hard once again and were now pumping their cocks in their fists, with all of their greedy gazes glued on you.  

The seven miners always warned you to be careful while they were off at work and you were all alone in the secluded cottage. Even though it was located in the middle of the woods, they still advised you not to open the door for anyone, not even if their looks deceived you. 

You should have heeded those warnings the day when an old hag knocked at the cabin door, because she didn’t turn out to be just a sweet old lady as you had thought when you first spotted her through the window, dark cloak drawn up over her grey hair as she clutched onto a heavy basket of apples in one arm and thumped her free fist against the front door. 

All she’d asked for had been a sip of water, one your kindness couldn’t deny her of. 

Though your gravest mistake came when you accepted her seemingly kind offer of gratitude in the form of one of her apples, because when you sank your teeth into the crisp red fruit, the produce suddenly turned rotten in your grasp, granting you a brief glance of the truth, of the potent poison it withheld, before the effects took ahold and cast you into an eternal slumber. 

The enchanted sleep however wasn’t like the one you’d heard tales about as it in truth only shut down your body as the rest of your senses still stayed awake, alert and aware as ever to the things around you, though forever helpless to whatever could occur. 

When your dear miners returned that day, the sight that found them utterly broke them all. 

And when they discovered that you’d received a fate worse than death, a few of them had to lean on superstition in order to cope. 

Though superstition was what superstition often is, just a fairytale. 

No matter how many of them attempted to press their lips to yours, you stayed asleep as true love’s kiss turned out to be no more than a bedtime story. 

That’s how you ended up in a blossoming glen, not far from the cottage that had grown to become your home, encased in a glass coffin. 

But that’s also how he found you again…

Prince Billy had been on a hunting trip the day he stumbled over the clearing you rested in, his deepest desires he’d assumed forever lost, so perfectly on display for him in the middle of the woods and with no one to stop him from taking you with him back to his castle. You had been his fiancé after all, so if your fate as his wife included you being a little less of an active participant than you’d been previously, then so be it. He could be content with you as nothing but a living doll… in fact, perhaps the royal even preferred it… 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[minus-plus-zer0]

Staring Contest, GO!

♡ Genre: Fluff ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

"Staring contest, GO!"

Bakugou glowered at you like the apex predator he assuredly wasn't. You peered up at him meekly, doe-eyed and innocent. Neither of you were willing to back down, to do so meant forfeiting your dignity as a human being.

"Stop giving me those puppy-dog eyes!" Bakugou yelled.

"This is just how I look..."

"STOP LOOKING SADDER YOU'RE MAKING IT WORSE!"

Bakugou grit his teeth. He couldn't stare into those puppy-dog eyes forever. Eventually, he'd feel so guilty he'd have to throw himself off of five decently sized cliffs. You just had that effect on him sometimes.

The rest of the class spectated from around the classroom, with some students piling themselves on a limited amount of desks just to watch the most infamous duo duke it out, staring contest style. Only Iida protested against this development, with yelling drowned out by everyone else's lack of giving a fuck.

Bakugou couldn't continue staring at you forever, because eventually something you said or did would make him blush in front of the entire class and he needed to keep his feelings for you a secret. It was his worst kept secret, because everybody already knew, but he tried all the same.

So he had to do something before your curious hand reached out and touched his fluffy hair.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, catching your wrist like his hand was a handcuff.

"I got bored, so I wanted to play with your hair again!"

You looked at him oh so innocently from across the desk. Your classmates snickered.

"Again?" Kirishima asked, while sitting on top of a nearby desk. "So you've done this before?"

"Does it hurt to touch because of the spikes?" Sero asked, sitting in the seat of that same desk.

"It's surprisingly soft and nice and--"

"Don't tell them everything!" Bakugou snapped, his voice a growl as his hand still glued itself to your wrist. "That's none of their business."

"Sorry..." you said, smiling. "Can you stop clenching my wrist now? You're gonna make me flinch!"

You dropped your wrist onto the desk like a dead fish. You picked it back up and nursed it close to your chest. He didn't hurt you (he would never hurt you) but you liked to play up the vulnerable sweetie pie act sometimes.

"Sorry," he said.

"He said sorry for once!" Denki cried. "You hear that, class?"

"Shut. Up."

"Does it actually hurt?" Asui asked, standing beside your chair.

"Only a whole lot," you said, with a sniffle. "Gosh, you really--"

"Hey!" Bakugou pointed at you. "You fucking blinked!"

"What?"

"You blinked when you sniffled," Asui said.

"Oh darn!"

"HA HA!" Bakugou stood from his seat, pumping his fists. "Ya see that? Ya fucking see that?! That's what ya get for teasing me all the damn time!"

The rest of the class did not join in on his gloating, for they were too often on the receiving end of his arrogance and insults. Some students passed around money, having bet on your results. Others just sighed.

Bakugou still kept challenging you to extra staring contests afterwards just for an excuse to continue looking at you. He often commented on every part of your appearance and checked to see if you noticed his in turn. You would giggle and get embarrassed, causing you to blink. Then you would restart the staring contest all over again and Bakugou would continue riling you up just to see your sweet smile one more time. He could never get enough of you. The staring contests were all a convenient excuse to hang out with you more, so long as you allowed it.

And even after the contests, Bakugou really couldn't stop staring at your pretty face.

(At some point you probably need to take a picture together so he'd have something else to look at for once gosh darn it...)

[poshmina]

A Tale of Two*Very Sensitive* Wings

Azriel X !Fem Reader

Warnings: (18+ Mature) wingplay, size kink, light angst, getting caught

Word Count: 5k+

Background: You are a long lost Archeron half-sister and your dad sends a message asking if your sisters will provide you with refuge. They oblige, bringing you back to the night court to reside with them and the rest of the inner circle. The story begins after A Court of Mist and Fury when Nesta lets slip to you at dinner that Azriel thinks he’s your mate. At first, this shocks you, as you are still human and are not accustomed to the traditions of the Fae. However, as time goes on you’ve begun to feel drawn to him. You spend your time in the Night Court learning healing practices, since you have no magical power and cannot fight with the rest of them. You’ve been staying in the House of Wind with Azriel, and though you see him often and want to get closer to him, he is always quiet and withdrawn, leaving you confused wondering how someone so distant could be your mate?

The floor of the House of Wind shudders as an Illyrian male lands on the balcony. You look up from where you’d been sitting at the table, enjoying dinner, and watch his shadow cross the balcony. You can’t make out his face in the darkness, but you know who it is anyhow. 

Azriel crosses the threshold of the doorway into the dining room, his long wings tucked against his back. He hardly casts you a passing glance as he breaches the room, shadows swirling around him, seemingly not in the mood to chat tonight. You’ve gotten used to the quiet, brooding demeanor of your housemate, and usually you don’t press. Except tonight there’s blood on his face, in his hair, and on his clothes. As he walks, pieces flake off and scatter across the floor, meaning it’s been there long enough to dry. Meaning he likely left his wounds untreated the entire flight here, meaning he risked passing out mid flight and tumbling to his death due to blood loss.

You shove your chair out from behind you and stand, the sound echoing across the hall. “How long have you been bleeding?”

He doesn’t pause, or even look over his shoulder to address you. “It’s not mine.”

By this point, he’s halfway across the room, apparently planning to head to his quarters without having someone check his wounds. That’s when you notice it, a myriad of tears across his wings as if he’d been struck with arrows and then yanked them back out. The blood on his wings is most definitely his own. 

“Azriel!” It comes out as a mix between a shout and a plea. You can tell yourself you don’t really care about him, that you would harass anyone until they got treated, except this is more than medical obligation. You’re beginning to care for him.

He stops in his tracks, but doesn’t look over his shoulder. “Y/N, I’m fine,” he insists. 

You cross the room towards him. “Clearly you’re not! There are holes in your wings. You’re so covered in blood there’s no way even you could tell if there were wounds hidden beneath. You have to get treated!”

He lets out an irritated sigh and finally turns to face you. “Y/N, you don’t have to involve yourself in this. It’s none of your business.”

Gods, you can’t believe him. “You made it my business when you came in tracking blood across the house. Either go see a healer, or let me take a look.”

You don’t know why you’re so insistent. He could be fine. He’s been alive for hundreds of years and surely knows his physical limits. Except you’re so tired of him keeping you at arm's length, so tired of his closed off, brooding attitude. 

He hesitates, jaw clenched, but doesn’t agree. 

“Just let me help you,” you plead. 

For a moment, you think you see behind his mask, the cold exterior he keeps up around you. You think he’s going to say yes.

Instead he draws further on himself and pushes you further away. “I’m fine, Y/N. Worry about yourself.” He turns to disappear down the hallway, but doesn’t get two steps before you’re walking after him. You don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, but you’re sick of his games. Sick of waiting and wondering if he’ll ever make a move. If he even likes you. Every feeling you bottled up from the past few months comes to a head, tumbling out of you.

“What is wrong with you?” You ask, exasperated. 

He wheels around to face you, unable to mask the surprise on his face, “What?”

“I said what is wrong with you! You’re always irritated, or distant, or avoidant. You actively avoid me even though I’ve done nothing but be kind to you. You act like I’m a thorn in your side even though I have every right to be here in this house with you.” You jab a finger towards the floor to solidify your point. “Do you think I asked to be here? To be taken from my home and thrust into this strange kingdom, with your strange Fae traditions, where everyone is older, and faster and stronger than me?” He blinks, stunned into silence by your sudden outburst.

“Do you think I asked to have you as my mate?”

Immediately, you wish you could take it back. You hadn’t meant for that to come out at all, let alone in such an accusatory tone. Really, you don’t mind the thought of him as your mate. That is, if you could explore the bond together. If he would quit shoving you away. 

His shadows flare, and the scowl you've become so accustomed to returns. “Who told you that?”

“I—” You fumble over your words, “I didn’t mean to tell you that.”

He takes a step closer, and all of the sudden you get a very real sense of his height as he towers over you. “Doesn’t matter, you already did. Now who told you?”

You reel to find something to distract him, not wanting to put the blame on Nesta. Your relationship with your new sister is so new and fragile, you can’t drive a wench in it. “I deserved to know Azriel. It’s not like you were going to tell me.”

His gaze flickers, and you swear you see a flash of pain in those eyes. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

The sting of rejection pangs sharp in your chest. He didn’t want you to find out this way, or he didn’t want you to find out at all? All these months avoiding you, acting like he wants nothing more than for you to poof out of his life and return where you came from. You tried to ignore the fear, tried to push it away, but now the reality crashes over you. Your mate doesn’t want you at all. 

“Well now I know and I don’t expect anything from you.” You jab a finger towards his chest. “I know I’m human and I’m weak and you didn’t ask for me either. But it wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer to me.” You take a shuddering breath, and a weight seems to fall off your shoulder with all of those words out. You realize you’ve moved closer to him and take a step back.

“Nicer,” he repeats, watching you intently. 

“Yes,” you huff. “We don’t have to be anything more than acquaintances. Housemates, even. But you don’t have to be such a dick.” You cross your arms and level him a stare.

He sighs, shaking head in disbelief. “Fine. What exactly does this relationship of acquaintance entail?” One of his wings shudders behind him, and from the wince on his face you can tell it wasn’t on purpose. You look at it pointedly. 

“Letting me help you would be a start.”

There’s a final moment of hesitation, drawn out long enough that you think he might actually turn you away. Except then he shakes his head, and as if it physically pains him to do so, says, “As you wish.” Without another word he turns down the hall to head to his rooms. You take a moment of pause, wondering if you pushed too far. The male in front of you is not just any man, he’s a centuries old Illyrian warrior with power beyond your comprehension. Any relationship with him could be dangerous, acquaintance or no. 

But he turns back to you. “You coming?” And for some reason you can’t help but follow.

—

“Fuck.” He shudders beneath your hands. The blood was not, in fact, entirely his opponents. He had two gashes, one across his abdomen and the other along his bicep. Although his fae blood was already beginning to heal them, you insisted he let you stitch them up in order to avoid scarring. 

You thread the needle through his skin and finish the final stitch, clipping the string you used to sew him up and sitting back to admire your handiwork. You may not have magic, but you quickly excelled in the healing arts. 

“All done,” you tell him. He lifts his head from where it had been bowed against his arms and inspects your work. If he’s impressed or not, you can’t tell. He shows nothing on his face, not even a hint of pain from the wounds still remaining on his wings. 

“Now for your wings,” you shift to stand behind him, biting your lip as you try to decide a course of action. Wings can’t be stitched up, they have to heal naturally, and take longer than most ailments to close. The best you can offer is to apply a numbing salve to curb the pain for now. You’re about to tell him that when he says—

“I can handle it.”

You knit your eyebrows. “I’m already here. You won’t be able to reach behind you. If I don’t numb them you’ll be in serious pain all night.”

Put so plainly you’re unsure how he could refuse. He does anyhow. “I don’t need numbing salve. You’ve done plenty, thank you.” And just like that he dismisses you. Except now that he’s washed the blood from his skin you can see just how pale he is, and with the pain he won’t be able to get a lick of sleep, slowing the healing process altogether. 

You prop a hand on your hip. “As your healing professional I would strongly advise against that.” You don’t understand his reluctance, and every time he says no to help, it only makes you want to push further. 

He looks up at you, and for the first time in maybe forever, one side of his lips quirk up into a smirk. “Healing professional, huh?” 

You shrug. “The closest you have to one, at least.”

He tilts his head back and mutters a prayer to the Mother. “You’re not going to leave until I let you do this, will you?”

“It’s unlikely.”

He gives an exasperated sigh, then leans over the desk he’d been sitting at, baring his wings to you. “Make it quick.” His voice is muffled by the cradle of his arms. You can’t help but smirk at the success. Progress. This is progress.

A few minutes later the house has summoned a jar of numbing salve for you and you are standing over him, preparing to begin your work. 

“This may sting for a moment, but once it settles it will fade.” He grunts in response. “I’ll be gentle,” you add. You scoop a generous portion out of the jar, warming it between your fingers before applying it. You decide to start at the outskirts where the tears are thinner and not as gruesome. Hovering a hand over his wing, you pause for a moment before gingerly spreading the salve on him. He tenses immediately, hissing through his teeth before relaxing as it settles in.

“Okay?” You ask.

“Fine.” His tone is clipped. 

Taking that as permission, you continue along the edges of his wings, applying and waiting for him to adjust before moving to the next. As far as cooperation goes, he is the ideal patient. He doesn’t so much as shift a muscle while you work, and remains deadly silent. If it weren’t for his fists resting on the table clenched to the point his knuckles are white, you would think it was painless. 

Once you finish the outer ring of his wings, you pause. “I’m going to tackle the deeper ones now. Do you need a break?”

“Don’t bother.” His voice comes out muffled, and you notice one of his hands has disappeared into the space between his arms where his head is caged. He’s likely biting at his finger to distract from the pain. 

“Would you like something to bite on?”

 For a moment there’s no response, then his hand returns into sight on the desk. “I’m fine, Y/N. Please continue.” He says as if you’re a nagging insect buzzing at his ear rather than the only person trying to help him. 

With a huff, you dip your fingers into the jar again, and begin to spread the salve near the base of his wings. This time, you aren’t quite so gentle. 

He lets out a strangled sound beneath you, somewhere between a gasp and a groan. Immediately, you feel guilty, and start to take more care with the application, massaging slow, deliberate circles into the muscles of his wings. You can feel the muscles around the tears shudder and relax as you go. He curses beneath your hands. 

You’ve almost reached the last, and nastiest, of his wounds when he abruptly shoves his chair backwards and stands, causing you to lose your balance. You nearly fall on your ass before catching yourself on the desk. 

“That’s enough,” he nearly shouts at the same time you say, “What the fuck, Azriel?” His eyes are wild, chest heaving as he glares down at you. He distinctly seems to angle his body away from you.

“I wasn’t finished,” you argue.

He looks up at the ceiling, anywhere but directly at you. “You’ve done plenty.” Instinctively, your eyes fall to his stomach to double check the work you’d done earlier. Instead, your eyes snag on something a few inches lower.

Your eyes widen as you take in the obvious bulge straining against his leathers. 

Oh.

One of the first things you’d learned about treating the Fae is that wings are very sensitive. They are to be handled with the utmost care, their delicate construction requiring practiced healing applications. However, in all your training, nobody had deigned to mention sensitive goes hand in hand with pleasurable. 

His eyes flare as you look back up at him, cheeks heating. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but words don’t come. He merely continues to stare at you with that heated gaze. 

“I should go,” the words come out of you in a frenzied rush. He doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t disagree either. “I just— I didn’t realize,” now that you’ve started, you can hardly stop yourself. “This is all so new to me. I wouldn’t have if I’d known—”

“Now you know.” If he means it to be harsh, it doesn’t come out that way, but rather like a plea.

“I should go,” you say again, but can hardly move a muscle. With him standing there and looking at you like that, with the distance between you so small. You feel as if you're drowning, and he is the current pulling you further under. 

You let out a small gasp as you feel a featherlight touch on your cheek. One of his shadows has crept across the room, and whether he intended it or not, is caressing you gently. Instinctively, you lean into it.

A few paces away, you watch his lips part as he watches you. He doesn’t recall his shadow. Instead, it inches closer, brushing across your lips. You don’t dare move, you don’t dare breathe. 

“Azriel,” you whisper. 

In a moment he’s upon you. The shadow dissipates, replaced by his hands cupping your face, his hips pushing you backwards until you're pressed against the desk. He kisses you with a hunger you’ve never felt before, his lips moving desperately against yours. You let out a whimper as he guides your lips apart, running his tongue across your own. 

With every ounce of self control you have left, you manage to shove him away for a moment. 

“I thought you hated me. I thought you didn’t want me as your mate.” You search his eyes for answers, for the cold, closed off man you’d known up until now.

“Hate you?” He tips his head back and laughs humorlessly. “If hating you means thinking about you every waking moment. If hating you means desperately wishing you’d appear outside my doorway every night. If hating you means not being able to even think about you without—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “If that’s what it means then sure, Y/N, I hate you.”

Your mind reels trying to process what he’s telling you. “You sure as hell acted like it.”

A flash of regret crosses through his eyes. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I wanted to give you time to adjust.”

Faintly, you remember what had happened when Lucien had sprung the mating bond on a newly transformed Elain. She can hardly stand to be in the same room as him, let alone pursue a relationship. 

In a moment of boldness, you reach down and palm him through his leathers, watching as his eyes flutter closed in pleasure. “Consider me adjusted.” You yank him back down to you, crashing his lips against yours. He meets you with the same intensity, tongue and lips and teeth clashing in a heavenly dance. His hand slides up to your throat as he kisses you, holding gently. It’s only when you pull away to gasp for air when you realize his shadows are floating around you, cradling you both. 

Your lips part in wonder. It’s beautiful, but you hardly get the chance to tell him so before he lifts you up on the desk and resumes the contact. His kisses stray from the side of your mouth, to your jaw and neck. He takes your ear between his teeth and tugs lightly, sending shivers of pleasure through you. His hand cups your breast, and when the attention of his mouth lowers to your collarbones, you lean back to shuck your shirt off. He palms your breast greedily, reaching behind you to undo your bra clasp before taking a moment to stare. You feel your cheeks heat at the intensity of his gaze, and have the urge to cover yourself again.

“Perfect. You’re fucking perfect Y/N,” he mutters before lowering his mouth to your nipple and closing his mouth upon it, sucking and swirling in a way that makes you arch into him. He gives your other breast equal attention until you're moaning and panting beneath him. 

He retreats to relive himself of his armor. If there’s any remaining pain in his wings, he doesn’t show it. He steps close and positions himself between your legs, peering down at you. You reach out a hesitant hand and hover it over the tip of his wing. He watches your movements with rapt attention, nearly holding his breath with anticipation. 

You brush a featherlight touch along the crest of his wings, and that touch alone is enough to cause him to shudder and groan under his breath. You can’t imagine how he stood still for so long earlier. 

You reach down and tug at the hem of his shirt, wanting it off. He obliges, tossing it aside, returning his attention to you. You take him in slowly, dragging a hand down the hard line of his abs, tracing his tattoos with your finger. He waits patiently, letting you have your fill. Unable to help yourself, you glance down at his hardness again, breath faltering as you take in exactly how big he is. From a distance, it seemed reasonable, but from this close…

He reaches out a hand to cup your face, peering into your eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”

Without a moment's hesitation, you say. “Yes. I want this Azriel. I want you.”

You watch relief flash in his eyes before he resumes his movements. His hands go to your waistband, and he unbuttons your pants before leaning in to whisper, “Lift your hips for me, “Y/N.”

You do as he says, positioning yourself so he can slide your pants over your hips and cast them aside. He repeats this motion with your underwear, baring you completely to him. And before you can even consider what’s to come next, he lowers himself to his knees in front of the desk, bringing his face directly in line with where you need him most. He places one long lick from your entrance to your crest, drawing a ragged gasp from you, then pulls away. 

“Y/N.”

“Yes?” Your mind spins, because as he’s talking, his mouth is hovering over you and you can feel his breath as he speaks. 

He dips a finger between your folds, dragging it up to circle your clit. “I’m gonna get you ready now so you can take me comfortably, alright?”

You hardly register what he’s saying, because his finger is moving fervently against you and you can already feel that coil of pleasure within you. You give a short nod in response. 

Then, as quickly as it came, the pressure on your clit is gone. You look down to see him peering up at you, waiting for an answer. What did he say again?

He must sense you drawing a blank, because he smirks and repeats himself. “I need you to be good and do as I say so you can take me fully. Okay, Y/N?” 

“Oh… Yes. Okay,” you nod fervently. It’s then you realize exactly what he’s saying to you. You heard rumors around the inner circle that Azriel had the biggest… wingspan… but you never imagined anything close to this.

Satisfied with your answer, he resumes again, lowering his mouth to take the place of his finger. He circles his tongue around your clit, then sucks gently. You’re already seeing stars when you feel his finger at his entrance and he slowly slides it into you. 

You moan and arch off the desk, hands flying to his head to tangle in his hair. You chance a glance down at him, and the sight of him kneeling before you, wings looming over his shoulders, eyes dark with lust, almost sends you over the edge then and there. 

He begins to pump into you slowly, curling every so often to hit a spot that makes you writhe and moan. You’re just at the crest of your orgasm when he adds another finger. You hadn’t expected it, and the new sensation causes your hips to jerk as you gasp in pleasure. 

“Azriel I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “Hold on a little longer for me, Y/N.”

You curse, trying to dampen the pleasure growing inside you. It’s all too much, and you have to bring your hand to your mouth and bite on your knuckle to keep from coming. He slows his movements for a moment, purposefully torturing you and keeping you on that edge. 

A moment later, everything resumes with increased intensity. He pushes a third finger inside you, stretching you in a way you’ve never felt before. You gasp, shutting your eyes against the pleasure, and when you open them again, he is standing in front of you, never stopping the pace of his fingers. He raises his other hand to circle your clit. The pleasure reaches a new crest, and you find yourself grasping onto the desk just to find something to ground you. 

“That's it. Come for me now,” he whispers, eyes never leaving you as the orgasm washes over you. You shudder as you come down from it, hips bucking against his hand. When you finally open your eyes you find your hand intertwined with his.

He gazes down at you, and the hint of a smile crosses his face. “Beautiful. Fucking perfect, Y/N.”

You blush and attempt to catch your breath as he rids himself of his pants and aligns himself with your entrance. You cast a glance down, taking him in in all his glory. He rubs his tip through your folds and sighs at the contact, before leaning in to give you a kiss. 

“Tell me if it hurts and we’ll stop,” he promises. You nod, dismissing his worries. You sincerely doubt he could do anything to hurt you based on how amazing you’ve felt so far. And regardless, you trust him, trust the rigid self control he’s shown you all these months in the house together. 

You feel his tip prodding your entrance, then he sinks the first few inches in. You sigh at the sensation, tilting your head to steal a kiss. With that for motivation, he pushes in a little further, looking down at you with worry in his eyes. 

“Okay?” he asks.

You let out a breathless laugh, “Better than okay.”

You watch his face soften, and he pushes the boundary a bit further. You look down to watch him sink in, and are shocked to see he’s only halfway sheathed. You can already feel yourself beginning to stretch around him. The feeling is foreign, but not painful. 

When you look back up at him, his face is strained in an expression that nearly looks painful. He’s holding himself back, hesitating to keep a firm grip on that iron self control of his. You reach up to run your hand through his hair, catching his eyes. 

“I’m okay Azriel. I’m not going to break,” you reassure him. 

You can tell by his curt not that he doesn’t believe it. He advances another slow, languid inch, and you buck against him impatiently. 

“Azriel,” you level him a look.

He sighs. “I know. I just don’t want to hurt you. You’re still human and—”

“And I’m okay. This is okay. This is good.” You rotate your hips enjoying the pleasurable sensation it brings. He hisses through his teeth above you, and his hips jerk forward only slightly. You enjoy pushing him, enjoy making him lose control.

But there's still so much of him left, and you can’t stand the delicate line he’s walking. You want him fully, and you want him now. You reach behind him, grabbing his ass to shove him the rest of the way in. You gasp as he makes a strangled sound above you. There’s a hint of the pain he was so worried about, but it falls to the wayside as you're entirely overwhelmed by pleasure. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he finally starts to move freely. Slowly at first, then with increased urgency. He pulls his hips back and rolls them into you, hitting a spot so deep within you it feels like you’re one in the same. You watch as his control slips, and his hips snap into you, inching you backwards on the desk. 

“Yes, Azriel, yes,” you tell him as he picks up the pace, fucking you so hard the desk begins to bang against the wall and your eyes roll back in your head. Fucking Azriel is a sensation unlike any you’ve known before. He fills you perfectly, bending to place kisses along your breasts and collarbones. Holding your hips to slam into you at an impeccable pace. 

He shifts, looping his arms under your knees, and then there’s only air beneath you as he picks you up and presses you against the wall, fucking you into it. You gasp and weave your hands into his hair, tugging lightly. You feel his thrust getting quicker, jerkier, but before he comes he switches you again, bending you over the desk and fucking you from behind. You cry out at the change in angle, and your hands fly to the edge of the desk, holding tightly.

You feel him leaning over you as he places a kiss on your back. “This is what I wanted. Everytime I avoided you, everytime I pushed you away, it was because of how badly I wanted this.” He punctuates the last word with a particularly hard thrust and you cry out as you feel his hand intertwine with your hair. It all becomes too much, and you feel yourself approaching the edge again when he wraps a hand around to your front, finding your clit and sending you spiraling. He fucks you through it, steady, hard, barely giving you a chance to come down before his hips jerk and you feel him finish. He curses, seating himself fully inside you as he rides out his orgasm.

When he pulls out, you are panting and breathless and sated with pleasure. You turn around to see his shadows scattered across the room, filling every crevice and corner.

It’s then that you both hear footsteps coming down the hall. His eyes widen, and he hurriedly steps in front of you to block you from view, covering himself with his hands. 

Cassian round the corner, fury in his gaze. “What the fuck Azriel. The entire city is covered in shadows. Rhysand thinks you’re– Oh.” He stops in his tracks, cheeks turning pink as he lifts a hand to cover his eyes. 

“Cassian?” Azriel says, his voice strained.

“Yea?” His voice sounds choked in his throat.

“Get the fuck out.” 

[omosoclose]

I've seen a few things about fantasy omorashi curses lately, so here are some more 🪄💧:

You can only pee when your bladder is 100% at its limit (when it normally would start coming out on its own without your control). You don't get any special knowledge of when that is, just the regular feeling of desperation. If you try to go to the bathroom, even if you're 99% full, you won't be able to get any out. When you hit 100%, your bladder automatically empties itself completely, regardless of where you are.

You can pee whenever you want, but it comes out one literal drip (~0.05mL) at a time, maybe 2 drips per second if you're lucky, 1 drip per second or even longer if you've really pissed off the curse caster. If your max bladder capacity is 500mL, it would take almost an hour and a half to empty completely at 2 drips a second. You could only get about 30mL out in a regular 5-minute bathroom trip. To keep a regular schedule, you would often have to stop the flow and go about your day, still full to the brim but out of time to empty. And then when you're absolutely desperate, having to suffer through the torment of that desperation releasing itself one...drip...at...a...time...

The person who casts the curse picks an activity of daily living (eating, walking, speaking, etc.: let's say sleeping for this scenario), and now you can only do it if your bladder is at least 75% full. You literally, physically won't be able to do the activity if you're less full than that. Now, when you're tired, you have to drink a bunch and wait to fill up, then get in bed uncomfortably full and try to fall asleep. You'll have to get over your anxiety about wetting the bed, because no matter how tired you are, you physically can't sleep unless you have to pee, so having insomnia from your full bladder just won't do. Maybe sometimes you do wet the bed and then instantly wake up, unable to go back to sleep until you fill yourself up again.

You can only pee if someone else is pressing on your bladder for you. Otherwise, the curse makes your bladder and torso expand indefinitely, so you'll hold it without bursting until you can get someone to help, but you'll be in absolute agony. And how embarrassing and heavy it would be to walk around with a bladder bulge the size of a yoga ball. It's an okay curse if you have a willing friend or partner, but what if you live alone? What about at work? What if you're home alone for the day (or the week)? How would you find someone to help you?

You wake up every morning with a different bladder capacity, but there's no way (except trial & error) to tell what it is. Some days it's huge and you can hold a gallon of water just fine. Other days you have half a cup of coffee and you're wetting yourself. The curse also makes you very thirsty, so avoiding drinks altogether isn't an option. You just have to drink very carefully and hope to hell whenever you take a sip of something that there's a bathroom readily available in case it fills your bladder way more than you were expecting.

Feel free to elaborate on any of these, add your own, or use them for stories 😉. Maybe I'll do more later.

[meltinglatte]

Bestfriend's Sister

Pairing : Mingyu × afab reader

Synopsis : in which mingyu has a crush on his best friend's sister but is too scared to ask her out ;)

Genre : short story, smut

Warnings : size k!nk, creampie, boob play, drinking, masturbat!on

[ New author, so if there are any mistakes let me know, will try to improve ]

-------------------------------------------

Chapter 1 : Meeting you again

Mingyu sat at his desk, the glow of his laptop illuminating the darkened dorm room. His notes sprawled chaotically across the table, mirroring the chaos in his mind. College life wasn't the smooth path everyone had promised.

"Just get into SNU," they said.

"Life will be set." Those words now felt like a cruel joke.

Surrounded by prodigies and overachievers, he often wondered if he truly belonged. Balancing academics, friendships, and the rare moments of self-care had become an exhausting juggling act.

And just when he thought it couldn't get more complicated, fate threw him a curveball.

At the 2024 fresher's party, amidst the crowd of enthusiastic new faces, his heart froze. There she was—his crush. The girl who had unknowingly stolen his heart years ago now stood a few feet away, laughing effortlessly with a group of freshmen. Mingyu's pulse quickened as a wave of disbelief washed over him.

"What is she doing here?" he muttered under his breath. For years, he'd assumed she would follow her brother's footsteps and study abroad. Her brother—his best friend—had often talked about how their family prioritized prestigious overseas education. Seeing her here, in his university, was the last thing Mingyu expected. It wasn't just her presence that threw him off. It was the tangled web of emotions that came with it.

Mingyu had long accepted that his feelings for her were off-limits. She wasn't just any girl; she was his best friend's sister. And if there was one unspoken rule in his life, it was this: never break the bro code.

He could already hear his friend's voice in his head, joking yet firm: "You even think about my sister, and I'll kill you, dude." It wasn't an actual threat—probably—but Mingyu had never dared to test it. Yet, seeing her now, radiant and completely unaware of the storm she'd just stirred in his heart, made things infinitely harder. As the evening wore on, he tried to act normal. To blend into the crowd. But his eyes kept drifting back to her. She looked different—not the high schooler he remembered but someone more confident, more vibrant. 

"Why now? Why here?" he thought. Life was already overwhelming, and now he had to deal with this? But deep down, he knew the truth. He wasn't mad because she was here. He was mad because, for the first time, he couldn't ignore the possibility of something more. And that scared him more than failing his next midterm.

"Eoh? Mingyu oppa?" Sera's voice broke through the noise of the crowded room. Her eyes lit up as she smiled at him, her face the perfect blend of surprise and warmth.

"It's been so long, right?" Mingyu froze for a moment, caught off guard by how effortlessly she drew his attention. Rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit he couldn't seem to shake—he managed a coy smile.

"Yeah, it has," he replied, his voice quieter than he intended. A brief silence settled between them, the kind that felt heavier than it should. Mingyu scrambled for something to say, anything to fill the growing gap. "Congrats," he finally offered, his tone sincere. "Getting into SNU's med school isn't easy. You must've worked really hard."

"Thank you, oppa." Sera's smile widened, her cheeks slightly tinged with pink.

Before either of them could say more, a loud voice cut through the moment. "SERA-YAH!" Her friends were calling from the other side of the party, their laughter and energy adding to the lively chaos of the party. Sera glanced over her shoulder before turning back to Mingyu.

"I think they're waiting for you," Mingyu said, his tone gentle but his expression unreadable. She hesitated for a moment, as if weighing whether to stay or go. "You're right. I'll see you later, oppa," she said with a small nod before heading toward her friends.

Mingyu watched her retreating figure, her laughter blending into the noise of the party. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair again, the familiar ache in his chest returning.

------------------

Some weeks later

"Bro, let's win this game," Joo Hyuk said, clapping Mingyu on the shoulder, his eyes brimming with determination.

"Yeah, let's do this!" Mingyu replied, his voice full of energy as he tightened his shoelaces and jogged onto the field.

The match between SNU's engineering department and the medicine department had drawn a sizable crowd, the atmosphere electric with cheers and chants. From the whistle's blow, it was clear this wasn't going to be an easy game. Both teams played fiercely, each pass and tackle charged with adrenaline.

It was neck-and-neck, the score tied until the final moments. Then, with a perfectly timed pass from Joo Hyuk, Mingyu seized the opportunity. With a sharp kick, the ball soared past the goalkeeper and into the net.

The engineering department erupted into cheers, their players rushing to huddle around Mingyu, who was grinning ear to ear. "We did it!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of celebration.

On the sidelines, Sera watched the scene unfold with a smile. The medicine department's supporters were quieter now, some already drifting toward the exit. She turned to her friends and laughed lightly, saying, "I guess we'll have to cheer a lot louder for our medicine department next time."

Mingyu, still catching his breath, heard her words over the noise. He glanced toward her, his grin softening. Her laugh, her effortless charm.

It wasn't the words that caught him off guard but her outfit — her cheerleading outfit. 

The way the uniform fit her, or how the vibrant red skirt clung to her thighs, drawing his eyes in an almost magnetic pull. It was the sheer presence she exuded from across the field that captivated him.

Mingyu had always been aware of her beauty, under the stadium lights, she was a vision that sent a rush of heat through him. Every leap, every sway of her hips was a siren call, pulling him in deeper despite the distance.

He gulped hard, trying to focus on the other celebrating their victory, but distraction had a way of creeping in when least expected. Mingyu felt an undeniable pressure building within him, an urgency that demanded his attention. "Oh shit, not now," he muttered under his breath, realizing he couldn't ignore the undeniable reaction his body was having any longer. The heat radiating from his cheeks was felt in more than just his face.

He excused himself, the camaraderie of his teammates drowning in the chaos of his thoughts as he slipped away towards the washroom. Once inside, he swiftly closed the door behind him, locking it with an almost desperate urgency. The small space was eerily quiet, but in the stillness, the rush of blood in his ears was deafening.

With shaky hands, he fumbled with his pants, feeling the strain of his arousal pressing tightly against the fabric. The image of Sera in that unforgettable outfit - the way it hugged her curves, the glimpses of her pale skin - played behind his eyelids. It was intoxicating, igniting a fire within him that was impossible to suppress.

As he freed himself, his breath quickened, the need to release the tension almost overwhelming. He thought of her laughter, the way she sparkled with energy, and the sight of her moving gracefully with each cheer. Each thought sent shivers through him, and he couldn't help but quicken his pace.

Mingyu leaned against the cool tiles of the wall, consumed by the moment, lost in his mind as the outside world faded away. In that tiny sanctuary, he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy, letting the image of Sera dance across his thoughts, a vibrant whirl of red and gold that pushed him closer to the edge.

Chapter 2 : Pride First

Mingyu stepped out of the washroom, his face flushed, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. He ran a hand through his damp hair, avoiding Joo Hyuk's gaze as he leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed.

Joo Hyuk shot him a side-eye, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. "Seriously, dude? GET SOME PUSSY MAN," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I didn't come to the washroom to hear my roommate release himself in the university washroom," Joo Hyuk continued. 

"Sorry", Mingyu mumbled, his ears burning as he hurriedly brushed past Joo Hyuk.

Behind him, Joo Hyuk shook his head, muttering to himself, "This guy... hopeless.". 

-----------------------------

Two weeks had passed since that day, and Mingyu had made it his mission to avoid Sera. He steered clear of the med department entirely, choosing routes and spots where he knew he wouldn't run into her. It wasn't easy, but he convinced himself it was necessary.

That afternoon, he sat in the bustling campus canteen, savoring his boba and relishing a rare moment of peace. The sweet tapioca pearls were a small comfort in an otherwise chaotic schedule.

But peace was fleeting.

"Mingyu oppa!"

Her voice rang out, bright and unmistakable. His heart sank as he looked up to see Sera rushing toward him, her long hair flowing behind her, her smile as radiant as ever.

Mingyu forced a small, polite smile, his grip tightening on his drink. "Oh, hey, Sera."

"This weekend, can I go home with you?" she asked, her tone casual but her eyes hopeful. "My mom sent something for your mom, and she told me to give it to her directly."

Mingyu hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He scratched the back of his head, trying to buy himself a second to think. "Oh, um, sorry, but I'm not going home this weekend," he said, his voice as nonchalant as he could manage.

Sera tilted her head, her expression puzzled. "Huh? But you go home every weekend," she said, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Yeah, I know," he replied, quickly averting his gaze. "But I've got this big project to work on. You can go without me, though."

Her smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered, nodding. "Oh, okay. I see."

Before she could say anything more, Mingyu stood, grabbing his cup. "I've got to get going. I'll see you around, Sera," he said hurriedly and walked off, leaving her standing there. 

----------------------

That weekend, Sera found herself standing in front of the Kim family's home. She rang the doorbell, clutching the small package her mother had given her. Moments later, the door swung open.

"What took you so long?" came a familiar voice, half-scolding, half-teasing. Mingyu's mother stood in the doorway, her expression softening the instant she saw Sera. "Oh, it's you, Sera! I thought it was Mingyu."

Sera offered a polite bow and a small smile. "Hello, auntie. Sorry to drop by unannounced."

"Nonsense! Come in, come in," Mrs. Kim said warmly, stepping aside to let her in. "It's always a pleasure to see you."

Once inside, the comforting scent of freshly brewed tea filled the air. Mrs. Kim led Sera to the living room, gesturing for her to sit. "Honey!" she called out toward the garden. "Look who's here!"

Mr. Kim emerged a moment later, wiping his hands on a towel. His face lit up when he saw her. "Ah, Sera! What a nice surprise. Come, have a seat," he said, pulling out a chair for her.

Sera couldn't help but smile at their warmth. "Thank you, uncle. I came to drop something off from my mom," she explained, holding up the package.

"What is it?" Mrs. Kim asked, curiosity flickering in her eyes as she watched Sera carefully unwrap the package.

As the final layer of wrapping came off, Mr. Kim leaned in for a better look. "Omo!" She exclaimed, her tone filled with surprise and admiration.

Inside lay a pristine, carefully preserved 30-year-old ginseng root, its rich golden hue a testament to its value.

"Mom heard that you weren't feeling well recently," Sera explained with a soft smile. "She said this 30-year-old ginseng would be perfect for you and insisted I bring it over."

Mrs. Kim's hand flew to her chest, her eyes widening. "Omo, Sera! This is so expensive. You didn't have to go through all this trouble!"

"Please, just take it," Sera said, her tone gentle but firm. "Mom would be upset if you didn't."

Mrs. Kim glanced at her husband, who nodded approvingly, a proud smile playing on his lips. "Your family is always so thoughtful," Mrs. Kim said, her voice tinged with gratitude. "Thank you, Sera. This means so much to me."

"Of course, auntie," Sera replied. "Mom said your health is more important than anything."

Mr. Kim chuckled warmly. "Looks like your mom has great timing. This will definitely help her feel better."

Mrs. Kim placed the ginseng back into its wrapping with care, her expression softening. "You must stay for dinner, Sera. I won't take no for an answer."

Sera laughed lightly and nodded, her heart warmed by the sincerity of their gratitude.

"I don't understand why Mingyu didn't come home," Mrs. Kim said, her brows knitted as she placed another dish on the dinner table. "He told me just last Monday that he'd be coming back to pick up some important things."

She sighed, her frustration evident. "He should have at least given us a call," she added, shaking her head.

Sera, seated across from them, glanced up from her plate. "Oppa said he had a project to work on," she said casually between bites, trying to downplay the situation.

"Project?" Mr. Kim interjected, his fork pausing mid-air. "What project? He told me just last week that he was finally free because his project was done." He frowned thoughtfully. "Did the professors give him another one so soon?"

Mrs. Kim crossed her arms, her expression softening into mild concern. "Something doesn't add up. He's usually so responsible about keeping us informed."

Sera's thoughts clouded as she processed the conversation. Mingyu was avoiding her—she knew that much—but to go to such lengths to steer clear of her? That realization hit harder than she expected.

She forced herself to finish dinner quickly, the food tasting bland against the turmoil in her mind.

"It would've been nice if you stayed the night," Mrs. Kim said warmly as Sera got up to leave.

"Next time, Auntie," Sera replied with a polite smile, bowing deeply before stepping out of the house.

The moment she was outside, the weight of her thoughts bore down on her. "Does he really hate spending time with his best friend's little sister this much? Am I... that embarrassing?"

"Fine," Sera muttered under her breath, clenching her fists as she walked to the bus stop. "If I'm that embarrassing, then I'll avoid him too. I'm Jeon Sera, after all."

Her voice carried a defiant edge, as if saying it aloud would make her resolve stronger. She straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to hold her head high as the bus pulled up.

The ride back to the college dorms was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional chatter of other passengers. Sera stared out the window, the city lights blurring past her.

"If he doesn't want to see me, then so be it," she thought, though a small pang of hurt lingered in her chest. "I've got my pride too."

Chapter 3 : Make Him Jealous

Three weeks had passed since Mingyu last saw Sera. At first, when he was avoiding her, he'd still catch glimpses of her around campus—a fleeting silhouette in the crowd, her laughter echoing in the distance. But now, it was as if she had vanished into thin air.

Not once did he see her near the library, the canteen, or even the med department corridors.

Mingyu adjusted his bag on his shoulder, glancing around the campus grounds as he walked to class. The familiar buzz of students chatting and rushing past him felt oddly hollow. He shook his head, trying to push the thought away.

"I guess it's for the best," he muttered under his breath, his words lacking the conviction he wanted them to carry.

"Bro, wanna party after class?" Joo Hyuk leaned over, grinning as he nudged Mingyu.

"Nah, I'm fine," Mingyu replied, shaking his head.

"Come on, man," Joo Hyuk pressed, but before he could push further, the professor entered the room, silencing the chatter. Mingyu turned his attention to the front, zoning in on whatever physics the professor was explaining.

When the bell rang, signaling a break, Joo Hyuk was already on his feet. "Oh, finally a break! Come on, let's roam around the campus."

"It's just 15 minutes," Mingyu argued, opening his book. "What's the point of going out?"

Joo Hyuk rolled his eyes. "I'm not hearing all that." Without waiting for another word, he grabbed Mingyu's arm and dragged him out of the classroom.

"Damn, it's sunny," Joo Hyuk groaned, shielding his eyes as they walked toward the canteen. Once inside, he headed straight for the cashier. "Two iced Americanos, please."

While Joo Hyuk waited, Mingyu wandered near the seating area, his eyes scanning the room. He paused mid-step when he saw her. Sera.

"Oppa?" Her familiar voice rang out, accompanied by a bright smile as she moved in his direction. Mingyu froze, his heart skipping a beat.

But just as quickly, reality hit him. Sera walked past him without a second glance. Mingyu blinked, confused, and turned around to see her approaching someone else—a tall guy standing behind him.

"Oppa, can I borrow your biochemistry notes?" Sera asked the tall guy, her tone warm and friendly.

"Sure," the guy, Sera's senior, Jin Sun Ho, replied with a casual smile. "But, Sera, I'm afraid you won't be able to read my handwriting. How about I help you with them in the library?"

Sera laughed lightly. "That sounds great, thanks!" The two walked out of the canteen together, chatting as they left.

Mingyu was still staring after them when Joo Hyuk returned, handing him an iced Americano. "Woah," Joo Hyuk said, watching the pair disappear through the door. "Looks like the med school god and goddess are finally hitting it off."

"What do you mean?" Mingyu asked, his voice unintentionally sharp.

Joo Hyuk raised an eyebrow. "Do you live under a rock? Jin Sun Ho is the med school's god—smart, handsome, and rich. And Sera? She's the goddess. Pretty, brilliant, and, well, rich. Everyone's been saying they'd make the perfect couple."

He sipped his drink, oblivious to the way Mingyu's grip tightened on his cup. Mingyu said nothing, his eyes lingering on the door where Sera and Jin Sun Ho had just left. 

--------------------

"Your handwriting isn't that bad, oppa," Sera said with a small smile as she diligently copied down the notes. Her pen moved swiftly across the page while Sun Ho leaned slightly closer, pointing out key terms and concepts.

Sun Ho chuckled softly, resting his chin in his hand as he watched her work. "Maybe you just have extraordinary deciphering skills," he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Most people look at my notes and call them hieroglyphics.

Sera laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Well, I guess I have a knack for cracking your code," she replied, glancing up at him briefly before focusing back on the page.

"Or maybe you're just too kind to admit how terrible my handwriting actually is," Sun Ho quipped with a grin, tapping the edge of the notebook.

Sera shook her head, her lips curving into a soft smile. "No, really. It's not bad at all. And your explanations make everything so much clearer," she said earnestly, her brown eyes meeting his.

For a moment, Sun Ho's teasing demeanor softened. "Glad I can help," he said, his tone warm. "Not everyone would put up with my chicken scratch."

"Well, I'm not just anyone," Sera said with a playful shrug, her confidence shining through as she continued writing.

"How about a selfie?" Sun Ho asked suddenly, pulling out his phone with a playful grin.

Sera looked up from the notebook, a mixture of surprise and amusement on her face. "In the library?" she whispered, stifling a giggle.

Sun Ho leaned in closer, angling the camera to fit both of them in the frame. "Relax," he said with a smirk. "No one's going to say a word to me." Without waiting for her response, he snapped the photo, capturing Sera mid-laugh.

"Sun Ho!" she scolded lightly, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

He examined the picture with a satisfied nod. "Perfect. My followers are going to love this," he said as he began typing a caption.

"You're posting it?" Sera's eyes widened in mild disbelief.

"Of course," he replied, his tone casual as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Why wouldn't I?"

Sera shook her head, unable to suppress a laugh as she returned to her notes. Moments later, Sun Ho's phone buzzed with likes and comments flooding in, his followers reacting to the unexpected post.

On the screen was the caption: "Study buddies" .

Chapter 4 : Drunk Mingyu

"Woah, check this out," Joohyuk said, grinning as he waved his phone in front of Mingyu after their last class of the day.

Mingyu glanced down at the screen, his eyes narrowing as he saw the Instagram photo of Sera and Sun Ho standing side by side, their smiles bright and carefree. A strange feeling twisted in his chest—something between envy and frustration—but he masked it with a shrug, trying not to let it show.

"Since when did you become so invested in other people's business, huh, Joohyuk?" Mingyu asked, raising an eyebrow and trying to keep his voice casual.

Joohyuk chuckled, unfazed by Mingyu's tone. "Oh, come on, man. You need a little gossip to survive the madness that is SNU," he said, tapping his phone's screen. "Everyone's talking about this picture. It's like the campus's new hottest trend."

Mingyu rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, well, maybe I don't have the time for that kind of stuff."

"Right, of course," Joohyuk replied, his grin widening. "You're too busy being the mysterious guy who doesn't care about anything except his grades." He nudged Mingyu playfully.

Mingyu shrugged again, trying to brush off the weird fluttering in his stomach. "Just don't get too wrapped up in it, alright? We've got our own lives to focus on."

"Sure, sure," Joohyuk replied with a wink. "But you know, it's always more fun to watch the drama unfold from the sidelines." 

Joohyuk leaned in with a mischievous grin. "Alright, enough of this. Come with me to the club and let loose for once."

Mingyu hesitated, glancing at his outfit. "Like this? My clothes are too plain, I need to change." He tried to muster an excuse, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

Joohyuk rolled his eyes, his expression turning playful but firm. "I'm not hearing any of that, man. I know you'll find a thousand reasons to back out and never show up. We're going, and we're going now."

Mingyu opened his mouth to protest, but Joohyuk was already dragging him toward the door, his grip surprisingly strong. "You're coming with me, no more excuses. Tonight's about fun, not studying."

Mingyu sighed but couldn't help the reluctant grin that crept across his face. "Fine, fine," he muttered. "But you owe me a drink for this."

Joohyuk flashed a victorious smile. "Deal." 

The neon lights of the club flickered around them as Mingyu and Joohyuk settled into their seats, the music pulsating through the air. Mingyu was already deep in his drinks, the bitter taste of alcohol doing little to numb the ache in his chest. He stared into his glass, his heart heavy, thoughts swirling around Sera and the distance between them that felt impossible to bridge.

Joohyuk, ever the party animal, raised his eyebrows as Mingyu downed another drink in one go. "Ayo, man, slow down," Joohyuk said, his voice slightly slurred. "We have class tomorrow. You're gonna regret this."

Mingyu looked at his friend, a wry smile twisting on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What's the point of this life if I can't be with her?" he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. He didn't care that he was starting to sound like a mess—he was already too far gone.

Joohyuk blinked, suddenly aware of the shift in Mingyu's mood. "Oh, no, not here," he groaned, slapping his palm against the table. "I brought you here to have fun, not cry over some girl you can't get over. This night is supposed to be fun, man!"

But Mingyu wasn't listening. He tipped his head back, gulping down another drink, his emotions taking over in a drunken haze. "Is there any way to make her like me?" he slurred, his eyes glassy. "I can't stand seeing her with someone else... I just... I just want her to be mine."

Joohyuk let out a low whistle. "It's kinda hard to believe that you, with that handsome face of yours, can't get a girl," he teased, leaning back in his chair, his buzz starting to kick in.

Mingyu's face crumpled again, and Joohyuk frowned, his tone shifting to concern. "Who is she? The girl that's got you all twisted up like this?"

Mingyu's words came out in a jumbled mess, and soon enough, his eyes were glistening with tears, the alcohol fueling his emotions further. "You remember my best friend... the one who studies abroad?" he began, voice cracking. "She's his..."

Joohyuk froze for a moment, eyes wide as he processed the situation. "His girlfriend?" he asked in disbelief, his lips curling into a half-smile. "Bro, you gotta be kidding me. Out of all the girls in the world, you fall for your homie's girl?"

"NO, NO!" Mingyu shot back, waving his hand in a frantic motion as his emotions overtook him again. "She's not his girlfriend!" he repeated, his voice breaking.

Joohyuk blinked. "Then what's the problem, man? If she's not with him, what's stopping you?"

Mingyu's face crumpled in despair, his voice almost a whisper as he stumbled over the words. "She... she's his sister," he confessed, his drunken state making it feel even more tragic. He pulled Joohyuk into a tight hug, his body shaking with the weight of his emotions. "I don't know what to do, man. I can't... I can't have her, but I can't stop wanting her."

Joohyuk sat there, stunned for a moment. He didn't know how to respond, his mind processing the ridiculousness of the situation. "Bro," he finally said, a slight chuckle escaping him. "You're... you're really in love with your best friend's sister? That's the problem?"

Mingyu sobbed a little more, the alcohol making everything feel more intense than it probably was. "I know, I know," he said, his voice muffled in Joohyuk's shoulder. "It's messed up. I just... I just can't stop thinking about her."

Joohyuk shook his head in disbelief. 

Joo Hyuk, with a mischievous grin, urged Mingyu to let loose and find some companionship for the night. He grabbed the alcohol glass from Mingyu's hand, downing the remaining contents in one swift motion. "Come on, forget everything and let's hit the dance floor," Joo Hyuk said, leading the way.

Mingyu followed, his mind still hazy from the alcohol. As they stepped onto the dance floor, the pulsating beat of the music consumed them. Mingyu felt the weight of his worries melt away with each step.

Before long, Joo Hyuk had already found a companion for the night, disappearing to the other side of the club with a sly wink. Mingyu, on the other hand, was approached by a stranger.

"Hey, aren't you Mingyu Sunbae from the engineering department?" the girl asked, her voice like a melody.

Mingyu looked at her and nodded. "Nice to meet you, I'm Seyeong from the medicine department," she introduced herself, flashing a bright smile.

Before Mingyu could respond, Seyeong had already moved closer, her body swaying in time with the music. She placed her hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer until their chests were touching. Mingyu was taken aback, but the alcohol coursed through his veins, numbing his senses.

Seyeong's movements were fluid, like a dance. She pressed her cleavage against his chest, making it a full display of her assets. Mingyu's mind was consumed with thoughts of Sera. In his alcohol-infused haze, he couldn't help but think that Seyeong was Sera, sent to him as an answer to his prayers.

"Want to get a room?" Seyeong whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his skin. 

Mingyu's vision swam in a hazy blur, the flashing lights of the club illuminating the space around him. His mind felt foggy, and the alcohol had wrapped him in a warm cocoon of numbness. But then, his eyes caught something—or rather, someone. At the entrance of the club, standing like a figure from a dream, was her.

"Sera?" Mingyu mumbled to himself, blinking rapidly as if doing so would somehow snap him out of his daze and make everything clearer. He squinted, the familiar silhouette in front of him. He stumbled back slightly, his voice slurring as he spoke louder than he intended. "TWO TWO SERA?"

The girl in front of him, who had been dancing with him just moments before, followed his gaze, confusion painting her face as she turned her head toward the entrance. She froze for a second, processing what he said, before her own realization hit her.

"Sera?" she echoed, her voice laced with disbelief as her eyes locked on the girl Mingyu was referring to.

Mingyu, still drunk and caught in the throes of his mixed-up emotions, looked between the two—Sera at the entrance and the Sera in his arms. "Wait... no way, how come there are two Seras," he muttered under his breath.

The music seemed to throb louder in his ears as he fumbled to make sense of the situation. Seyeong's expression shifted from confusion to mild irritation, her eyes narrowing as she took a step back from him.

"Did you seriously think I was Sera this whole time?" Seyeong's voice was sharp, tinged with disbelief. She crossed her arms over her chest, her face now set in an indignant frown. "What a jerk."

Before Mingyu could say another word, she pushed him lightly but firmly away from her, the force of the motion knocking him off balance for a moment.

Seyeong shook her head, her disappointment evident, and with a final glance at Mingyu, she turned and walked off into the crowd, leaving him standing there, still trying to piece everything together.

Chapter 4 : Confrontation

As the adrenaline faded away, he found himself seeking a way out, desperate to escape the turmoil of his thoughts.

"How long are you going to keep yourself away from me?" Sera's voice sliced through the noise, confident and unwavering. Mingyu, taken aback, feigned ignorance. "I don't understand what you're talking about," he responded, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Without hesitation, Sera moved closer, closing the space between them. Her hand reached for his, holding it firmly as if refusing to let him slip away. "You can drop the act now, oppa," she insisted. The tone in her voice was resolute, a stark contrast to Mingyu's hesitant demeanor.

"I heard it all," she leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. His heart raced as she held onto his neck, standing on her tiptoes to bring her face near his. Her proximity was intoxicating, yet troubling.

"You are Jeonwoo's sister. I can't—" Mingyu tried to back away, but Sera was relentless. She cut him off, sealing her defiance with a kiss on his cheek, a playful yet poignant gesture that sent a thrill through him. Mingyu's heart sank and soared all at once as he finally met her gaze.

"Okay, then I will go to Sunho Oppa," she teased, her demeanor flipping from assertive to mischievous in an instant as she turned to walk away. The implication of her words hit Mingyu like a freight train. His grip instinctively tightened around her wrist, pulling her back to him.

"Please, Sera," he pleaded, his expression shifting to one that could only be described as puppy-like, eyes wide with a mix of desperation and longing. The playful banter began melting away, leaving behind the raw emotion that had bubbled just beneath the surface. 

"Then tell me," Sera said suddenly, her voice soft yet filled with an urgency that made Mingyu's heart race. In that moment, he felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

Mingyu looked deeper into her eyes, a vibrant mix of curiosity and vulnerability reflecting back at him. It felt as if time had come to a standstill; the noise of the bar faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in a bubble of fleeting possibility. A sudden wave of courage surged through him, igniting a fire within that he had kept at bay for far too long. Without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her.

The kiss was electric—a culmination of longing and love, a blending of dreams that had been waiting for this moment to manifest. Their lips brushed against each other with a tender urgency, savoring every fleeting second, as if trying to grasp a moment that could slip away at any instant. In that enchantment, everything else ceased to exist, and all they could feel was each other.

"I like you," Mingyu confessed, his breath mingling with hers in between kisses, each word carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid feelings. The revelation hung in the air, both exhilarating and terrifying, yet it felt right.

Sera pulled back for just a moment, her eyes sparkling with surprise and delight. "We can continue at the hotel room," she said, a playful smile curling her lips.

-------------------------

The hotel room door creaked open, the sound amplifying the electric atmosphere that buzzed between Mingyu and Sera. As they crossed the threshold, their lips met in a fervent kiss that seemed to encapsulate the world outside—one that held no constraints or responsibilities. Nothing else existed in that moment but the two of them, lost in each other's embrace.

With a swift kick, Mingyu nudged the door shut, intent on carving out a little world where only they mattered. He traced Sera's delicate figure with admiration, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. The nearby table became their temporary sanctuary as he gently set her down, still locked in a passionate kiss. "You are too short; my neck hurts," he murmured playfully, yet his eyes spoke of hunger, desire.

Sera, feeling emboldened, wrapped her legs around his waist, a teasing move that brought their bodies even closer. The heat between them ignited as Mingyu's hands found their way to the hem of his shirt, pulling it off to reveal his toned physique. To him, she was petite and enchanting, every curve inviting exploration.

Their lips collided once more, becoming lost in the rhythm of soft sighs and heated breaths. Mingyu's hands, skilled yet gentle, began to undress Sera, each layer he shed revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her form. As he unclasped her bra, he feasted his eyes on her plump breasts, a sight that made his heart race with insatiable desire.

Mingyu leaned down, his mouth enveloping her soft skin, a rush of adrenaline coursing through him as he lavished her with attention. His hands wandered, finding their way to her clit through her clothing, caressing her softly. Sera responded with soft moans, a sound he felt in the depths of his being, urging him on.

As passion thickened the air, Mingyu's urgency grew. He quickly shed his pants and retrieved a condom from the drawer, his determination evident. Positioning himself at her entrance, he locked eyes with her, seeking her silent permission as he began to enter her slowly, their lips brushing together in a tumultuous dance.

With each thrust, a primal intensity enveloped them both. Moments turned to a haze of sweat and ecstasy—Mingyu transformed, becoming both lover and beast, a force of nature that left Sera breathless beneath him. "Ah, fuck," she gasped, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through her.

As they reached the precipice of their desires, Mingyu shifted her position, bending her over the table. Sera felt the cool surface against her skin, a stark contrast to the fervent heat igniting in her core. "Sera-ah," he moaned, hands gripping her waist, driving deeper with each rhythm.

Their bodies moved in perfect synchrony, the tempo rising as their breaths grew heavier. Mingyu sensed the climax approaching, a rush of exhilaration. With one final thrust, he pulled out, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he released onto her skin. At that moment, time seemed to suspend—their eyes met, and Sera's gaze sparkled with an innocent allure as she too reached her peak, a beautiful symphony shared between them. 

-----------------------------

As the steam from the bathroom lingered in the air, Mingyu stepped out of the shower, water droplets cascading down his toned frame. The casual, effortless nature of his appearance was endearing, yet it evoked an unexpected shyness in him.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, a playful edge to his voice, as he caught Sera's gaze from across the room.

Wiping her hair with a towel, Sera chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Whoa, look at you getting shy after all this," she teased. 

----------------------------------

Two weeks had flown by since that steamy night in the hotel room. And in the aftermath of their passionate escapade, Sera had become a frequent visitor to Mingyu's room. With Joo Hyuk often occupied with his part time job, the two had explored the thrilling dynamics of secrecy, indulging in their hidden desires whenever the opportunity arose. Each rendezvous was charged with excitement—a dance of passion that ignited every corner of Mingyu's otherwise mundane days.

Today, however, was different. Mingyu was on a mission to pick up his best friend, Wonwoo, from the airport.

As he arrived at the bustling airport, he spotted Wonwoo making his way through the terminal.

"Brother!" Mingyu called out, his face lighting up in a broad smile as they both rushed to embrace each other. It felt good, the familiar warmth of friendship rekindled after a few months apart. "Missed ya," Mingyu said, clapping Wonwoo on the back before helping him with his luggage.

"Why did you only call me to pick you up?" Mingyu probed as they loaded the bags into the car's trunk, genuinely curious about his friend's whirlwind life abroad.

"Mom and Dad's 30th anniversary is coming up, and I want to give them a surprise," Wonwoo replied, excitement bubbling over in his voice. It was classic Wonwoo—thoughtful and family-oriented, proud of planning something truly special.

Once settled into the Uber, the chaotic energy of the ride kicked in. Wonwoo dove into a barrage of stories about living abroad—the food, the people, the experiences—but amidst the laughter and reminiscing, he posed an unexpected question that made Mingyu's heart race for an entirely different reason.

"Ah, by the way, do you know which jerk is dating my sister?" Wonwoo asked, casually leaning back in his seat. The smoothness of his nonchalant tone did not betray the depth of the question.

Mingyu felt the color drain from his face. Coughing splutteringly, he quickly grabbed the water bottle beside him to take a sip—a feeble attempt to mask his reaction.

"Like, two weeks ago, I saw my credit card was used to bill at a hotel—the same card I had given to my sister," Wonwoo continued, his voice laced with incredulity. Mingyu's heart raced again. If only he knew...

"You know it would've been better if you were dating my sister, can't trust her with the jerks nowadays", Wonwoo casually said.

The neurological pathways of panic ignited as Mingyu choked once more on his drink, causing a cascade of water to spill across the upholstery of the Uber. The driver shot a frustrated look through the rearview mirror, and Mingyu hastily apologized while trying to wipe away the mess with his sleeve.

[colleendoran]

How Do I Do Stuff

The question was phrased a little strangely, and I don't want to embarrass the person by posting exactly what was said, but I'll answer it and hope this clears everything up.

I do almost all of my drawing by hand. No, I don't trace in Photoshop. Not a judgment on those who do, but I come from a generation of artists who did not use Poser programs or other digital tools. We learned to draw using a technique called the Sight Size method. I know a lot of people assume everyone - including the old masters - traced everything using optical tools, but while it is true some people did, it is just as true that most didn't, and you can draw with great accuracy if you learned how to draw the old fashioned way.

Sight Size breaks everything down into its barest components of geometric shapes and you build from there. Once you learn it, you never forget, and it applies to everything you will ever draw.

I learned it using a set of Famous Artist Course books my mom had since she was a kid, and they are still the gold standard. They're often on ebay. If I were you, I'd buy them.

I actually find using figure reference really annoying because I like exaggerations and modifications from reality in my final work.

This page from Neil Gaiman's Chivalry was drawn and painted without figure reference of any kind.

I don't know why people assume I trace all the time. If you were to try to use photographs to replicate these figures, you would find they are slightly off. There is no tracing here.

This is not to say I never use reference. This page, for example, was referenced from a photo of my mother. Isn't she pretty.

But this page of Sir Galaad was drawn and painted without reference.

He's pretty, too.

If he were real, I'm sure a lot of people would be very happy about it. But he's not. And had I reference, the art would have gone a lot faster. I had a time trying to nail this face that is very alive in my head but doesn't really exist.

Back in the ancient days, all cartoonists had to learn to draw and paint extemporaneously because reference was limited and digital tools didn't exist. While some high end artists had photography studios and professional models with costume and sets on hand, small fry like me were limited to what was in the house or available at my small local library, which was no bigger than a few rooms of my current house.

Artists kept extensive "morgue files" or "swipe files" which were collected from magazine clippings and photographs so we would have as much of what we might need on hand for quick reference. These ephemera collections could get unwieldy. I have thousands of photographs I've simply never sorted. I finally dumped most of my files this past year.

Have I ever traced anything? Of course, especially if I have to re-use a shot or setting over and over. Making extra work for myself is just silly. It's my job to make pictures, not to perform magical feats, like copying one shot after another over and over without making a mistake.

However, for almost 15 years of my career, I refused to copy or trace anything, and did not even own a lightbox. On the one hand, that forced me to learn to carefully examine what I saw. On the other hand, it was a stupid hill on which many deadlines died.

Only after I realized many professional artists had lightboxes and overhead projectors did I finally break down and get one.

The one thing I use my lightbox for more than anything is for tracing my thumbnail sketches to the final drawing paper. Instead of trying to capture the liveliness of the original sketch by copying what I see - only bigger - I blow the thumbnail up to the size I want the final art to be, then I trace over the thumbnail using a lightbox onto the final drawing paper.

Here's a look at thumbnails from the graphic novel Neil Gaiman's Snow, Glass, Apples.

I enlarged these on my computer to fit onto 11"x14" paper, and traced the thumbs before finishing the art which was drawn in pen and ink and colored in Photoshop.

While I obviously made some changes, the essence of the thumbs is there in the final work. Tracing my thumbs retains some of the looseness of the original sketches, which is often lost otherwise.

So, there is a valid purpose to tracing at times, though in my opinion, too much tracing can weaken drawing ability, substitute for developing skills, and make the work kind of stiff.

If you want to, I'm not your judge. But it's weird to me that people think I must be faking my skills in some way.

Ironically, the word cartoon comes from the Italian word cartone, which is a large heavy sheet of paper - also, the origin of the word carton.

Preparatory sketches were made on this paper which was then transferred to the final work surface via either tracing or by stamping little holes in the paper through which dust was sprinkled, recreating the contours of the drawing for the artist to follow.

So the origin of the word cartoon comes from a process often used...for tracing.

[barcaatthemoon]

first || barcelona x teen!reader ||

you score your first club goal.

months of hard work had finally seemed to pay off. you were grateful for the opportunity to just wear the barcelona colors officially, but it was nice to not just come to practice. it was a huge deal for you to finally be on the sub list. you had been waiting all season for this moment, and while it wasn't a start, it was definitely a big step for you.

"are you cold?" alexia asked as she placed a hand on your knee. you had been bouncing your knee from the moment that you sat down on the bench. nearly 60 minutes into the game, and it hadn't stopped. a few of the other girls thought it was sort of funny, especially since you had been a bundle of nerves on the bus.

"no, just restless. do you think that jona will really sub me in?" you asked hopefully. alexia nodded, knowing that they'd need you soon. there wasn't a lot of time left in the game, but quite a few of the girls were looking a little sluggish. there had been quite a few games in fairly rapid succession to each other.

"here, why don't you warm up a bit, okay?" alexia suggested. you got up from your seat immediately. alexia watched as you stretched and moved around to get the blood flowing throughout your body. jona pulled both you and alexia off of the bench to replace lucy and keira.

playing in the backline was still very new for you. whenever you had been signed, the team put you in the midfield. it was where you had always been, but over the course of the season, you had proven your defensive prowess.

in all honesty, you were sure that they deemed you too clumsy to be an attacking player. your size made you formidible, and if they could keep your movement limited, nobody would know how easy it was to get you to trip over your own two feet. that was the game plan, and you could only hope that by the time that the next season rolled around, you moved a bit more fluidly with your extra lank.

"ready for your first corner?" ona asked as she put her hand on your back. you smiled down at the older player and nodded. corners were always your favorite part of practice. it was one of the rare times that they let you play things forward.

"watch out, it's going straight for you," alexia warned you. she disguised it as a quick hug, something that nobody thought anything of. everybody had seen her being affectionate with you on social media, often treating you as if you were her baby sister. in a lot of ways, you felt like the team's baby sister, each one of those girls protecting you like you were one of their own.

the ball was crossed over beautifully directly towards you. jumping up, you were able to get a head on it well before anybody else. you couldn't see it going into the net since you had closed your eyes when you came up, but you could hear the crowd going absolutely wild. you just barely managed to land steadily on your feet, only to be knocked over by your teammates seconds later.

barcelona was up, over two goals ahead of your opponents when your header made it three. still, this was your very first goal in your very first game. to score on your debut was a dream come true, one that you thought wouldn't happen when jona told you where you'd be playing for the season. however, as you felt several bodies crash excitedly into yours, you realized exactly what happened.

there wasn't enough time for the other team to score, much less even things out. the final whistle blew, and you found yourself gravitating over towards the bench. all of the adrenaline was catching up to you, and a part of you felt tired. you had barely played at all, but the excitement from your goal mixed with your anxiety to threaten to knock you on your ass for the day.

"hey, don't fall asleep on me superstar. we're having a whole party in your honor for that one," patri said. she grabbed onto your chin and peppered your cheek in kisses. jana mirrored her, both women laughing as you tried to shove them away. it seemed like everybody took after the two of them and crowded around you.

"nice header baby bird," pina complimented you. you shook your head at the nickname. you didn't know what to do with all the attention as it started to get a bit overwhelming.

"walk with me," frido said as she reached her hand towards you. a couple of the girls tried to follow, but they shrunk back at the glare they got from the older player. "that was a good goal you had out there, and i saw that tackle. you're playing a lot better than you were at first."

"thank you, the extra practice has been paying off," you told her. frido was glad to hear it. she knew how hard it was for you to be so far away from home while playing in spain. spain was a lot different from norway, but you had ingrid to look out for you. and if ingrid was indisposed for any reason, frido was there by your side.

today, ingrid was with mapi for an appointment. it was supposed to be mapi's last one before she could test for her clearance. you had wanted to go with them, but it was because of ingrid's absence that jona had called you in as a sub in the first place. they had promised to call you after the game, but you weren't sure how long after it would be. mapi wasn't sure how long her appointment would take, and ingrid had planned on taking mapi out on a date after.

"i know that you wanted them here," frido said. you shrugged it off, knowing that sometimes it was better to be mature about not getting what you wanted. you were more than a little hurt that both mapi and ingrid, who had become like your mothers, were missing this game, but you understood. they couldn't be there for everything, and one day, you knew that they wouldn't be there at all for you.

"it would have been nice for them to see me score that goal, but i have all of you here too. you're just as much my family, and part of my journey as they are." you felt frido pull you into a hug, holding you tightly in her arms. she led you to the locker room, allowing for you to get your shower in before everybody else came in. it was nice to get hot water for once, the other players claiming seniority whenever it came to showering most of the time.

their celebrations for you continued onto the bus, even as you sat with alexia, who was taking you in for the night. she let you fall asleep on her shoulder, shushing your teammates whenever they'd get too rowdy. sandra carried you off of the bus and to alexia's car when you got back to barcelona, allowing for you to sleep all the way to alexia's house. you were groggy as you followed her inside, but quickly woke right back up at the sight of alexia's sister sitting on the couch with olga, the two of them quick to congratulate you.

"i am going to go get us a snack. mapi wanted me to let you know that she saw your tackle earlier, and she was very impressed," alexia said. she pressed a kiss to your forehead as she passed where you settled back on her couch.

"i am sure that she is. mapi taught me how to do that after all," you laughed. alexia rolled her eyes, having had to read through several texts of mapi being insufferable about having "taught you the most important skills" since you had joined the team. alexia thought that it was bullshit, that you had learned much more than just what mapi had taught you, but she kept quiet and allowed for her friend to have her moment.

[luveline]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 —send me a shy!reader request for any character (with a plot) and I'll write a >1k drabble

Can I request shy!reader and Derek? Maybe where she's really shy about pda but she finally works up the courage to hold his hand or kiss his cheek in public and he just melts <3

tysm! ♡

"Penelope, I'm not wearing that." 

Penelope waves the custom t-shirt she's made at him threateningly. "Yes, you will, because you love me and you love Hotch and he deserves our support." 

She's created matching garb for their entire team as well as any partner willing to support Hotch. "This is his second triathlon, and he's very much going to remember last year's triathlon and his now ex-girlfriend. Plus, it's for charity!" She slaps his chest with the shirt. "Put it on." 

You smile at his reaction, the fond clench of his jaw, his rolling eyes as he peels out of his t-shirt. The smile quickly stifles, mouth dry as the Sahara in seconds. The tight pack of his abs ripple in the sunlight, dark skin practically glistening. 

"It's too hot for this," he complains. 

Penelope nudges you. "He can say that again." 

Derek squeezes into his shirt and laughs. "This better be the wrong size on accident." 

"Maybe." She leans down to grab another shirt from her tote bag, saying, "This should be the right size, sweetcheeks." 

Yours is big enough to wear over your original blouse easily. Derek glares at you without any real malice and swings an arm around your shoulders, dropping a kiss at your temple. "Looking good." 

Being with Derek has never made any sense to you. Or rather, Derek being with you has never made any sense —you'd be a fool to turn him down and he's a fool to think you're good enough. He's ridiculously attractive, a bombshell of a man, with ambition and a good heart, sweetness and heat alike practically drip from him. You're confused by him often and melted by him more, a melted puddle of a girl as he walks you to the crowd of BAU employees waiting at the finish line to cheer for Hotch.

Jack and Henry stand together, though Henry, JJ's son, is much smaller. Will crouches next to him to make sure he doesn't run anywhere he isn't supposed to, while JJ stands with Emily and Spencer, all already bedecked in their supportive t-shirts. 

There's a chorus of hellos as you join them. Everybody Derek cares about that isn't in Chicago stands in a bubble, and it terrifies you like always. You want to make a good impression. You don't want to let Derek down. 

Not that he cares about any of that. He knew you were shy to aching when you met and he has no intentions of trying to change you. "Sorry we're late," he says. "My fault."

Actually, it's your fault. You got the time wrong. But Derek doesn't embarrass you by telling them —your affection for him swells. 

He keeps a hand behind your back for a while. You sway under the huge sun beating down and on tired feet for a while, Hotch your saviour as he appears across the finish line. Will takes Jack to meet him, and Jack, the poor thing, gets a super sweaty hug.

Hotch isn't first to finish, but he runs a good time. 

"Better than last year's!" Emily cheers. 

Penelope wolf whistles. You clap your hands with Spencer, pleased if feeling a little out of place. 

"Maybe I'll sign up for next year's triathlon," Derek says, grinning. 

You know he's kidding, but Derek could do anything he set his mind to. You go on tiptoes and kiss his cheek. "I'd cheer you on," you say earnestly, stepping back, wiping the tiny balmy kiss print you've left behind. 

Derek looks at you plainly startled. Your heart skips a beat, worried you've overstepped. 

"Can I get another one of those, or are they in limited supply?" he asks, warm and quiet, not an inch of bravado to be seen. 

You turn back the unfolding scene of victory in front of you, "Maybe later." 

Derek is noticeably sweet on you for hours, and declares at dinner that he'll be joining Hotch in next year's triathlon. You reach for his hand under the table and nod along. You'd love to see him at the finish line.