#i have been writing or making art about this all evening this is not how I wanted to spend the evening it is past 4am

[goldenhourology]

SAVE THE DATE.

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader

genre: smut, fluff, angst, frenemies to lovers

summary: 5 weddings in one year. 5 dates you saved for you and your boyfriend to attend — before he cheated. and now, you had to force your best friend, vernon, to go with you. but after losing a bet, mingyu agrees to take vernon’s place and be your date. this wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go, but you guess you could settle going with your only one-night-stand from college.

warnings: oral (f!recieving), fingering, 69ing, unprotected sex, reader on top, praise, mingyu has boyfriend dick<3, sub-ish!mingyu, also power bottom!mingyu 👍, multiple sex scenes, marijuana smoking/shotgunning, marijuana-induced horniness lol, one bed trope, forced proximity, miscommunication, HEAVY mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 19.9k

note: first things first, APOLOGIESSSSS for this taking so long. I've had a lot going on (which I know just about everyone says) and I was lowkey struggling to write this, even tho I was so amped for it. nevertheless, I'm so glad I was able to focus and finish it, because I care so much for these two and I desperately wanted to share their story with you 💓 per usual, please expect angst with your smut, and if you cry, I will not judge you and honestly would love to hear it lol. enjoy friends! (taglist posted at the bottom.)

in rotation: bmf, sza / mona lisa, mxmtoon / gorgeous, taylor swift / moonstruck, enhypen / finally // beautiful stranger, halsey

Your mom had told you that the friends you make in your first year of college stay with you for life, but you didn’t expect that when you met Vernon. He had been shy, refusing to speak to anyone in your orientation group, but knowing glances turned into sitting next to each other, which then had you both whispering jokes back and forth, until finally, he told you his name. Hansol Chwe to be exact, but he insisted on “just Vernon.” By the second semester of freshman year, you both had become inseparable. He was your best friend, been with you through some of the toughest moments of your adult life, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Vernon’s friendship survived through many of your boyfriends, and you knew he’d outlast many more. He experienced some of the worst ones – a.k.a. the men who refused to believe you two were just friends – and also the boring ones – the one guy who used you to get to him. But none of them had pissed him off more than your most current breakup: the man who was three years your senior and cheated on you with a 22-year-old. You assumed by age 27, you’d know how to pick ‘em, but that was clearly wrong.

Now you were left to your own devices with five weddings to attend this year. In retrospect, maybe there was a few you could’ve skipped, but you hated saying no in situations like this. You had agreed to go to all of them with your now ex-boyfriend in mind, placing a 2 on the invite’s attending line. Per usual, Vernon had stepped up and begrudgingly offered himself to be your date.

So why were you now meeting up with Kim Mingyu to discuss the dates of said five weddings?

You first met Mingyu when Vernon joined a fraternity in sophomore year to make more friends. “I can’t just have you. I need to have at least some friends that are dudes,” he said, which made you reply, “That’s the toxic masculinity talking.” And boy, had Mingyu been the epitome of that statement. Him and Vernon had connected instantly, sharing the same major and an affinity for art girls. You had never really gotten along with him like Vernon had hoped, but he was … attractive, to say the least.

Okay, maybe you had a crush on him. You had eyes.

But it was college and you both were on the cusp of 20. It was so hard to confess feelings back then, especially to someone like Kim Mingyu. Who you didn’t particularly enjoy talking to in the first place. However … he was probably one of the hottest men you’d ever seen; made in a lab for every young girl’s fantasy. Sometimes you couldn’t help but just stare at him, admiring his perfect teeth or the way his honey-gold skin shined in the afternoon sunlight. (You thanked your lucky stars that Vernon joined the college football team alongside Mingyu, just so you could  secretly ogle him during practice.)

Suffice to say, you did eventually hook up. In the most cliche way possible, you had both gotten a little too tipsy at the first frat party of senior year and wound up in Mingyu’s dorm, locking out his roommate for the entire night. It almost felt weird, realizing your attraction had been reciprocated, but he hardly said a word to you come morning. In fact, he never mentioned it again, period, choosing to avoid you except in group settings with Vernon. You weren’t a fool; you were quick to realize it meant nothing to him, just another notch on his bedpost.

Mingyu was every girl’s dream, but Mingyu was also uncommitted.

And he was walking towards you right now.

You looked up from your phone after stalking – looking through Mingyu’s Instagram. You never followed him, never checked in on him after graduation, but you knew how close he still was with Vernon. He even posted a picture with him recently. You rolled your eyes. Despite his long hair, you recognized Mingyu instantly as he went up to the barista and ordered a coffee. You studied him for a moment, noticing that there was a curl to his hair and the way those dark stands hung around his eyes. His skin was as perfect as ever and – goddamn, did he get bigger? He was wearing a jacket over his t-shirt and you could still tell how big his muscles were.

When he finally looked over his shoulder and your eyes connected, his face remained unchanged, if not a little awkward. He walked up to you, rubbing at the back of his neck, and said your name as if it were a question. “Yeah. Hi, Mingyu,” you replied with a wave. “It’s been a while.”

“Five years since graduation,” he added, pulling out the chair across from you and plopping down. “So you stopped putting those blonde highlights in your hair?”

Your eye twitched. Before you could spit out a response, a cute, dark-haired barista came over and set a fresh mug of coffee in front of him, completely ignoring that your own was practically empty. Mingyu flashed her a smile, showing off his pretty canines as she walked away. You frowned.

Vernon had told you last night that Mingyu wasn’t the same guy you knew in college, but you begged to differ.

Turning back to you, he took a sip from his mug and asked, “Why did you want to meet up again?”

“Because my best friend is an asshole and you lost a bet.”

“Oh, yeah. That.” He nodded.

You almost didn’t believe Vernon when he told you. You knew he didn’t exactly want to be your date to all these weddings and probably felt like he had to, but he did offer so you didn’t think much of it. Until he told you last week that he put all his guest invites on the line while playing a drinking game with Mingyu, which the latter lost. So now Kim Mingyu, your college one-night-stand that was scared of commitment, was committing to being your date to several weddings this year.

Kill me now, you thought.

“I thought drinking games and making silly bets like this didn’t happen once your frontal lobe formed,” you said, and his dark eyes flickered up to yours.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he cleared his throat and set the mug down again. “Men never really grow up.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and sat back in your chair. “Apparently,” you muttered under your breath. “How do you have the time to actually commit to this? Don’t you have a girlfriend or something?”

“One,” he held up a single finger, “I take bets very seriously and I’m not a sore loser. It’s only removing five weekends out of the year for me. No biggie. And two,” he lifted another finger, “No.”

You raised a brow. “Well, I guess that answers all my questions.”

Mingyu stared at you for a moment, running those two fingers over his bottom lip. You suddenly had a flashback to that night, remembering his hands all over you, remembering his fingers plunging inside and curling –

Not the time.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend? Why put down two people on these RSVPs you sent back and then force just anybody to be your date?” He fought the urge to smile, trying to dig a little deeper into you. You weren’t falling for it this time. “I love the guy, but I know Vernon wasn’t your first choice to accompany you.”

“My ex and I broke up,” you replied. “Not much to it.”

Intrigued, he sipped his coffee again. “Why?”

“It’s none of your business, Mingyu.”

“Well, as your new date –”

“Drop it,” you said, voice taking on a new tone. “I’m serious.”

Mingyu raised his hand in surrender, and you shook off your anger. This was supposed to be a friendly, quick conversation, but it was seemingly moving off the rails. A sigh escaped your mouth before you asked, “So you said this is only taking five weekends out of the year. What do you do with your time? Are you working?”

“I thought I answered all your questions.”

You narrowed your eyes.

He chuckled softly, exposing those canines once again. His smile was so … ugh, you needed to stop getting distracted. “I work at a restaurant four days a week as a cook, and then teach flag football at a rec facility the rest of the time. I’ve been trying to save up to open my own restaurant for years, but I got the time to be a makeshift wedding date.”

You knew Mingyu had always loved to cook – you remembered when he’d been the resident chef at the fraternity – but to hear he was still passionate almost … melted you a little. Almost. You were dedicated to not being too swayed by Mingyu’s pretty words. This was a deal and that was the end of it.

“I see,” you nodded, uncrossing your arms to play with the handle of your still empty mug. “I’ve been working at the same marketing agency since college. Pays the bills, you know?”

Mingyu gave you a knowing look before running a hand through the long strands. “Always so committed.”

Your lips pursed. “One of us has to be.”

“Speaking of commitment,” he said without missing a beat, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “What are the dates for those weddings again?”

Save the Date for the wedding of Choi Seungcheol and Holland Levine: February 28th

It was a rainy Sunday in February. Your coworker, Choi Seungcheol, was getting married today at a local venue on the outskirts. His girlfriend, Holland – otherwise known as, Hinge Holland, when he met her on the dating app 3 years ago – was a little kooky and asked for them to be eloped that morning. Seungcheol was too in love to say no; he’d do anything she asked. They were married early morning, and lucky for you and Mingyu, all you had to attend was a reception. It was a nice way to test the waters of this deal before anything got too crazy. 

Mingyu had picked you up in his truck, and together struggled to help lift you inside with your dress and heels on. As he drove away from the city and into a more rural area, he commented, “Your coworker must be real whipped to agree to a reception here.”

“What are you talking about?” You looked through your phone for the address Seungcheol had sent you months ago. “I thought the reception was at some small venue.”

Mingyu said your name, and you glanced over, seeing the smile on his face. “It’s a VFW owned by someone in his girlfriend’s family.”

You realized just how right he was when he pulled up to a spot in a VFW parking lot, seeing a crowd of Holland’s family pour into the post. You knew what the inside of a VFW looked like; you had your sweet 16 at one. But going to a wedding reception at one was a whole different story. Were the walls so old that they’d crumble once the DJ dared to play Dancing Queen?

Rain pounded from the sky, making the cold February wind even more chilly. Mingyu rounded the truck and opened your door, making sure to hold an umbrella above your head as you slid out of the seat. He looked … okay, he looked extremely handsome in his suit, tailored exactly to his body. You were in an old, off-the-shoulder black dress with mesh sleeves that were doing nothing in this wet cold. This wedding had crept up on you, and before you knew it, you remembered you didn’t have any new dresses to wear. And while it looked nice, the dress just barely zipped and you had to keep pulling up the neckline. Clearly, you had grown a bit since the last time you worn this. Probably in college.

Mingyu was staring at you now, letting his eyes wander down, and you were yanking at the neckline again. He didn’t deserve to see more of your cleavage. He whispered, “You look …”

“Just come on,” you cut him off, tugging him in the direction of the VFW. He struggled to keep up for a moment, rushing to hold the umbrella above both of you. 

As soon as you both walked inside, you realized just how dressed up you were compared to the place. The building looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1990s. There was, at least, a huge buffet-style food setup in the corner and a man so old that he probably had one foot in the grave behind the bar. A sign in front of him said, OPEN BAR, written in thick sharpie. Various family members were congregating at tables, while the DJ – who looked like a Pitbull impersonator – was setting up at the head of the room. 

Seungcheol ran over the second he saw you meandering through tables. He had the biggest smile on his face, tugging his new wife over to introduce her to you before wiggling his eyebrows at you when he noticed Mingyu on your arm. Even Holland couldn’t help but ogle him. Seungcheol was one of your closest coworkers, so it wasn’t weird when he asked, “Who’s the beefcake?”

Mingyu was too busy dealing with Holland’s questions to hear you reply, “Don’t ask. I’ve cycled through many options before I was forced to bring him.”

“I’m sure it was quite difficult for you,” he snorted, before carefully pulling his wife’s hand off of Mingyu’s and introducing himself. Not long after, he was ushering her away to start making speeches. 

You and Mingyu found your seat quickly, and luckily enough, you were sat with most of your coworkers. Every single one was looking at Mingyu like he was a piece of meat, but he didn’t seem to notice as he had a friendly conversation with each of them. You struggled to not roll your eyes. How was he perfect with everyone? Maybe your dislike of him was irrational and unwarranted, maybe he did change. But … ugh, could he fuck up for once?

Your coworker, Minghao, sat to your left, watching Mingyu converse with the young assistant – Amelia, right? – who was very clearly batting her eyes at him. Leaning towards you, Minghao whispered, “I thought you were bringing Vernon?”

Minghao was one of the few people you told about your breakup, as well as Vernon and of course, your girlfriends. It wasn’t like you to go around everywhere and post on social media about your breakup; it wasn’t anyone’s business. But Minghao gave great advice, and he was one of the first people that helped you get over the heartbreak. He wasn’t just a coworker. He became a trusted friend.

Turning your head, you said, “Would you believe me if I told you that he lost a bet?”

“Considering who you ended up with,” he chuckled, “I’d say it’s a win in your favor.”

“He’s not that great.”

“Then you might want to pull Amelia off of him before she starts sucking his face.”

The reception ended at an early hour thankfully. Most of the elderly guests were falling asleep anyway. Mingyu was a class act, per usual, trying to get you up and out of your seat to dance with him, but the last thing you wanted to do was dance to Toxic by Britney Spears in front of your boss at the marketing agency. Instead, he took the lead to asking Seungcheol’s mom to dance, and made Amelia’s day when he asked her to join. Minghao only continued to laugh when you rejected each of Mingyu’s advances.

Once 10 PM rolled around and you both were exiting the doors of the aging VFW, you noticed the rain hadn’t let up. In fact, it seemed to have gotten even worst. You had to run to Mingyu’s truck with him holding the umbrella above both of you and almost trip over your dress as you hopped up inside the cab. Assuming it would be fine to drive, just a few minutes in the rain left you both realizing that it might be extremely unsafe to drive back to the city in this weather. You really couldn’t argue with Mingyu when he suggested you stay the night at a motel right down the road. 

The woman behind the front desk at the motel was chewing so loud that you thought the wad of bubblegum between her teeth might be larger than your palm. She informed you both that the only rooms available were ones with a single queen-sized bed. As much as you desperately wanted two, you’d take what you could get. She started grabbing both of your informations to check in when a loud bolt of lightning cracked, followed by a crash of thunder. You instantly gripped Mingyu’s arm, and he paused signing his name to look down at you.

“Are you scared of thunder?” He asked playfully.

Realizing how tight you were holding on, you quickly removed your hand. “No, I’m … it’s fine.”

His bicep felt so much harder than anticipated. All muscle. 

Stop that.

The front desk attendant gave you an actual metal key to open your room, the number dangling from a kitschy pendant. This was the kind of motel where you needed to venture outside to get to your room, and with your arms locked together, Mingyu led you both through the pouring rain to the right building. He shoved the key in the lock, immediately opening the door and allowing you to walk inside first.

The room was smaller than expected. The heat was hardly circulating and you were still shivering. A queen-sized bed was situated in front of an old RCA TV, decorated with a comforter that looked strangely similar to the one from the 80s that your mom had given you when you first moved out. The room smelled like bleach and all you could hear was the rain on the roof. Noticing you shiver, Mingyu walked over to the thermostat and adjusted the heat.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” you said, hugging your arms around yourself.

Mingyu pointed to the large window by the door. “I can’t drive in that. It takes an hour to get back to the city and I can hardly see the road.”

“Okay, well –”

Lightning struck again, painting the window white, and you jumped. Mingyu shook his head and walked over, closing the shades over the glass. He looked down at you, and you were acutely aware that he was the kind of person who could say everything just with his eyes. “Better?” He asked, a smile playing at his pink lips.

He was so close that you could smell his cologne and – god dammit, you were such a sucker for men that smelled good. He smelled like violets mixed with smokey sandalwood, spicy and musky. Whatever you were going to quip back died on your tongue, leaving you to reply, “I can’t sleep in my dress. I have nothing to wear to bed.”

Walking over to the tiny closet, Mingyu spotted a robe hanging up next to the vintage ironing board. He placed it in your arms and remarked, “Take a shower and put this on.”

“Are you saying I smell?”

He laughed. “No, you’re shivering and it’ll help warm you up.”

You nodded, heading off to the bathroom and shutting the door. As you slipped off your dress and let it pool onto the tile, you realized how antagonizing you were being for no reason. Mingyu had been nothing but nice to you, but you were suspecting him to switch-up at any moment. Maybe Vernon was right, or maybe you just needed to take a chill pill.

Mingyu was helping you out, after all.

After taking the warmest shower of your life and probably using all of the hot water in the motel, you walked out into the room with your robe tied firmly around your waist. The cotton smelled like mothballs and you hardly left an inch of skin showing. Granted you weren’t naked underneath, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your underwear. Again. After five years. 

He was wearing only a tank top and boxers while setting up a makeshift bed on the floor. You struggled to maintain focus with him looking … well, like that, and eventually spoke up, “What are you doing?”

He hardly jumped at hearing your voice. “I figured it would just be easier if I slept on the floor. Trust me, I’ve slept in far worse places.”

“Mingyu, you don’t have to do that,” you sighed, pulling back the covers and tossing the mismatching throw pillows on the floor. 

“It’s not a big deal.”

“I know, but it’s just –”

Thunder clashed outside, sounding like pots and pans clanging together, rattling your bones.

Your eyes connected with Mingyu’s, and you pointed to the empty side of the bed. “Sleep in this bed right now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You both agreed – more like, you told Mingyu and he listened – to place a wall of pillows between you two, leaving you on the edges of the bed. You curled up into yourself, your spine facing him, as Mingyu laid on his back and pinched the bridge of his nose. The rain was so loud. The thunder was deafening. You considered plugging your fingers in your ears as you slept.

Mingyu was shifting on the small sliver of mattress he had, wishing internally that he brought a joint or two with him. This bed was so uncomfortable that he probably wouldn’t sleep. But hopefully, you would. Although that was seeming highly unlikely from the way your back tensed with every boom of thunder.

He watched you from the corner of his eye, and eventually, you did stop shaking. Soft snores filled the room, replacing the sound of the rain. And then Mingyu felt himself relax, swiftly falling asleep with his arm thrown above his head.

Despite the pillow wall you built, you woke up with your head on his chest.

Mingyu had wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked that day, but he couldn’t find the courage to finish his sentence.

Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Chan and Adrianna Olson: April 4th

Tapping your freshly manicured nails on your bare arm, you leaned against the passenger side door of your car and huffed. You uncrossed your arms, beginning to pace outside Mingyu’s apartment building. The ceremony today started in two hours and you were about ninety minutes from the venue. Not to mention, there was only a matter of time before one of his neighbors showed up, forcibly removing you from the parking spot in front of the building you definitely did not live in. What the hell was Mingyu doing anyway? He said he’d be down ten minutes ago. 

You tugged off your heels, realizing they’d be a bitch to drive in, and pulled your sneakers from the back seat. Your floral, strapless sundress blew in the Spring breeze. Your curls – that looked like they could’ve been done by a toddler – whisked off your bare shoulders as you stepped into your favorite Nikes. 

“Sorry.”

Popping your head up, you halted while shoving the back door closed. You blinked, assuming your eyes were deceiving you, but there he was, sprinting down the front steps of his building with freshly chopped hair.

Mingyu was quickly walking over to shove his duffle in your backseat, pulling at his tie, when you leaned in and placed your hand on his head. Yep, that was his real hair. Those long locks that had reached his chin were gone, replaced by a hairstyle that was similar to how he looked in college. 

“I know we’re running late,” he apologized, letting your fingers sink into the strands for a moment, “but do you have to –”

“This is not about that.” You removed your hand, leveling a look at him. “You cut your hair.”

Mingyu raised a brow. “It was getting long.”

You paused, blinking at him. “Why didn’t you warn me of your new look?”

“I didn’t think I had to?” He shrugged, genuinely confused as to why you were questioning him. “My hair had gotten even longer since February, so I just thought I’d freshen up for you –”

You completely missed his words – for you, he’d freshened up for you – because you were already interrupting him. “Well, it’s just – it might look weird in pictures because my hair is up and your hair is so short. And I’m already going to have so many people looking at us wondering why my ex, who’s name I put on the invite, isn’t here. And I just want to eliminate as much attention as possible. And, well – and –”

Mingyu placed both hands on your shoulders. His palms were large, practically burning into your exposed skin. “Are you overthinking?”

“No, I …”

When your voice trailed off, Mingyu hesitated for a moment longer and then slid his hands off. “Vernon told me that you dated the groom. Chan, right?”

Of-fucking-course, Vernon told him. Your lips pursed before you replied, “We were friends before that, and we only dated for like a couple months in college. I introduced him to the woman he’s marrying.”

“Then why are you so nervous?”

“I think I have a lot of reasons to be nervous these days.” You continued to stare at him, waiting for him to come up with another quippy remark, but it seemed he contested and shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit. The same tailored suit he wore to the wedding in February, a few loose threads at the seams. “Let’s get going. We’ll be in the car for a while,” you said, rounding your car and hopping inside the driver’s seat.

As Mingyu dealt with finding room for his duffle in your trunk, you took this small second to text Vernon.

You: your friend is infuriating

You: also I’m never going to forgive you for telling him that I dated chan

Vernon: you’ll get over it lol

Vernon: is that the only reason why he’s infuriating?

You: HAIRCUT

Vernon: oh I probably should’ve told you about that when I saw him last week

Vernon: sorry :/

You closed your texts when Mingyu hopped in the passenger seat, turning on your music to drown out your thoughts. The drive was long and you were lucky that you got to the venue with ten minutes to spare. You parked the car in a haste, running to your back seat and quickly tugging your heels back on. You chucked your sneakers onto the car floor, almost hitting Mingyu in the face when he went to grab his phone from the same area. Locking your car, you grabbed his arm and yanked, both of you running towards the venue attached to a pretty hotel. Mingyu, even with his long legs, was struggling to keep up. He was also slightly impressed that you could run so fast in heels, and that was definitely the only reason why he was staring at your legs. He wasn’t admiring how long they looked when the wind lifted your skirt and he got a flash of your calf.

Even from your seat in the back of the ceremony, you could see Chan’s face light up as Adrianna was escorted down the aisle. She was wearing a vintage wedding dress, the veil sheer enough to see how beautiful she was underneath, and Chan was eager enough to lift it as soon as they said, “I do.” Adrianna looked like she hadn’t aged a day since school, and you could probably say the same for Chan. But he did manage to finally remove the earrings he got six years ago, which made you giggle to yourself.

Mingyu pretended not to notice.

Most of the people at the wedding were old friends from undergrad, even a few Mingyu knew in passing. Every time you were approached, you prepared yourself for the same question: “Where is He Who Will Not Be Named?” Or, for those that actually knew Mingyu: “Since when did you know Gyu?” You weren’t sure how much longer you could fake a smile and laugh, pretend that your heart still wasn’t sore from the breakup, rehash the same words over and over again. It was tiring; you were tired. 

Same explanation. Same heartbreak. You wouldn’t be surprised if the whole planet knew of your breakup by now. You didn’t announce it anywhere, besides telling your family and close friends. It was natural for people to be curious; you had been with your ex for a couple years, enough for your family to assume that he’d propose. But then he cheated, and you found out, and you were left in pieces, tied to Kim Mingyu as your date for a full year of weddings.

You just didn’t want to keep on doing this, explaining yourself ten times over, realizing that everyone was looking at you with interest. Maybe a second glass of champagne would be a good distraction …

“Wanna dance?”

You looked up from the rim of your empty glass. Mingyu had knocked you out of your daze, laying out a hand for you to take. The reception was lively with family and friends mingling on the dance floor, but Mingyu had still noticed you alone at the table, lost in your thoughts. Had he always been this attentive, or was he just prone to watching you?

Ignoring your internal monologue, you took his hand, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. Just as Mingyu was about to place his hand on your waist, the song changed, switching to a more upbeat track you used to blast in college. You immediately started laughing at all the older folks trying to follow the beat, and then found Chan with his wife, shimmying on the dance floor. Mingyu pinched the bridge of his nose, but found himself beaming when he finally saw the smile grace your features. He didn’t let go of your hand, let you twirl him to the song that took you back to the musty basement of a frat party.

Chan, at some point, had managed to dance over in your direction, bumping into you with a big grin. “I knew all the alumni here would love this,” he shouted over the music. “Do you remember when you puked outside a window once at some party and you said that it was this song that induced it?”

You were surprised when Mingyu said, “Yes,” at the same time as you. Both you and Chan glanced at him, eyebrows raised, until he added, “That was at one of my parties. I cleaned your vomit off the windowsill!”

The four of you erupted in laughter. Even Adrianna remembered that party, considering that was the night you drunkenly introduced her to Chan. She eventually pulled you away from Mingyu, leading you towards her group of bridesmaids so you all could dance together. But your eyes couldn’t help but find Mingyu’s across the floor, and then he was looking at you, and – god dammit, staring at him felt like a crime you’d consider going to jail for.

Everyone was looking at him, but he was looking at you. 

Actually, Mingyu couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you. Not once.

He stared at you as if it was just you two, as if you were stripped bare before him, just for his eyes to see. You could tell from the way he bit his lip while smiling. He looked at you as if you were naked.

Soon enough, you were slipping through the crowd and by his side once again. He was now leaning against the wall by the open bar, nursing a scotch. The party was winding down; all the older family members had left, leaving Chan and Adrianna – plus a few other young couples – swaying to a classic Ed Sheeran song. It wouldn’t be long until they ended the night with Can’t Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley. The time war nearing 11 PM. 

Slinking beside him, he offered the glass to you and you took a sip, wincing at the burn. You stuck out your tongue. “How can you drink that so smoothly?”

“Years of practice,” he replied, and then flicked your nose in a way that shouldn’t make you blush. But you definitely did. 

You blinked up at him, admiring how pretty he was in the faint, yellow light. Actually, he was pretty in every light, but you liked to find any excuse to admire him. Even if you denied it.

“Wanna get out of here?” You asked then, digging your nails into your palms. So afraid of rejection after all these years, even though he agreed to be here. “I think the reception is going to end soon anyway.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” He set his half empty glass on a random table and straightened his back before adding, “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

God, you needed to get it together. Those words were the bare minimum, but when he said them in that slightly muffled voice, it made your nails pinch the inside of your hands harder.

You both stood on opposite sides of the elevator, dragging up, up, up to your room on the seventeenth floor. Your eyes connected. A smile played at his lips. An unspoken tension brewing between the two of you. A feeling you didn’t want to be there in the first place, but something you couldn’t simply ignore. 

This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not tonight. Not ever again.

He opened the door for you, allowing you to slip inside and grab your bag. While he rifled through his duffle, you brought your bag into the bathroom and leaned against the sink. You allowed yourself a moment to just breathe. Maybe if you kept exhaling like this, you would release all the tension from your body. You knew how silly it sounded, but desperate times called for desperate measures. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, turning your face from side to side. Was it the makeup that made him look at you that way sometimes? Perhaps he still had a fondness for lipgloss, like he did back in the day.

When you finally stopped studying your appearance, you wiped off your makeup and tugged on a pair of loose pajamas. Wearing these would be so much more comfortable – and less awkward – than the robe you wore after the last wedding. You still had nightmares about that. Carefully tiptoeing out of the bathroom, you expected to find Mingyu already in one of the two  full size beds, scrolling through his phone and ignoring the noise you naturally made. But he was on the deck just outside your room, smoke billowing from his mouth. 

You stood near the unoccupied bed, balancing on the balls of your feet, as you debated your options. A smart person would go right to sleep, leave him to his business. You chewed on your bottom lip nervously.

Despite the slight warmth to the air, you threw on a hoodie, scared of the possibility of your nipples showing through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. You slid open the door and immediately closed it, preventing any smoke from getting into the room. He didn’t turn; he knew exactly who was behind him. His back muscles flexed underneath his suit jacket, the joint dangling between his lips as he prayed for his lighter to work again.

“You probably shouldn’t be smoking in this suit,” you said, saddling up beside him.

He chuckled, finally taking a long drag. “I promise to get it dry cleaned before our next adventure.”

Before our next adventure. You bit the inside of your cheek.

Your eyes didn’t leave the joint now sitting between two of his fingers. (Jeez, were they always that big?) He let more smoke filter from his lips and into the open air, clouding up the starry night sky. Without even looking at you, he asked, “Why are you staring?” His words hung in the silence for a moment. “Have you ever smoked before?”

You shrugged. “Only once or twice with Vernon. Probably as freshmen.”

“You want me to show you how?”

Blinking at him, all you could do was dumbly nod. Mingyu laughed under his breath, fighting with his lighter again, before eventually holding the flame to the end. He then cautiously passed the joint over to you, allowing the filter to brush your lips. “Take it in your mouth,” he instructed, “now inhale.”

When you did as he asked, you must’ve inhaled far too deeply, or just didn’t exhale at the right time. Because then you were coughing, doubling over as you tried to catch your breath. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, concern etched in his tone, and patted your back as you hacked up what felt like your left lung. His voice was soft, soothing, but you could hardly hear it through the ringing in your ears.

“Yeah,” you sighed, voice hoarse, “I’m definitely out of practice.”

As you stood up, his hand stayed on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing patterns. Your breath stilled as you looked up at him. Playing with the joint between his lips, he said, “Let me show you an easier way.”

“Okay,” you agreed, before your conscious could stop you.

You watched as he took a long pull from the joint, sucking it all in until you could see his eyes get a little pinker, and then moved closer to you. Instinctively, your eyes closed and your lips parted, welcoming the scent of him. His lips only lightly grazed yours as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth, letting it engulf your very being, and you felt yourself start to relax. He craned back, grinning down at you, and it took everything within you to not ask for another hit right then. 

In the moonlight, you could see why you fell hard for Mingyu. He had only gotten more handsome since college. Light, in any form, was so kind to him, but with the stars hanging above his head … it allowed his dark hair to shine, casting a slightly blueish tone to his warm features. You could see the twinkling stars reflecting in his eyes, especially when he leaned back in, expelling more smoke into your mouth.

This felt too intimate. This felt like fucking.

Once you both were so high you could do nothing but laugh, Mingyu stubbed out the joint and you stumbled back into the room. You both were finally going to have a good sleep at one of these, especially since there were two beds. Rolling into your bed, you immediately burrowed under the covers as Mingyu took off his suit in the bathroom.

The last thing you expected was to feel him plop down in your bed. He was wearing so little that it made your thighs press together, or maybe that was just the weed talking. He was disoriented, laying halfway off the edge of your bed, staring at you as if you were the Mona Lisa. You huffed, “Mingyuuu. You need to get in your own bed.”

“Do you really want that though?”

His words made your eyes immediately snap open. A grin was tugging at his mouth again, his teeth sinking into that plush bottom lip. Oh, so also wanted … Oh.

You tried to sound cool and nonchalant, “Considering this is a full size bed, yeah.”

Even in the darkness, even with his back to the moonlight streaming through the glass door – his presence was making you nervous. His eyes weren’t leaving yours. You felt your hand inch over, your pinky curling around his.

“If I can be so honest with you,” he whispered, licking at the corners of his lips, “you are so beautiful that I want to kill any guy that has done you wrong.”

You exhaled, “Mingyu …”

He leaned in, smiling like he knew he caught you in his trap. “Yes?”

You were pretty sure that you knew Kim Mingyu by now. You knew that this would be just another night that meant nothing to him. No matter how much he “changed” in Vernon’s eyes, it was very clear to you that he remained uncommitted. But fuck it, your heart was still burning from the breakup, stinging from the memory of people uttering your ex’s name tonight. It was only going to be a kiss. Just something to soothe the pain.

He was so much closer now, invading your space, his hand completely eclipsing yours.  He smelled like marijuana and lingering cologne. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, but you didn’t. You let him kiss you, and god, it would be so much easier to dislike Mingyu if he didn’t kiss so well. 

It wasn’t long before his tongue was pushing into your mouth, his large body looming over yours as he pressed you into the mattress a little more. And you’re desperate for it; you couldn’t stop. This was supposed to be simple – just a kiss – but you could feel yourself falling under his spell, feel how his palms burned against your skin as they dragged down your torso. He explored your mouth like it was the first time, parting your legs to make room for himself on top of you. When his lips left yours, you almost let out a whine, but he helped take off your hoodie before reattaching his mouth to your neck. Those large hands snake under your shirt – up, up, and up – until he was cupping your breasts and you can feel how hard he is against your thigh.

Mingyu looked up at you as he kissed down your torso, his spit soaking through the thin fabric of the t-shirt you were still wearing. He lifted one of your legs, adjusting it so your thigh could rest comfortably on his shoulder and – shit, you knew where this was going. Reaching the waistband of your panties, he begged, “Let me go down on you.”

You mulled over his words. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“No,” he grinned against your skin, meeting your eyes from between your legs. “But that’s a tomorrow problem. Please?” His head tilted. “Do I have to beg? I’m willing.”

You bit your tongue, egging him on a little as he nipped at the inside of your thigh. He bucked his hips once, them twice, trying to get the smallest bit of friction on his cock that was currently throbbing in his boxers. He grunted softly against your skin. 

“And if I say, ‘No?’” You asked with a raised brow.

He lifted his head and pouted his lips. After all these years, he still managed the perfect puppy dog eyes that could make just about anyone weak. “Don’t be mean,” he pleaded, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“You like when I’m mean,” you quipped, giving him permission by helping him shimmy your panties off. He adjusted your legs again, presenting you like a meal.

“I do,” he chuckled, his breath ghosting over your pretty, pink folds. “Especially, when you act like you didn’t want me here in the first place.”

Before you can rebuttal, he’s pressing his face between your thighs, dragging his tongue up your slit to collect the wetness that gathered there. Just the small amount of attention had you keening, your hips jumping for more of him, and Mingyu was happy enough to oblige. His tongue flicked at your clit as he slid one single finger inside of you, testing your limits. Those puppy dog eyes lifted from between your thighs, wanting to see you crumble, knowing that it was him who made you like this. You sighed out his name, your hand coming down to tangle in his hair. And god, if Mingyu didn’t love that … he’d be a dead man. He groaned when he felt you tug at the strands, beginning to swirl his tongue in a circle around your puffy clit.

You couldn’t even prepare yourself when he shoved another finger inside, pumping them in and out at an unreasonably fast pace. But you were bucking into him, tears pricking at your eyes as you whimpered for him. It was too much but almost too little at the same time. You could practically feel him smile as he devoured you. The bed rattled against the wall when he ground his erection against the frame, so needy and aching. His plump lips suckled on your clit, your slick smearing over his face, but he didn’t want to miss a drop of you. He needed more of you, so he started curling three fingers inside of you, teasing that sweet spot.

This wasn’t your first rodeo with Mingyu. He knew what you could take.

“Mingyu,” you whined, and he glanced up at you again with the most fucked-out eyes imaginable. And still, he didn’t stop. “You’re gonna … I’m gonna cum so fast.”

He moaned into you, then begged, “Please. Need to taste you.”

He was so determined, so desperate to feel you shake and moan and cry until he was completely spent on the taste of you. And it wasn’t long before he got his wish: as he shoved those three fingers into you, grazing your g-spot while lapping at you like you were his last meal on death row. You unraveled on his tongue, muffling your cries for the rest of the people sleeping on your floor. Biting into your hand, you had physically restrain your body from shaking as your orgasm rocked through you, but Mingyu held you down with a gentle hand on your stomach.  He was staring at you again and you were staring at him and fuck, his half-closed eyes made him look like he was drunk on you. You could feel him smirking into your pussy as he collected every last drop of you, knowing that he did a good job. He sighed with relief when he could finally taste you again and again and again.

Once your body settled, you felt him start to tug at your shirt and kiss up your stomach. The thought of now having him inside you made your hands clench with excitement, but dear god, he just knocked the wind out of you and you weren’t sure how you could last. You were spent, tired, probably could just fall asleep right now.

You weren’t feeling his lips on your skin anymore, so you opened your eyes. The moonlight gave you just enough to see that, despite the raging boner he probably had, Mingyu was now snoring softly with his head resting on your hips. Brows raised, you almost couldn’t believe that this was the moment he decided to fall asleep, but you couldn’t deny that you had been on the verge of doing the same. 

Untangling yourself from him, you quickly cleaned yourself up and wiped his face clean with a washcloth. You sighed, using all the brute strength you had to haul him up on what was supposed to be your bed, and wrapped the covers around him. You admired him for a moment, your hand coming up to smooth back his dark hair. Somehow, this felt even more intimate than you cumming in his mouth. So you quickly moved away and slipped under the sheets of the other bed, using his snores as white noise.

The next morning, neither of you spoke of what happened.

Mingyu had wanted to tell you that he had a crush on you the moment Vernon introduced you two all those years ago, even when you disliked him. And slowly but surely, he was starting to realize it never truly went away.

Save the Date for the wedding of Joshua Hong and Jordan Lo: June 20th

Two months passed and the spring air turned sweltering. It was on days like this when you rolled the windows down and wasted gas just to get an overpriced iced coffee that you reminisced. You were taken back to a time when you waited by the curb as Vernon appeared from football practice, and even though he was sweaty, you still always agreed to drive him back to his dorm on the other side of campus. You would watch him say goodbye to his teammates and – shit, the light would catch, and suddenly you were looking at Mingyu wipe the sweat off his face while laughing with the quarterback and –

Now you were thinking about Mingyu again.

You had been thinking about him since April.

All of this felt so silly, like stupid games young 20-somethings played. You knew it wasn’t good for you in engage in – well, anything with Mingyu. He had always been perfectly uncommitted with women, and he was clearly obsessed with his work, posting his new recipes or pictures of him and his flag football team on his Instagram stories. You could handle this. You could be an adult and have a functional acquaintanceship with someone you found attractive. 

So you kept your distance. On the off chance that Mingyu was free and asked if you wanted to get together (which was a shock in itself), you declined. Even if you wanted to. Even if you desperately wondered what would come of it. The next wedding wasn’t until the end of June and you were already biting you lip at the thought of seeing him in a suit again.

The only person you could finally blabber to about this was Minghao, and in typical fashion, he laughed. Not that you expected anything less.

“You’re overthinking the entire situation,” he said over drinks. “It’s completely normal for you to have a little fun, especially while healing from a breakup. That’s what being single is all about, my friend.”

He was right. Of course, he was right. But what if Mingyu rejected you yet again, like he did in college? You wanted to talk to Vernon about this. He always gave you the best advice with this stuff, but this was his friend. The last thing you wanted was to make his friendship with Mingyu weird.

You attempted to ignore him. You redownloaded some dating apps as a distraction. You deleted them just as fast.

On the morning of June 20th, your cousin, Jordan, was marrying her longtime boyfriend, Joshua Hong. You had only met Josh on a number of occasions, but considering that they had been together for almost twelve years, you trusted him enough to take care of her. You felt lucky to be chosen as a bridesmaid and you’d never make a fuss, but dear god, the dark blue of this dress clashed with just about everything. The color was so dark and the dress was clinging to just about all of you and Mingyu’s tie was the wrong shade of blue –

Damn, did he look handsome though.

Jordan had made you both get to the venue early for a rehearsal dinner, and then once the morning came, you were whisked off to hair and makeup. You had barely said a word to Mingyu, too scared to give him anything besides small talk, but you couldn’t help but compliment the new suit he bought for the last few weddings. “Figured I’d cave and invest in one that wasn’t from Goodwill,” he explained, “for you.”

For you. For you. For you.

Your heels were hurting your feet halfway through the wedding, and despite how hard you were trying to focus on Josh’s vows, you couldn’t help but find Mingyu’s eyes in the crowd. He wasn’t paying attention to anyone else, his stare burning into yours to let you know his intent. You swallowed hard. Would anyone notice if you hid your blush behind the bouquet in your hands? It felt like torture having him look at you like this, as if there wasn’t an extravagant wedding happening around them, as if he wasn’t Kim Mingyu. 

It wasn’t until the reception that you could finally get a word in with your cousin, some much needed alone time after what was surely going to be the craziest wedding you went to this year. You both parked yourself near the open bar, ignoring the guests on the dance floor that were screaming for another round of the Cha Cha Slide. Tucking a strand behind your ear, Jordan said, “I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. Jeez, I really didn’t think when I was three and met you a couple weeks after you were born that we’d be here. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You grinned, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” The bartender handed you a new glass of wine and you took a sip. “Besides, these days all I do is work or go to weddings. The life of being a permanent wedding guest, I supposed.”

“Speaking of guests …” Jordan turned her head slightly, ogling Mingyu from where he was standing up and trying to decline your great aunt’s advances to dance. Your cousin giggled. “He isn’t the older guy I thought you’d bring.”

“Circumstances change.” You shrugged, and she gave you a look. “I’d rather not get into it.”

Jordan’s brow raised. “You guys are having sex though, right?”

You almost choked while taking another sip of your wine. “Absolutely not.”

“You sure?”

“Well, I –” You sighed, and then decided to suck down the rest of the glass in one go. Jordan whistled. “We did at one point. Very long time ago. But he’s Vernon’s friend and … it’s a long story.”

“Sounds like it,” she snorted, eyes flickering around the reception until they landed somewhere behind you. “Well, if you’re not having sex with him, my friend just might tonight.”

Your expression muddled, until she pointed over your shoulder. Turning around, you found Jordan’s Maid of Honor chatting up Mingyu near the stairs that lead to the restrooms. Her hand was inching up his sleeve and he was blushing at what you could only assume was a compliment coming from her lips. He was clearly enjoying the conversation, despite the intimate looks he was giving you earlier. 

Classic fucking Kim Mingyu, you thought.

A pang of jealousy surfaced that you couldn’t control. It was probably best for everyone if you walked away and took a breather. After Joshua pulled his wife onto the dance floor, you adjusted the tight silk of your dress and headed for the bathrooms. You walked past them, your perfume wafting past Mingyu’s nostrils, a scent he would know anywhere. 

Instead of going inside the bathroom, you decide to stand in the empty hall connected to the venue and brace your back against the cool wall. You sighed, gathering yourself, completely unaware it wasn’t just you here until you heard the squeak of someone else’s shoes.

“I noticed you were empty,” Mingyu muttered as a way of greeting. He was holding two glasses of rosé between his fingers, stepping down the small staircase to get to you.

It was just you two now, and he was handing you the glass while standing so close that you could smell his cologne. Had this dress always felt that tight, or could you just not breathe right now? You watched the way his eyes flickered to your mouth, and it took everything in you not to yank him closer by the tie. Instead, you took a big gulp of rosé.

“You didn’t have to come after me,” you remarked, and then nodded your head in the direction of the Maid of Honor now on the dance floor. “You looked like you were having fun.”

Mingyu simply tilted his head to the side, studying you carefully.

“She’s pretty. Don’t stop on my account, but please be aware that we are sharing a room so you can’t bring anyone back there.”

Mingyu’s lips slowly curved into a grin. “Are you jealous?”

You scoffed, “No. I’m just … being realistic.”

Taking your half empty glass from your hand, he set them both down on a side table right near the women’s restroom. Your mouth opened, but the words died as soon as he placed a hand beside your head on the wall. He was so tall that he towered over you, even in heels, leaning into your space with pretty, half-opened eyes as he stared at your glossy lips.

“Can I be realistic with you?” He didn’t give you a moment to answer. “I cannot stop thinking about our last night together. I know you probably thought it happened because of the weed, but I … these past two months, it’s all I’ve been thinking about. And it’s killing me that I’ve been trying to be normal this whole night when all I’ve wanted to do is drag you away and make you cum again.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his words. He leaned in then, grazing his nose over the side of your face, desperate to be in your orbit. You took your bottom lip between your teeth and tried to control your heart rate, but how was that even possible when Mingyu’s other hand was brushing up and down your side, tangled in the silk.

“Well, that …” You swallowed hard. “That wouldn’t be a good idea considering all my family is here.”

He tsked under his breath. “Obviously, it wouldn’t be, but …” You felt his nose at your jaw, inhaling the scent of your perfume again, the one that made him crazy. And he damn near groaned in your ear. 

“Mingyu, you … you –”

“Fuck, how could you think I’m looking at anyone else here when you look this good in your dress?” His voice had taken on that needy tone he always got when he was horny. It almost felt like a reward to be able to hear it again. “I’ve been half-hard this entire reception just from looking at you, remembering the way you tasted …” He muttered another curse.

This was how he always acted. Mingyu could be so desperate and pleading when he wanted to get someone in bed, needy to the point he would do anything just to please you, but god – you couldn’t deny how much you liked it. He was reeling you in. You were like fish to bait.

Slowly, he laced your dominant hand with his and moved it from his belt buckle to his groin. You could barely breathe when you felt him harden under your touch, and then you remembered you were still in a public hallway, where just about anyone could walk by. 

Your eyes met his half-lidded ones as he murmured, “Look what you’re doing to me.”

And god help you, because you whimpered at the sound of his voice, slick starting to gather between your thighs.

“Okay, Mingyu, just …” You sighed, composing yourself because you knew he wasn’t going to any time soon. Your hand slipped away from his and he huffed, his forehead falling to rest on your shoulder. “Go to our room and let me make my rounds. I’ll meet you up there.”

He stood up. For a moment, he was almost tempted to drag you into the bathroom and bury his face between your legs, too hungry to let you get away now. But one of your uncles was walking down the hall, and you separated quickly. With a nod, you walked back to the reception and said goodbye to your family that you didn’t get to talk to for too long prior. Jordan gave you a look when you mentioned about going to bed early, and even Josh told you how weird you were being, but your cousin shut him up and sent you a wink.

You exhaled heavily and headed back to hotel on the other side of the venue. Slipping your heels off once you were inside the elevator, you debated if giving into Mingyu this easily was the smart thing to do. Smart? Definitely not. But would it be enjoyable? You didn’t need to answer that question. Mingyu knew what he was doing.

As you unlocked the door to your hotel room, you began to wonder if you were just setting yourself up to be hurt again. He didn’t come back to you like this in college, but what’s stopping him from telling you that he’s “just not that into you” at the next wedding? Or what if he just thought of you as an easy hookup that would get his dick wet every 2 months? Well, you hadn’t done that yet –

Yet. Yet. Yet.

The word repeated in your head like a melody, because when you threw your purse down and saw Mingyu walking out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower and dressed in only a towel around his waist, you realized that you were most definitely getting his dick wet tonight. Whether it was in your mouth or somewhere deeper, you were salivating for it. 

He was smiling at you and you were smiling at him and Jesus, he was so goddamn handsome that you couldn’t believe that he was the one desperate for you. Droplets of water trickled down his tan skin and that towel around his waist was just barely holding on. His torso was chiseled and his arms – fuck, his biceps were bigger than you remembered. He was something out of a dream – some horny, fucked-up dream that you only had after masturbating before bed.

He was on you instantly, pushing you against the wall and kissing you hard. Sighing into the kiss, your hands fist into the towel to yank him closer, but it only makes the flimsy fabric fall. You break away for a moment to mutter, “Oh, shit,” but his lips can’t stay away from yours for long. And he’s laughing, like you did exactly what he wanted. You were too hypnotized by the scent of his body wash to care.

Dragging his lips down your neck, he sucked at the spot that he knew made your thighs press together, grinning proudly against your skin when you moaned. His fingers gripped the soft silk of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric up to feel you that much closer. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much he liked you in this dress – and god, did he like you in this dress – he needed you out of it. Now.

Mingyu unzipped your dress with precision, setting it down on one of the two beds in the room, and both of you were suddenly wishingthere was only one. His hands smoothed down your sides, his breath hot against your mouth. He just wanted to feel you everywhere. He almost didn’t want to step away, afraid you’ll slip through his fingers like sand. When you two had hooked up in college, it was quick and explosive, letting out the tension that had been building for years. There was so much territory for him to cover now, so many ways for him to find out what made you whine and sigh with pleasure. But, if he were being honest, all he wanted right now was for you to –

“Sit on my face,” he begged, caging you into the wall, pressing his hard cock against your stomach. So desperate for just an ounce of friction, so hungry for another taste of you. He could literally start drooling at the thought of it. He was mesmerized by you; he’d do anything you asked just to have your pussy on his tongue again.

But you seemed to be debating your options, biting you lip again, and he wished that didn’t turn him on even more. You were just so pretty, and the way your face scrunched as you decided on something was a sight he couldn’t help but think about when he touched himself, even all those years ago. It was just you. You. 

Eventually, your face relaxed, and you replied, “Well, you don’t have to beg me.”

Mingyu’s lips pulled into a smile, and he laughed while pulling you down onto the nearest bed. Despite his request, you continued to straddle his torso and kiss him for just a little while longer. He was needy, moaning into your mouth whenever his cock bumped against your ass, but all you wanted to feel his lips on yours, tangle your tongue with his, even if it was just for another minute. 

You forgot Mingyu was stronger than you, though. It wasn’t much longer before he was yanking your body up and turning you around so you knelt just above his face. He inhaled the scent of your pussy and almost breathed a sigh of relief, but instead muttered, “Such a tease sometimes.”

Now that you were hovering above him, you were suddenly self conscious about how excited you were and if your arousal was seeping onto his face. You couldn’t even see if he was thrilled or not, since he had turned you to face away from him, but the way his cock jumped in front of your eyes told you enough. His hands gripped your thighs tight. “I don’t want to crush you,” you said nervously.

“You could suffocate me and I wouldn’t have a problem with it."

You chewed on your bottom lip. His tone was firm, probably the most serious you’d ever heard from him. But you were embarrassed and this was crazy and you still so wet. With flushed cheeks, you asked, “Mingyu, are you –”

“Yes,” he answered before pulling you down onto his face.

He wasn’t teasing you tonight. He was devouring you without even letting you catch your breath. His tongue swiping at your clit before he sucked on it – hard. So hard that you let you a sound that was a mixture of a yelp and a moan. Gripping you roughly, he spread you wider, drinking more of you in. Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his face, which made him groan into your pussy. The vibration in his voice spread throughout your entire body, goosebumps lining your flesh. “Mingyuuu,” you whined, begging for more, and you could practically feel him smirk as he flicked at your swollen clit. 

Leaning forward, you turned your head up and noticed again just how hard he was. His cock had always been perfect: the perfect size, dark pink at the tip, veins etched into the shaft. Precum beaded at the head, sliding down every so slowly, as he throbbed and ached and – god, his hips were almost thrusting into the air now. You didn’t doubt he could get off for hours on this, but that didn’t mean he needed to be unsatisfied.

Besides, you wanted something to do with your mouth anyway.

Mingyu whimpered as you shifted slightly to reach his cock. Your body stretched, your mouth at the perfect angle as you flicked the head with your tongue. He pulled you back towards his mouth, shoving his tongue inside your tight hole and making you gasp at the same time you licked a stripe up his shaft. His tongue worked you open while you swirled your own along the tip, and then finally took him into your mouth.

The grunt he released should’ve caused an earthquake.

You bobbed your head up and down his shaft, choking when he bucked into your mouth.  You could hardly breathe, taking every opportunity to inhale through your nose, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. God forbid, you have a hobby like wanting Kim Mingyu’s cock in  your mouth. He took the liberty of grinding you against his face with his own hands, wrapping his lips around your clit again, eager to taste your climax. And to be honest, he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last if you kept sucking on his tip like that. He groaned each time, feeling your tongue circle his head before going back down, taking as much as you could, as if you were rewarding him. And he just couldn’t help but whine along with you.

Your lips pulled off him to kitten lick the veins along the sides of his shaft, and you breathily asked, “Are you close?”

His only response was a moan straight into your pussy.

You nodded, even if he couldn’t see it, before your mouth opened like second nature. You spit on his cock and stuffed him down your throat once again. Head moving faster, you were slobbering on him like a dog in heat, trying not to gag and failing. Your free hand snaked up to cup one of his balls, and the sound he released was deafening. His tongue flicked and sucked at your clit like he had nothing left to live for, hungry for every last drop of your essence.

But then you were cumming, and he was too not long after.

You cried, choking on his cock as you came all over his face. White blurred in your vision, and you were a mess of sweat and spit and so much cum. He exploded in your mouth a moment later, hot seed running down your throat, and you consumed all of it. Neither of you wanted to miss out on the taste of each other. It was filthy, intoxicating, how much you liked this. How much you could suck him off over and over again, and not get tired of him.

You didn’t know it at the time, but Mingyu would say the same about you. If not worse.

He could spend all day between your thighs and never want to leave.

When you both finally angled off each other, spent and exhausted, your breathing was heavy and off by two seconds. Mingyu was glancing over at you before you could even process, a smile playing at his swollen lips. He brushed away a strand of hair that was stuck to your sweaty forehead.

“Mingyu,” you finally said, “has anyone ever told you that you have boyfriend dick?”

Mingyu had wanted to tell you how much he’d been dreaming of that moment, how much you had haunted his dreams and left him waking up so hard that he felt he was going through puberty again. Sometimes he dreamed of how good it would feel when he finally slipped into you, inch by inch. You’d feel like home.

Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Seokmin and Quinn Song: July 31st

You couldn’t go a day without talking to Mingyu. Whether it be through text or over the phone, you were joking with him, telling him about your day, and vice versa. Just a month prior, you had tried keeping your distance, but now … you simply couldn’t help yourself. It was like there was a voice inside your head telling you to contact him, to send him a funny video you saw that day, to tell him about the show you were currently watching. And on nights when you had too much to drink, that voice made you text him that you missed him. He always said he missed you too.

Mingyu: I’m watching that show you recommended

Mingyu: kinda wish you were watching it with me

Mingyu: but I’m still content here and I can see why you like it so much

You: right?? I knew you’d like it!

You couldn’t help but giggle at your phone when his texts came through. And you answered them immediately, like you always did. 

Mingyu: what are you doing right now?

You: wouldn’t you like to know

Neither of you made the effort to go on an actual date. It was all just flirty texts with a TikTok mixed in every once in a while. Promises about going back to that coffee shop someday, but never planning the day. To be honest, this was one of those moments where you were glad Mingyu was so uncommitted. If you started going on dates that didn’t include a vow exchange in between, it would be so easy to fall for him again, and then be let down when he eventually didn’t want to see you after wedding season. 

Mingyu: I mean that’s why I asked

You: I’m hanging out with

A pillow was suddenly thrown at your head. “Ow!” You shouted, head shooting up from your phone to glare at Vernon sitting on the other side of the couch. “What the hell was that for?”

“Anakin is literally burning alive and all you can do is look at your phone!” Vernon scoffed, turning Revenge of the Sith back on. You set your phone down on your lap as he muttered, “Kinda wish I never won that bet.”

Vernon, obviously, was becoming increasingly annoyed that you and Mingyu had rekindled … whatever this was. Sometimes you wondered if you were talking to Mingyu more than your best friend, but given the way Vernon was acting, that was probably the case. You probably shouldn’t even be texting Mingyu while hanging out with Vernon. Bad friend move; happens to the best of us. 

You apologized to Vernon in the best way possible: you bought him fried chicken from his favorite spot.

As summer came along, so did Seokmin and Quinn’s wedding at the end of the month, an invitation that was barely hanging on by an old Britney Spears magnet on your fridge. Quinn Song had been your first ever roommate out of college. You both had met on a Facebook group to find roommates in the area and quickly hit it off. She had been your roommate up until last year actually, when her now-fiancé Lee Seokmin asked her to move in with him. It was at that point that you finally decided to live alone, besides the few days out of the week that Vernon crashed at your apartment.

The wedding was being held on a pretty island in the northeast, nestled on the expansive grounds of a bed and breakfast in the area. The spot felt warm and lived in, the exact kind of place you imagined Quinn would get married at. 

Meeting Mingyu at the airport had been awkward, but at the very least, you two were sitting in different rows of the plane. Maybe it shouldn’t have been as cringe-worthy as it was, given the fact that you two had been talking nonstop, but it was the memory that the last time you did see each other in person, you were sitting on his face and his cock was so far down your throat –

Mingyu had found your eyes a couple rows behind him on the plane. Even he was blushing now, as if he could read your thoughts.

You had rented a car once you reached your destination and threw him the keys, letting him drive the convertible down the coast while the summer breeze whipped through your hair. You tried not to notice the way his hand twitched on the gear shift, like he was itching to place his palm on your thigh, to ground himself to your presence. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Especially when all you could do was stare out the window with a big smile on your face.

Unfortunately, you had to book a room at a small hotel near the bed and breakfast since all the rooms were used for the wedding party. The hotel was quaint, but definitely old and smelled like the Febreze scent your mom used to love when you were a kid. Your room was tinier than the pictures implied, but it was on the first floor and had a screen door that opened to a pretty view of the ocean. You didn’t have much time to enjoy it though, considering that the ceremony was in a few hours and the reception would probably carry on until way past midnight.

You decided to rewear the floral sundress that made a previous appearance at Chan and Adrianna’s wedding. It wasn’t like anyone here was at that event, and honestly, you didn’t care. Throwing your hair up into a perfectly messy updo, you curled a few pieces and took your time with your diligent makeup routine. Mingyu was in his suit before you could even blink, biding his time while you got ready by watching past game recordings of the flag football team he taught and trying to identify key moves they missed out on. As you finished up and clumsily slipped on your shoes, the perfume you sprayed seemed to beckon him like a siren song, and suddenly, he was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

Your brows shot up. “Done with your flag football research?”

“You’re beautiful,” he replied.

You turned, unable to stop your lips from pulling into a soft smile. His expression was so warm, cheeks tinged slightly pink either from embarrassment or a nasty sunburn. He was beautiful. In ways you couldn’t even comprehend. 

Holding out your necklace to him, you asked, “Can you help me put this on?”

He nodded, plucking the dainty chain from your palm. You moved back to the mirror as he struggled to open the clasp with his thick fingers, but he got it eventually. Placing the thin, gold chain around your neck, you watched the small, star-shaped pendant sit so delicately under your collarbones. He fixed the clasp on your neck, his fingers brushing the top of your spine, and you watched him lean forward in the mirror.

His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, breath hot and making the hairs on your neck stand up. “I meant it, by the way,” he whispered, and then placed the softest of kisses behind your ear. 

Your breath hitched, and you were unable to form a single coherent thought. For the first time in a while, he was catching you by surprise. He was moving back, and you noticed him smirk in the mirror, knowing exactly how he was affecting you. That annoying asshole –

“Ready to head out?” He asked, grabbing his wallet from the desk.

You huffed and tugged the strap of your purse onto your shoulder. “Of course.”

The grounds of the bed and breakfast were bigger than you assumed, enough to fit an extremely large tent and hardwood floor for all the guests to congregate. The ceremony was held near the shoreline of the ocean, and it was so, unapologetically Quinn to have a few seashell pins in her veil as she walked towards her husband. You had known Seokmin as long as Quinn had been your roommate, but you had never seen this kind of smile on his face until now. He completely lit up at the sight of her, and he didn’t waste a second to say, “I do,” once his time came.

As the guests crowded into the tent for the reception, Mingyu seemed to hold onto you like a toddler with it’s parent. His arm was locked around yours, letting you lead him through the crowd, even though he was tall enough to see over the tops of everyone’s heads. His palm was so warm on your wrist, and then his fingers were so easily lacing through yours, and you squeezed because you simply couldn’t help yourself. 

You were able to find your table easily, but you didn’t recognize the other people already there. They introduced themselves as Seokmin’s friends, and you remembered seeing one or two of them at a bar. You still couldn’t get a read on these people, and found yourself swiftly growing silent around their shared camaraderie. But Mingyu was suddenly so talkative, catching along with their jokes just as quickly, so you stood and whispered in his ear, “Do you want a drink?”

He leaned back to meet your eyes, and you swore time stopped for a moment. His hand reached down, squeezing your wrist, as he said, “You know what I like.”

Jesus. Fuck. Since whendid he have you this wrapped around his finger?

(Probably since sophomore year of college.)

You nodded, swinging your head in the direction of the bar, and your feet had started to head there when you halted in place. It almost felt like your heels were glued to the floor as you found the face of the last person you expected to be here. The only face that could make all the noise drown out around you.

Your ex.

He still had that same curl that always got in his eyes. He was wearing the same suit he wore to your mother’s engagement party last year. The same watch on his wrist; the same cufflinks. Same. Same. Same. And now, he was meeting your eyes across the room. Bodies formed in clusters under the tent – some hugging, some stumbling into each other – but he was unable to look away.

Until a head popped up in front of him, standing from her chair at the table. Her wedge sandals almost made her taller than him, and her dress looked expensive enough that he probably bought it. You didn’t know her, but you knew of her. Well, at least, you knew what the back of her head looked like, and that was her right there. 

You couldn’t forget the night even if you tried. Exhaustion had your shoulders sagging as you unlocked the door to your boyfriend’s apartment. He didn’t typically keep it locked, but you had a key anyway. You remembered how quiet the place was, except for the soft sounds echoing from his bedroom. At first, you thought he was just masturbating, and to be honest, you were too tired to engage in anything tonight. But a voice in your head had urged you to move, to go, go, go towards his room. And you were slowly pushing open the door, only to find your boyfriend fucking your 22-year-old neighbor from behind, yanking on her short hair like a leash. You had been too scared to move, too scared to breathe, but eventually, you had started wailing. His eyes had found yours – exactly like in this moment – and he screamed, slipping away completely as your back slid to the floor. He had tried explaining, tried to yell at the young girl, but everything had drowned away in that moment, and all you could hear was the ringing in your ears –

Your breathing was growing rapid, just like that day at his apartment. Sprinting to the inside of the bed and breakfast, you tried to act normal and say hello to whoever you knew mingling by the bathroom. But something was clearly very wrong. It was evident in your eyes, the way tears were pricking at the sides. You almost thought the universe was pulling a cruel prank on you, but then you remembered that it was Quinn who had introduced you two in the first place, that he had been a friend of a friend. 

Climbing up the staircase in the lobby, you plopped yourself down on the middle step and let your face fall into your hands. You began to count your breaths – one, two, three, one, two, three – anything to make you get a semblance of control. But you could feel your brain spinning, and your heart was beating too fast. Was this what it felt like to die? Was your cheating ex going to be the last face you saw before you completely slumped against this staircase? Vernon always said you had a flair for the dramatic. What a fitting way to end.

You felt a weight sink into the plush carpet next to you, and you lifted your head, tears brimming your eyes.

“You do realize that this isn’t your party. You can’t cry if you want to,” Mingyu joked, reaching out and swiping the tear at your lash line. His eyes softened then, looking at you like you were something fragile, like a baby bird. “What’s wrong?” His voice was hardly about a whisper.

You sniffled, dabbing at the corners of your eyes with your knuckles. The last thing you needed was your makeup messed up. “This is so embarrassing. I’m crying over something so …” Your words trailed off, noticing that he was leveling a look at you. You sighed before admitting, “I forgot that the bride, Quinn, might invite my ex because they were friends. Somewhat.”

“Your ex? As in that ex?” His brow shot up, and you nodded. “Did he come alone?”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, and after a moment, you watched his large palm slowly envelope one of yours. The rough pads of his fingers – the hands of a cook – brushed over your knuckles, and his touch was so warm that it could burn. 

His voice was soft in your ear as he said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

You chuckled a little, turning to look at him again. “Then we’d be sitting on this staircase forever.”

He smiled at you and stretched out his long legs. “That’s fine with me.”

Your lips pursed, and you found him staring at them for a moment. A sigh escaped, and you glanced down at your laced hands. How perfectly they fit together, how he held you with such a fierce softness. His thumb grazed the scar on your knuckle that you got the first time you fell off your bike. Finally, you answered, “He came here with the girl he cheated on me with.”

Mingyu didn’t speak, but you did hear him do a sharp intake.

“She’s twenty-two. She didn’t – she doesn’t know any better. He’s in his early thirties and he’ll do it again,” you continued, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. “I found them in his apartment after I came home from a late meeting at work. It was … messy. Walking in on them, the fallout, now this … everything about that breakup has felt like one big mess. And now, I have to see him here and be reminded of it all–fucking–over again.”

You didn’t even dare to meet his eyes as the next words tumbled out of your mouth, already feeling your voice start to break again. “It didn’t just hurt because I found them. It hurt because … I never wanted to become my mother. I love her. I really do. But the last thing I ever wanted was to become her. Be in the same situation as her. And yet, there I was, witnessing yet another infidelity that would affect my life for what seems like forever.” You rubbed at your running nose. “I found my father cheating too. It wasn’t exactly the same. I found him kissing my best friend’s mom in my parent’s bedroom one night when my mother stayed at work too late. The sentiment still stands, and history was always bound to repeat itself. Daughters always become their mothers and I always have to bear witness to another man not choosing to stick around –”

Mingyu stopped you by turning your face towards his, one hand cupping your cheek. His thumb skimmed the tears running through your blush. He didn’t say anything; his eyes let you know that he was here. That he was sticking around. Despite everything you thought of him, despite your past – Mingyu was here. 

He held you for as long as you needed, gathering you in his arms and cradling your head against his shoulder. He let your tears soak into the fabric of his expensive suit, promising he’d get it dry-cleaned, which made you laugh. Your fingers clutched his lapels and you almost considered not letting go. You would give anything to stay in this bubble, to sit on this staircase in his embrace forever.

“I meant what I said all those months ago,” he said, his voice muffled from his lips at the crown of your head. “I would kill any guy that has done you wrong. Do you want me to kill him?”

You chuckled and raised your head from his shoulder. “What are you gonna kill him with? A butter knife?” You shook your head. “No chef is gonna let you in that kitchen tonight to grab a weapon. You of all people should know that.”

Mingyu grimaced. “This conversation is getting morbid.”

Another laugh bubbled at your lips. “You brought it up!”

“And you’re smiling again,” he said, making your hands hold onto him tighter. “That’s all I could ask for.”

Such simple words could take your breath away, especially when they came from his mouth. You searched his eyes for a moment, your fingers now smoothing out the creases in his lapel. Eventually, you whispered, “I don’t know if I can survive this whole reception. I hate the awkward tension, but I should stay for Quinn.”

“Trust me, I know,” he snickered, and his hand covered over yours as an anchor. “I say we stay at the reception for as long as your comfortable. Then we go to bed early. Whatever works for you.”

Your smile was so kind as you nodded along with his plan. After touching up your makeup, you took his hand and let him lead you back to the reception. Once you saw Quinn in her short, after party dress and looking at Seokmin with stars in her eyes, you instantly felt more at ease. This was her day; you wouldn’t let one person sour it. And Mingyu, clearly, wasn’t going to let your own nerves sour it either. Anytime you locked eyes with your ex, there Mingyu was, distracting you by whispering in your ear how pretty you looked or asking you about your best memories while living with Quinn. There was one moment where you saw your ex heading in your direction, assuming he was finally going to talk to you, and Mingyu stood up to whisk you onto the dance floor. His large arms enveloped you, holding you close, as you swayed to one of your favorite songs. Everything about him felt safe, secure, and he even let you stand on his feet when you told him you had never been that good at dancing. And when you looked at him, you noticed that he was staring at you like how Quinn looked at Seokmin during her speech. Even when you had cried, had let him in, see parts of you that not even Vernon touched … he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

You stayed at the reception far longer than anticipated. When you told Mingyu that you were too tired to stay any longer, he didn’t question it. He simply grabbed your purse and jacket before taking your arm in his, walking the short distance back to your Febreze-ridden hotel. The first thing you did once you were back in your room was take off your heels. They were only a kitten heel, but your feet were already blistering, and you winced as you went to the bathroom to wash off your makeup. Mingyu had set your stuff down on the small desk before walking out onto the deck connected to your room. You craned your neck out, assuming he was going to smoke a joint, but he was just staring at the ocean, noticing how loud the waves crashed against the shore.

You padded out of the bathroom and leaned against the door frame for a moment, admiring him in the dim light. It almost left in you in disbelief how you had roped Kim Mingyu, one of the most attractive men you’d ever met and probably one of the longest crushes you’d ever had in your life, into being your wedding date for an entire year. He had a lost a bet, but he really didn’t have to be here. He didn’t have to invest in a new suit. He didn’t have take the time off from his two jobs. He didn’t have to listen to your trauma, or look at you like you were this painting to be worshipped, this Mona Lisa of sorts. Mingyu could’ve said no. 

But he didn’t. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” you finally informed him, and he turned to meet you eyes. “Can you help me out of my dress?”

He nodded diligently, following you to the bathroom. You pulled your hair up with one hand, and with deft fingers, he slid the zipper down your back. Typically, you would hold the dress to your chest until he left the bathroom, out of respect, but you were letting it pool at your feet tonight. You stepped out of it, your gaze locking with his as you turned on the shower. You were giving him this look and he was still standing there in his half-buttoned dress shirt, hands forming into fists as he fought the urge touch you. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for your permission.

But you didn’t even have to say anything. Your eyes said the words for you. As you climbed into the standing shower, he took his time removing his suit, pretending as if he wasn’t fucking dying to have his hands on you, and then he was behind you, the hard panes of his chest flush against your back. He closed the shower door as the glass began to fog up.

The water was scalding as it rained down on your head, steam forming around the small bathroom. You could still feel the dried tears on your face, imprinted underneath your makeup all night, and you did your best to wash them away. Mingyu noticed the way your shoulders sagged, the way you sighed while you were lost in thought, and as much as wanted touch you in places that made those sweet sounds fall from your lips, he held himself back. Instead, he let his hands comb through your wet hair before scrubbing shampoo into the strands. You relaxed against him, closing your eyes as he washed your hair.

It was so domestic that you could cry. 

(Again.)

The last person you ever thought could be capable of this kind of care was Mingyu. You both had known each other for eight years, and not once had he displayed this kind of person around you. Or maybe you just weren’t paying attention, too lost in your own perception of him. Even now, you couldn’t help but remind yourself of when he avoided you after the hookup in senior year. He really isn’t the same guy, Vernon’s voice echoed in your head. Give him a chance. You had never trusted those words, but in this moment … you realized where you had went wrong.

The water began to get cold when it came time to wash his own hair and you could tell he was struggling to rush. His mannerisms made you giggle, and even though the steam began to dissipate from the room, you still turned to his front and rested your forehead on his chest, letting the lukewarm water beat down your neck.

When you walked out of the shower, you had never felt more fresh and at ease. Your body was all warm and you had brought the comfiest pajamas for summer weather. The breeze wafting off the ocean blew through your room from the open screen door, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore could lull you to sleep.

But right now, it seemed like neither of you were keen on the subject. As you slipped under the covers next to each other, you were grateful that there was only one bed: one large, king-sized bed that both of you could be using to spread out. Instead, you were huddled close, hair still wet from the shower, and his arms locked around you like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go. Your hands cupped his face, studying parts of him that you didn’t think of in your previous lust-induced hazes. Fingers traced his lips, brushed over the tip of his nose – where his tiny mole was stamped – before you skimmed the shell of his ear.

You almost didn’t recognize your own voice as you whispered, “Thank you for tonight.”

“Anytime,” he smiled.

A beat of silence. Hands stilled. Lips pursed.

“Mingyu?”

“Yeah?”

“Please, kiss me.”

His mouth was on yours before you could even finish the sentence, but he still took his time exploring new ways to make you moan into the kiss. He kept one hand splayed on your back, pressing you further into him, while the other played with the hem of your loose t-shirt. Your hands knotted into his hair as he kissed you slow, savoring you like a fine meal. And you simply let him. You were like molten lava, melting in the palm of his calloused hands. 

You felt his fingers prod at the waistband of your shorts, and it was game over. Slipping them under, he practically whined into your mouth when he realized you hadn’t put any panties on after the shower. His mouth disconnected from yours, fingers sliding between your slick folds. “Are you trying to kill me?” He breathed against your lips.

“In my defense,” you chuckled softly, “I forgot to bring them to the bathroom.”

He laughed with you, and you were debating on crying again because he was so kind and good and definitely just as obsessed with you as you were with him. No matter how many times you didn’t want to admit it, you had somehow fallen into Kim Mingyu’s trap once again. 

He kissed you again, hungrier this time, as he spread you open with his fingers. You whimpered, but he swallowed it with his tongue and began to rub tight circles on your clit. Your leg lifted, hooking onto his waist, and you bucked against his hand. Your body felt like it was on fire, but Mingyu was careful, plucking your strings like a guitar, and you needed moremoremore. Pushing two fingers inside of you, his kiss was like a sound barrier as he consumed all your sweet sounds, as if that would allow him to hear them forever. 

It was only when you came apart that he dragged his lips to your neck, wanting to focus on your moans as he fucked you with his fingers. He felt you shake, your pussy squeezing his thick fingers, and he kept rubbing your clit through it, wanting to prolong your orgasm as much as possible. If not for you, then for him, just so he could hear you. He would make you cum as many times as you wanted if it meant he could hear his name falling from your lips. 

Neither of you wanted to stop; all fumbling hands and shaky limbs as he finally tugged your shorts off. It was a lot more difficult to take off his boxers without separating from you, but you laughed and you were so pretty that he almost forgot what he was doing in the first place. Once he was situated, you rolled on top of him, straddling his lap. You held his face in your hands, and for a moment, you could almost see reflections of the dark ocean outside in his starry gaze. Your palms drifted down, fingertips tracing the hard panes of his chest. He was all muscle, sculpted like your very own David statue; his complexion so similar to golden hour personified.

You lifted your t-shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. Mingyu was already so hard that it hurt, but he took a few more seconds to stare at you. He wanted to remember this moment forever: the sight of you on top of him, naked and vulnerable, hair wet and a faint blush on your cheeks.

Sitting up on your knees, you positioned yourself right over his cock and gripped the shaft to get the perfect angle inside of you. You were looking at him and he was looking at you as you lowered yourself slightly, grazing his tip against your wet slit, still dripping from your previous orgasm. Mingyu groaned at the sensitivity, throwing his head back against the pillow and muttering, “This is so mean.”

“You like when I’m mean,” you giggled, repeating the same words you uttered that fateful night after Chan’s wedding, when Mingyu’s face was buried between your thighs.

And Mingyu recognized it too, a grin making it’s way to his lips. But that was soon replaced by look of complete bliss as you finally sunk down onto his cock. He was the perfect size, filling you just right but never uncomfortable. He gave you a moment to adjust, but you could tell from his white-knuckled grip on your hips that he was damn near fighting the urge to thrust up into you. He didn’t though. He was patient and perfect and all yours.

You anchored yourself to him with one hand on his shoulder, beginning to rock into him at a snail’s pace. Your eyes connected, and even as he moaned underneath you, he was unable to stop smiling. Mingyu let you set the pace, and you took your time, getting to know what speed had him pulling your hips harder. The angle had him buried so deep inside that you could practically feel him in your stomach, and you sighed each time as you moved against him. 

“Fuck,” he whined, shifting to sit up against the headboard. “I’ve needed you so bad.”

“I know, I know,” you confessed in a breathy whimper. “Me too.”

He was digging his fingers into your hips so hard that you were sure there’d be marks, but you didn’t care right now. You just wanted him, wanted this. Wanted to be this connected to him and feel him this deep and cum together as the waves crashed against the shore outside. He began to move you on his own accord, bouncing you on his cock as he leaned forward to nip and suck at your neck. “So pretty,” he mused against your skin, breath stuttering as your walls tightened. “So pretty sitting on my cock.”

You were the one whining now, raking your fingers into his dark strands as your thigh muscles burned. Your breasts jumped with each slam of his hips against yours, and he planted hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, dipping his tongue into your collarbone, before latching his mouth around one of your nipples.

Your hands pulled at his hair. “Mingyu, please,” you cooed, not exactly sure what you were begging for. Just moremoremore. 

His eyes lifted to yours and you watched him fucking smile while tugging at your nipple. You were melting like putty, and he was able to still move you with one hand, using his free one to cup your other breast and run his thumb over that nipple. Tears pricked at your eyes, feeling him pulse inside you with each pass. And when he started to thrust up into you, you were pretty sure that you were close to seeing stars.

“Wanna cum with you,” he rasped while switching breasts and flicking his tongue over your other nipple. “Please, wanna cum inside you.”

You nodded, too cock drunk to say anything besides, “Yesyesyes.”

He was rolling your hips now, practically rutting into you as he lifted his head from your chest, leaving a trail of spit. You leaned down and let his lips ghost over yours. Moans slipped from your mouth into his, and he was bouncing you on his cock so fast you almost couldn’t register to breathe. His breath was hot against your lips, so close he could feel his body shaking, but he needed you to be closer, needed to feel you tightened around him and milk him for everything he was worth.

Snaking a hand between your bodies, he found your clit easily, knowing your body better than anyone ever had. All you could hear in that moment was the sound of the ocean through your screen door and skin slapping against skin. You were so wet and warm and – shit, you were starting to clench around him. He rolled your clit between two fingers, and a whimper slipped out of his mouth when he felt your pussy clamp around his throbbing cock.

He needed to cum and so did you and – fuck, he could feel it, feel you, feel how deep he was inside.

He would do this forever if you asked.

“Fuck, Mingyu, oh my god, right there, right there –” You pleaded in his ear, feeling yourself tip right over that edge –

Then you were cumming.

And so was he.

You moaned his name like it was a prayer, shattering as you came undone. Your walls were squeezing him like a vice, and he was unable to hold himself back anymore, burying himself to the hilt before painting your insides white with his orgasm. Hips jerked, bodies went taunt. You felt your whole being dissolve into nothing but pleasure, molding yourself to him in his arms. When the rush of warmth started to fade and he felt your combined releases seep from between your thighs, he breathed out a sigh of relief, brushing kisses over your jaw.

You weren’t sure you were in your right mind. Everything was so hazy. But you didn’t want to move away just yet. Even when his cock started to go soft inside of you, you stayed connected to him, pushing his hair back from his forehead and whispering praises in his ear like, “You were so good … So good to me … My Mingyu … I’ve always been yours …” You could feel him smiling against your skin, his hands tracing circles on your lower back.

But as time seemed to stop and you felt peace for the first time in a while, you realized just how deep you had fallen. You were drowning in him.

Mingyu had wanted to tell you that it felt exactly like his dreams. If you were drowning in him, he had already sunk to the bottom a long time ago.

Save the Date for the wedding of Nathan Chaney and Your Mother: September 5th

Your mother was remarrying. Her and Nathan had been together since you went off to college, and then got engaged just a year after you graduated. They decided on a long engagement, choosing to plan out a destination wedding in the Caribbean. You thought it was crazy at first, but then your mother said, “If this is going to be my last wedding – and it is – I want to go out with a bang.” You couldn’t exactly blame her. After your dad had cheated and the divorce was finalized, you knew your mother deserved something like this. She deserved the world.

When she had called you just a week before the wedding, babbling on about who you were possibly bringing now that your ex was completely out of the picture, you paused. Holding the phone to your ear and watering one of your half-dead plants with the other, you said, “I’m … I’m going with Mingyu.”

“Vernon?” She asked, not believing what you said.

“Mingyu.”

“Like … the Mingyu from university? The football player?”

You sighed, playing with the dead leaves on the plant. “He was also – and still is – one of Vernon’s good friends.”

“Oh,” your mother said, more surprised than anything. “Well, you better watch for Nathan’s sister. If Mingyu looks anything like how I remember from Family Day, she will go buck wild over him.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” you chuckled.

The truth was … you weren’t exactly sure how this wedding was going to go. Ever since the last one, you had been progressively putting more distance between you and Mingyu. Once again. Your last night together had been so real … too real, and you wanted to save yourself from the heartbreak after this wedding when you never saw him again. As much as you hated to admit it, feelings were now involved, seeping into your bloodstream, until your heart thrummed like the sound of his name on your tongue. 

Slowly pushing him away … it hurt, but it was better this way. Pain was temporary and so was your arrangement. You knew that going into it, so how did you end up in this mess? You remembered what had happened after Chan’s wedding, the way Mingyu looked at you as he was shotgunning smoke into your mouth and – yeah, you knew exactly how you ended up here.

If you kept telling yourself this was for the better, maybe you’d start believing it. Maybe your feelings would drift like smoke and your mother’s wedding would be a final farewell before you two went your separate ways.

But you had been doing that for a month now.

And those feelings refused to fade.

You had an early morning flight the day of your mother’s wedding. Typically, you wouldn’t be getting to a destination wedding on such short notice, but the ceremony was small. So small your mother refused to have a rehearsal dinner and no bridal party. It was about her and Nathan, and you had to respect that she was doing things her way this time around.

You had waited at your gate right before doors closed for Mingyu, since you were on the same flight. But he was clearly running late and you were much too awkward around him now to text him. So you finally got on the plane and found your seat, noticing the one seat in the back still left unoccupied. Once you had landed five hours later, you quickly headed to the hotel that Nathan had booked for the ceremony and reception. Your phone lit up as you hailed a ride.

Mingyu: I’m sorry, I got a new flight 

Mingyu: I’ll be there just 2 hours after you land

Mingyu: I’ll make it for the ceremony. I promise

Feeling his anxiety radiate through your phone, you believed him, and then wondered if maybe this was a blessing in disguise. You were rewarded a few more hours of alone time before you had your last hurrah with Mingyu. Maybe if you buried your feelings deep enough, you wouldn’t tense up the second you saw his face. Maybe if you didn’t look into his eyes, you wouldn’t have the urge to kiss him. Or let him hold your hand. Or spread your legs to welcome him inside –

You dropped your lipgloss onto the bathroom counter, sick of your own thoughts. Your  square-neck, baby blue dress was clinging to every curve, but you felt like you were being suffocated by the fabric. You had just finished doing your hair and makeup, but you couldn’t quite keep your thoughts at bay. Nerves batted against your skull, making your hands shake slightly. What would you do once Mingyu walked in? Would you avoid his stare? Would you tell him immediately how much you liked him and how this wouldn’t work out and you knew you set yourself up for heartbreak –

Maybe you needed a walk.

Grabbing a spare pair of sandals, you headed outside to walk the beach just along the grounds of the hotel. There was still an hour before the ceremony, and you could just see the planners putting finishing touches on the decorations laid out on the shore, where your mother wanted it to take place. Couples were still walking through the water. Kids were making sand castles. The sun was slowly beginning to set and the breeze was whipping your hair off your shoulders.

And you smiled, despite everything you were feeling. Because where there was an end, there would always be a new beginning.

“HEY!”

You spun around, your sandals sinking into the sand. Although you recognized his voice, the last thing you expected to see was Kim Mingyu running towards you in his pristine black tux, his tie loose around his neck and blowing in the breeze. It was like something out of a movie, the kind of movie where there was supposed to be a happy ending, but you knew you weren’t afforded luck like that in real life.

He stopped in front of you, running a hand through his hair. Sand sprinkled down the tops of his shoes.

“When did you get here?” You raised a brow.

“About twenty minutes ago. I flew in my tux because I figured I wouldn’t have enough time to change. But now it just kind of smells like …” He lifted the sleeve to his nose and inhaled. “Like peanuts and old plastic.”

You giggled, holding a hand to your mouth and just … staring at him. He was smiling at you, fangs poking out from under his top lip. His skin was even prettier in the sunset. His hair, despite the messy texture, was effortless and perfect. He embodied sunshine in its purest form.

“Well, you …” You looked to the water, your hands flexing at your sides. “You didn’t need to come find me out here.”

His voice was sweet, soft, like fresh sheets, when he replied, “Yes, I did.” His hand reached out a little, attempting to lace your fingers together, but he stuffed them in his pockets instead. “When I was wondering where you’d be, I remembered something you said to me in college … Do you remember Move-In Day of junior year when we had that bonfire with Vernon and a few other people? You really didn’t enjoy my company back then, but I sat next to you because you agreed to sharing that god awful cheap vodka we used to like.” He laughed when you grimaced. “We got to talking and I asked you, ‘If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?’ And you said something like, ‘I want to be walking on a beach. I’ve always felt the most calm with my toes in wet sand.’”

You blinked, wondering if you had heard him right. He … how did he … “You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things.”

And there he was, reaching out again and brave enough to brush his fingers over your knuckles. You looked down, watching his hand interlock with yours, and his palms were balmy and calloused. They felt familiar, like home. And you simply couldn’t believe that you had deprived yourself of this.

“Did you mean it when you said, ‘I’ve always been yours?’”

Your head snapped up, tsking under your breath. Hand still intertwined with his, you pushed a lock of hair behind your ear. “You came all the way out here to ask me that?” You asked, flustered and agitated.

His brow shot up. “So that’s a yes then?” 

Your mouth opened, but then closed when you realized that he caught you. 

He added, his voice like velvet again, “Then why are you avoiding me? I can sense it.”

“Well, if you’re that sensitive to other people’s feelings than I guess that –” You paused, taking a deep breath as you gathered yourself. Your ears reddened. “Look, I think it’s pretty obvious that I’ve … I like you. A lot. But having feelings for you would be so messy. The last time I went through this, we hooked up and you hardly spoke to me after.”

Mingyu’s brow furrowed. “That was years ago.”

“You know how uncommitted you’ve always been,” you quickly remarked, even though you didn’t fully believe those words anymore. “Weren’t you the one that told me at the start of this that men never really grow up?”

His eyes narrowed a little. “Are you playing psychological warfare with me right now?”

Slipping your fingers away from his, you shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I’ve been your date to five weddings this year. It wasn’t just about losing some bet. I did it for you.” He stared at you incredulously. “Are you really going to hold me to a mistake I made six years ago? When I was a shitty 22-year-old that was terrified to tell the girl I liked for years that I was interested in her?”

“I never … I never thought you liked me back then.”

Mingyu’s gaze softened, and he tucked another curl behind your ear that blew in the wind. “I made you believe that I didn’t because it was easier than admitting my feelings. I was terrified of rejection. And an idiot.”

You couldn’t help but snort at his comment, but you knew this conversation was far from over. “Well, I …” You rubbed at your nose and turned away from him, facing the water that looked almost sapphire in color. The waves sparkled under the setting sun. “Wedding season is over after this and we can both go back to our normal lives. Vernon won’t flip a lid when he sees me texting you all the time and everything will be back to the way it was. I always prepared for you to just forget about me after this anyway.”

“I love Vernon, but this isn’t about him.” Mingyu stepped forward into your line of vision. “What if I don’t want to go back to the way things were?”

Your eyes flickered to his, and it was his turn to step closer again. His large palm cupped your cheek, his skin always so cozy and inviting that you just had to lean into him. Fingertips traced your brow bone as his gaze lingered on your lips.

“I don’t want to forget about you or never see you again. I want to be around you,” he confessed. “I … want to go on more dates with you. I want to be your date to more than just weddings.”

You hesitated, unraveling and dissecting each word in your head, before you came to the conclusion that … oh, my god, he had feelings for you too. Had you always been this much of an absolute moron?

Getting on your tiptoes, you closed the distance between you two, your lips crashing onto his like the water against the shoreline. Your body almost suctioned to his, bringing him even closer when your arms wound around his neck. He kept that one hand on your cheek, the other splaying on your lower back, like how he always did when he was nervous. But he had nothing to be nervous about, because you liked him and he liked you. The world felt like it was spinning, but also just right, and his tongue was licking into your mouth enough to make you feel breathless. You could do this forever, be this relaxed in his arms, kiss him as if it was only you two in your own world. And as he tugged on your bottom lip to make your breathing heavy, you decided that your dream had become a reality.

When you broke the kiss, your cheeks were definitely flushed, even under the layer of blush you put on. Mingyu grinned, tilting his head as he whispered, “So you have always been mine then?”

“Such a tease sometimes,” you repeated his fateful words from June. 

You turned, tugging on his hand playfully as the waves begin to lick at the sand near your feet. “C’mon,” you chuckled. “If we’re late to this wedding, my mom will kill me before I can even think about calling you my boyfriend.”

Mingyu had wanted to ask you to marry him only two years later, and thank god, he finally found the words.

tag list: @syluslittlecrows @yeosayang @eisaspresso @healingmv @nightshadeblooming @dmstoyangyang @amaraeofsunshine @thepoopdokyeomtouched @reiofsuns2001 @tigerhoshii @yoongznme @nerdycheol @gyuguys @ninixgyu4eva @tokitosun @wooyugta @dawn-iscozy @thecowboy7 @wonu-won @whoisbaek15 @alexie-blog

[luna-azzurra]

Ways I Write a Woman...

➤ Who’s Tired of Being Talked Over

You ever watch someone hold in a scream behind their teeth? That’s her, constantly.

✧ She starts choosing her words like landmines. Each one is sharp, controlled, and timed like a threat. She’s learned that being polite won’t get her listened to, but sounding like you might flip a table will. ✧ She’s mastered the art of the silence that feels loud. Doesn’t fill awkward gaps. Just lets the discomfort sit in the air like smoke. ✧ She explains things with forced calm, the kind that sounds like a teacher asking a second-grade class why the hamster is missing. ✧  She notices interruptions like bruises. She doesn’t react to them anymore, not out loud. But you can bet she counts them. ✧ She repeats herself less. Not because they understood her the first time. Because they never listened anyway. ✧ She’s learned how to weaponize eye contact. Not in a sexy way. In a “I will set this boardroom on fire with my mind” way. ✧ Her voice only shakes when she’s deciding if it’s worth the explosion.

➤ Who’s Been Called ‘Too Much’ Her Whole Life

She isn’t too much. She’s just tired of shrinking for people who were never going to make room anyway.

✧ She says the thing you’re not supposed to say. Then stares at you to see what you’ll do with it. ✧ She’s loud with her laugh, loud with her grief, loud with her love, because if she’s going to be punished for being “extra,” she might as well be honest about it. ✧ She over-explains. Over-apologizes. Then catches herself and stops halfway through the sentence. ✧  She tries to “tone it down” and ends up sounding like a censored version of herself, bland, miserable, unfinished. ✧ She edits her texts four times, deletes the paragraph, sends “haha ok :)” instead. ✧ She keeps her hands busy because otherwise they’d be doing something reckless. ✧  She overcompensates with sarcasm and then goes home and wonders if everyone hates her. ✧  She’s loved fiercely. Regretted it more fiercely. ✧  She walks into a room like she owns it, and then spends the entire time wondering if she should have stayed home.

➤ Who Wants to Be Soft but Doesn’t Feel Safe

She's gentle, but that gentleness lives under twenty layers of armor. And most people never even get past the first. ✧  She’s careful with her compliments, she knows how people weaponize kindness. ✧  She keeps her vulnerability behind locked doors and guards them with jokes, sarcasm, and “I’m just tired.” ✧ She’ll comfort others like she was born to do it, but flinch if someone offers her the same. ✧ She avoids mirrors on bad days. Eye contact on good ones. ✧ She cries where no one can see. Car bathrooms. Locked bedrooms. Grocery store parking lots at night. ✧ She doesn’t ask for help. Not because she doesn’t need it, but because the last time she did, it came with a price. ✧ She’s soft with animals, with children, with strangers, but not herself. Never herself. ✧ She daydreams about being taken care of, then immediately gets mad at herself for wanting something so “weak.” ✧ She wants love, but she’s terrified of being known. Because if someone really saw her? What if they didn’t stay?

And if you’re sitting there reading all of that thinking, “God, I don’t even know how to write women like this…” Please know: you’re not alone. Like, really not alone.

Writing female characters in a way that feels true, nuanced, and unapologetically real isn’t just about avoiding clichés. It’s about unlearning everything you were taught about what women are “supposed” to be on the page. It’s about getting underneath the polish. Past the performative strength. Past the “she’s not like other girls” and the “strong but broken” tropes. Past the idea that softness is weakness and rage is unlikable.

So many people struggle with this, not because they don’t care, but because no one ever really taught them how to see women as people first.

A lot of us grew up reading female characters written through a lens that flattened us. Made us background noise, love interests, plot devices, or emotionally bulletproof when we weren’t emotionally unstable. It’s no wonder we’re all trying to figure out how to do better now. I write a Book about How to Write Women that feel Alive... For you.

In the chapters ahead, we’re going to unravel that mess, together (Promise). We’ll talk about...

❥ Tropes — the ones worth reclaiming, and the ones you can toss into the fire. ❥ The psychology of a woman — how conditioning, survival, identity, and inner conflict shape her from the inside out. ❥ Female vs. male conflict — not in a “boys suck” way, but in a “our emotional battlegrounds are different and that matters” way. ❥ Expectations — society’s, her own, and how characters shrink or shatter under them. ❥ Emotions as strength — especially the ones she was taught to hide: fear, grief, longing, joy, rage. ❥ Female anger — what happens when she finally stops holding it in. ❥ Archetypes — and how to subvert them without erasing the truths they come from. ❥ Female friendships — no more cardboard “bestie” side characters. ❥ Romantic relationships — what it means when she’s finally seen. Chosen. Or rejected. ❥Mothers, daughters, and sisters — because female relationships deserve more than being backstory. ❥ Dialogue — how she speaks when she’s safe vs. when she’s scared. ❥ Inner conflict and development — her arc isn’t about fixing her. It’s about letting her evolve. ❥ Writing exercises — to help you get past the noise and write from a place that feels real. ❥ A full checklist for writing female OCs — layered, powerful, contradictory, alive.

📖 Get your Paperback now! (Here On Amazon!)

This isn’t a rulebook. It’s a guide. A toolbox. A comfort blanket. A callout. A reminder that writing women doesn’t have to feel impossible, you just have to be willing to look a little deeper.

So if you’ve ever felt stuck writing a female character… If you’ve defaulted to tropes because you didn’t know how else to make her “interesting”… If you’ve erased her emotions to make her “strong”… Or if you’ve stared at the page wondering why she still doesn’t feel real...This book is for you.

And I promise, by the time you reach the last chapter? You’ll not only know how to write her. You’ll understand her. And maybe even see a little of yourself in the process.

Love u All!!🖤

[jonquilandlace]

I just want to pop in to say: the first thing I was taught in my master's programme was how to read early modern handwriting. And we had to do it twice, technically! I'm not looking at my notes and my memory is a bit foggy so pardon me if I use the wrong words, but they had both an italic and a secretary hand. Now, italic is probably the style you recognize in name. But that said, you are going to hate me for what I'm about to reveal about how it looked (all images I'm about to use are straight off google images, sorry for mediocre sourcing):

Look me in the eye and tell me you could read this without having to stop to think about it. I mean, it's definitely in Latin (and russian I think?), so I don't blame you for not knowing what I means, but if you give it a chance, other than a few bits and pieces, you could parse some of the letters, at least. If I told you the "uncrossed-f" shape meant "s" (which it does), you can pretty clearly make out the phrase "platonem scripsere quod plotum dixit" in the first line, for instance.

This is an admittedly bit unfriendly of an example, but you see what I mean—it's clearly similar to how our handwriting is shaped today, but even then, it's tricky. I will admit I was surprised by italic hand—largely because, once we started learning it, I discovered a lot of the little "I write this letter 'wrong' but it feels better to me" things I've done since learning handwriting actually were common in italic hand, but that's neither here nor there for this commentary, just a fun fact about me.

Now secretary hand, on the other hand—

She is the It Girl of early modern handwriting. She is mean to read, fun to write, absolutely gorgeous on paper—and looks quite a bit like cursive.

Secretary hand died out in favor of italic by the end of the period, and you can admittedly kind of see why—the letter forms of some of these letters were far too similar for easy reading; people literally had to be trained to write in this handwriting style, where italic looked more like the printed text people tended to learn to read off of with the increasing popularity of the printing press, and—like modern manuscript—was quicker to write.

In other words: secretary hand is the equivalent of our modern cursive.

So why am I saying this all? Good question! I'm not 100% sure myself; just following a gut instinct! But I think there's two main points to be seen here:

First: sometimes ways of writing are devalued and die out. Sometimes it's a slow thing—like how the "uncrossed-f = s" I was talking about has just been straight up replaced by the normal "s" shape. Other times, it is institutional. There were no need for scribes with the printing press, so the scribal profession died out, and the secretary hand with it. There's no need for cursive with the computer, so cursive dies out. It's a tragedy, sure; a whole art form is lost in the pursuit of efficiency—but it's cyclical. It has happened before. It's probably going to happen again. On that note, however— Second: Even if it dies from common usage, and this is the important part: people will still figure out how to read them, and there will always be people who want to learn. The knowledge becomes more precious, more scarce, sure. There are still pieces of early modern literature no one has translated; none of my professors or peers know what it's supposed to say. But the physical media has outlived the mechanism itself, the people who wrote it! It still exists, and it can still be discovered again! On this note, I want to talk about something I don't have enough authority not to cite—the marui-ji handwriting of Japanese girls in the 1970s.

I wouldn't be terribly surprised if you've seen this picture before, actually. This has gone viral before, in a post about how that handwriting style got "so excessively cute that schools had to ban it" (that's not a direct quote but to that point).

But that's exactly the point I want to make here—handwriting trends will always change, and it will always be possible to have fun with your writing.

As Zui in the article linked above describes, this is "[a]n example of cute handwriting in 1985, documented by Yamane Kazuma. Note the heavily stylised characters and exaggerated rounding of some strokes, and the abnormal placement of the dakuten for the character で in the bottom-right corner."

Some link the advent of this writing style to the advent of mechanical pencils, allowing for thinner lines. Others (my own opinion among them) link it to Japan's "kawaii" movement, or the reclamation of "cute" culture by young girls seeking freedom from traditional patriarchal roles in the same way the West embraced punk culture. But the point remains: from a standard beginning point, an entire new paeleographical style was born.

So on the topic of cursive again, and coming back to my second point: change is inevitable, but it doesn't have to be permanent. It may die out now, sure, only to be rediscovered like secretary hand before it.

But just like art itself won't die, even if techniques change, art in handwriting won't be gone forever, either.

So keep a record, for the historians who want to read cursive. Tutorial the hell out of it, even. But even if cursive dies—keep having fun when you write. Make your handwriting your own, and just enjoy yourself. Losing access to one thing doesn't mean you can't make something else in its place. Also writing in secretary hand is fun, too, send tweet, okay byeeee

On one hand I understand not teaching cursive in school anymore, because it actually is slower than regular handwriting and almost everything is typed on a keyboard now anyways.

On the other hand, so much of our (even recent!) history was written in cursive, and having a whole generation of kids who can't read letters written by their grandparents, momentos saved by their great-grandparents, or even photo albums from theur immediate family seems like a dangerously quick way to detach us from previous generations.

And on the third, related but slightly malformed hand, I feel bad that yet another form of small, everyday art that brings joy in the middle of mundane tasks, which celebrates personality and individual style and self-expression, is about to fade into obscurity because it wasn't efficient enough for today's world to put up with.

Like... if we continue to whittle away the small arts out of every day life, what's going to be left except stark, ruthless pragmatism?

Maybe writing a grocery list is less mundane when you get to feel elegant for a moment. Maybe you're a little more proud of what you write when you see it flow together like a painting

[heavensgaze]

fanart for some clangen // warrior cat comics i've been very into lately !! all of the blogs will be linked below the cut.

PLEASE go check all of them out if you haven't.

Lilac is from @mammoth-clangen - your comic has been on my reading list for ages now and when someone suggested Lilac for this it gave me the perfect opportunity to sit and read. i love the choice to write in first person from the perspectives of the characters. it creates a really intense emotional weight in the story. your art is also just SO stunning. your environment and background work is to die for. Lilac is such a good character. he has this quiet dignity around him that i really love in a character.

Coalfrost is from @rainy-wc - rain has heard me gush about shoreclan and The Watchful Eyes of the Sea so so much already but that's not going to stop me from doing it here too. the atmosphere of the comic is so mysterious and bleak in the best way. the way you write the dialogue really feeds into the culty energy, with everything seeming so innocent on paper but also so incredibly guarded that something must be going on. i love the jagged shapes and the use of color so much too. you know i love coalfrost... i can't wait for people to see more of her.

Flowerdaisy and Rapidpaw are both from @sunclan-rising - i fell in love with your art the moment i saw it. i love the vibrant colors and sharp lines, and how varied each character's shapes are. it gives them so much personality. seeing what happened to little rapidpaw broke me, and then i remembered that flowerdaisy is practically a kit herself at 18 moons??? i can't imagine how this is weighing on her, and can't wait to see where it goes from here. (also sorry for flopping and calling them peakpaw... a classic jj L, i fear TT_TT)

Greenberry is from @fallenclan - i've probably read through fallenclan in its entirety four or five times at this point. i ADORE the way you draw cats, and the longevity of the comic is such an inspiration to me. i think one of the coolest things about fallenclan is how everyone seems to have their favorite little background character, regardless of their relevance. you're so good at making every single character have so much personality, even if they only show up once or twice. greenberry is my personal fav!! people who know me will know that a character having "green" in their design (or name, in this case) is a surefire way to my heart. she's MY clairvoyant little sweetie...and i was so excited to see her get her new accessory.

Leapmist is from @ask-littleclan - first off... it was SO hard deciding which littleclan cat to draw. your character designs are so next level and inspiring to me!! and the comic is BEAUTIFUL??? the colors are so tasty and the way you use all of the space on each page is insane. like i can only aspire to have that level of visual interest. i chose leapmist because i LOVE how pointy they are, and i figured they deserve it considering their new promotion. i'm so very excited to see where the story goes, and i hope you're able to get lots of rest and that the new term goes super smoothly for you!

Yewstar is from @righteous-pines - if it's not very obvious from the content of gardenclan, i LOVE a story about religion. i'm very excited to see where your comic goes, especially since it starts with this guy losing a life? his design is SO fun. i love a grumpy old man, and his spiky fur and beard are such good details. i am such a big fan of how you draw cats, especially the really round ones. it's SO fun. and the detail and backstories you've given everyone are crazy intriguing.

Doll is from @ask-graveclan - i was torn between drawing doll and whispstar (I LOVE GREEN CATS!) but doll's design is kind of everything to me. every single cat in this clan is breathtaking. seriously. i could look at your art all day? graveclan is so full of mystery and intrigue... i need to know who killed this absolute SWEETIE. i hope her and sunpaw stay safe as they investigate... i'm also so invested in their little ghost romance too...

Siltsplash is from @loudclan-clangen - i've actually made fanart for loudclan before. it feels like ages ago now, but i don't think i would have gone down the clangen comic rabbithole at all if i hadn't found loudclan. it's SO special to me. Siltsplash and Wildfirecry are my faves, but since i've drawn the latter before, Silt was the obvious choice :3 i LOVE them so much and they've suffered more than christ on the cross... i love their relationship with their adopted sons, and their relationship with owlstar, even if i think they should be allowed to throw rocks at him forever. your art is so charming. i love the way you draw cats and i love how expressive everything is. your ability to convey emotion not just through their faces but through colors and framing is SO impressive to me. and the worldbuilding you've done is also so good. it's such a fresh take on the warrior cats formula. you are one of my biggest inspos for Our Garden Under Heaven. i'm SO excited to see where this story goes... and scared. but mostly excited!!

i'm so sorry that i'm incapable of being brief, but i hope you all know how much i love and appreciate your art!! thank you for doing what you do!

[cancel-me-daddy]

The older sibling trope is shitty and lazy, and there is no excuse for it to be this prevalent in 2025, point blank period.

This has been coming for some time, it was really just a matter of when the next time this stereotype shows up and ruins/turns me off from something before I put up this rant.

The Elbaph arc of One Piece has just become my least favorite arc in the series, and has ruined Shanks for me.

As if it wasn't bad enough how obvious it is that Loki is gonna turn out to be the good guy (writing this on May 5th 2025, I am on chapter 1140. Loki being the youngest gave it away.) and it's gonna be like Bruno from Encanto or something, but now Shanks has an evil older twin out of nowhere and this cool character is ruined.

Constantly making the older sibling in media evil and making the younger sibling the underdog/odd one out is such a dull overdone trope.

I have had a huge problem with it for years because it completely alienates me and invalidates me and the fact that I'm the only one who even notices or cares about this just adds to it. Like, I am actually mad when I see this.

In media, the older sibling can either be evil or a prissy overachiever who follows the rules (or both) and that is it. This is not fair and when it's the only thing you're shown throughout art and media it has an effect on real life.

And yeah, there are definitely more important/pressing issues than this but I can still be mad about this while also caring about more important stuff.

This is very personal to me because growing up, I was a complete inverse of this stereotype. I am the oldest of my siblings, and when we were kids I was the one getting mistreated. I was an undiagnosed neurodivergent child and grew up with a neurotypical and perfect younger sister.

My issues with this trope falls on deaf ears CONSTANTLY and I'm sick of it so l'm sorry but I have to bring up old family stuff. We’re good now and as long as that’s over I have nothing against them. But okay; I'm the oldest. I'M the one who was bullied. I'M the one who was "weird." I was the black sheep. I'M the one who did poorly in school. I'M the one who got the "why can't you be more like your sister?" talk. IT IS NOT FAIR.

It's like writers don't think older siblings are going to be watching or reading anything. We were all kids at one point. We were the same age our younger siblings are now and it's not okay to teach us that we're some horrible monster or a lame NPC for being conceived first.

Of course there are going to be situations where this stereotype really does happen. People exist. There are mean older sisters and brothers. But the fact that I can conjure up this giant ass list (80 examples as now) while I can count the number of good older sibling characters on one hand is fucking appalling. At this point they are really just demonizing older siblings and ass kissing younger siblings because we fetishize the shit out of youth.

Movies and books are supposed to be my escape from real life. It's really harmful that even my escapes tell me l'm not valid and there's no room for me in stories because I'm supposed to be the big bad evil one or the "obey your parents" prissy wet blanket while the younger sibling is always the good, rebellious cool one.

And I get why; younger = less life experience = underdog = root for the underdog. That mixed in with everyone’s subconscious younger = better. I know the reason but like?? It’s not a good reason? It should be defied and challenged once in a while.

This trope is lazy. Like flat out. There are better ways to write an underdog than this. We all know deep down that younger means better. It doesn't work. 

Being younger means you have less experience so of course an older sibling will be better than you at some stuff. It doesn't make for a good "oooo poor lil underdog" story. Imagine being the oldest AND having your younger siblings be better than you at everything and finding success faster than you. It would get the underdog message across even moreso, and that would be a way worse position to be in. Almost no piece of media has ever explored this.

Also if an older sibling is jealous of a younger sibling, they must be wicked and cruel. But if a younger sibling is jealous of an older sibling, we're supposed to feel sorry for them.

I have actually refused to watch shows or movies because of this. It makes me genuinely mad. Especially when I’m so far along in a series or if I have a strong love for a franchise just for it to pull this.

And it wouldn’t be making me this mad if people at least knew it as a trope. Like if it became as much of a thing as the middle child being invisible and people just recognized it as a trope it wouldn't piss me off this much. If it became an eye roll ‘oop here we go again’ that the audience groans about it wouldn't have driven me to this.

But the fact that I have EIGHTY AND COUNTING examples so clearly authors are doing it with intent and are consciously aware and it still falls on deaf ears where everyone I mention it to is all ‘huh what are you talking about?’ or change the subject or try their absolute hardest NOT to understand is what makes me want to scream. Like, FUCKING 80+!!! There has got to be some real intent behind this and when I call it out no one understands or wants to.

Fiction does have an impact on reality. Constantly putting firtborns under this light affects the way firsborns are treated in real life.

Their struggles aren't taken as seriously, people are quick to side with the younger sibling when there is conflict no matter what, and they'll be considered a failure or a loser if they can't live up to the 'perfection responsible leader' role they never signed up for.

Of all the media I've consumed, I could only find 5 positive examples of good older sibling characters that defy the stereotype in some way (13 if I'm being extremely generous)

To have just 5 - 13 well written good older siblings and over 80 bad ones, that's not okay.

If everything in my life was exactly the same but I was the youngest instead, if I was still the lonely fuckup black sheep who was bullied but I was younger, I would have been able to feel heard and have dozens of characters to relate to. But instead I'm isolated and invalidated even more and can neither have the cake or eat it.

No one ever talks about this, and when I try to everyone will cover their ears and change the subject or misunderstand it.

I’m probably going to blaze this because I will be heard. This current One Piece arc has deeply upset me and I already dedicated so much time and money to the series. Even if I have to keep shouting and posting about this over and over, I will be heard. 

I will delete comments that trivialize, invalidate, miss the point, say something like “technically (insert character) isn’t evil,” or otherwise miss the forest for the trees. I will be heard no matter how many times it takes.

[joeloverture]

tlou & enjoyment vs. conscious enjoyment

im currently in the deepest throes of finals season and looking down having to travel for two back to back residencies so ive been highkey spaced out on here, popping in and out at my own leisure. but im showing up to add to the conversation. reminder that ive studied all of these concepts at the collegiate level for years, have experience running workshops for poc, etc. i know what im saying. blah blah blah im vetty im mexican chilean / nahua & mayan

i do not fault anyone for enjoying tlou. in fact, i encourage them to. it’s one of the most popular medias of the time with a hit hbo show and it’s one of the most successful playstation games of all time. tlou is simply something that is meant to be enjoyed. this is good! finding comfort in these times is important for all of us. but simultaneously, we need to be aware of where this comfort comes from; i.e. is it at the expense of someone else’s discomfort? consuming any storytelling is an act that cannot be apolitical. everything about writing, art, and television is political from a story’s inception to its delivery.

these critiques about tlou are not new! they’ve existed for years. many call into question in the first game the deaths of poc as an engine that powers the white characters’ stories. this is a problem that persists into the second game and the second season. tlou is also inextricable from the zionist mindset of its creator neil druckmann. once you look for these things as an audience member in a critical way, they begin to pop up everywhere.

for example, martyr’s gate. in abbys part you come across a setup where seraphites leave written prayers to their martyred leader. if the player interacts with the environment in a specific way, abby picks up one of the letters that asks for the fighting to stop. she says, offhandedly, “easy. stay on your fucking island.” this is colonizer mindset turned to the highest degree. when layered with the themes of martyring and idealism that neil is clearly critiquing, this is just one example of horrific worldviews that have wedged their way into the storyline. she also announces to her friends that killing children seraphites is acceptable and necessary if they attack first. remind you of anything?

i’ve made a separate post about show joels death, which can be found in my pinned. poc trauma is especially prevalent with abbys character: her entire storyline centers white saviorism. her past sins can be forgiven because she saves two asian kids from their evil religion, whose trauma directly propels the plot. (yaras amputation, lev killing his mom, yaras death). the game never actually considers abby’s past actions. she changes in the course of about two days and we are expected to see this as a well rounded character arc as if she wasn’t the right hand woman of someone who yall watched brutally torture someone on live television last sunday. ive also heard a sound bite from the show: “i don’t care if they’re women kids or fucking babies look what they did! kill them all!” manny — a full blown stereotype of mexican culture — has his eye shot out by tommy. tommy later loses his eye to show consequences. neils pivotal ideology of “an eye for an eye”

and that’s just in abbys part. in ellies part, she tortures and then kills nora. jesse dies at abbys hand.

if i can write 3 entire paragraphs without even scratching the surface of the games intrinsic, racist properties, there’s a problem.

the issue is not engaging with this media. the issue lies in how it is consumed, and how it is addressed in internet spaces. this is not a dogshit take. the torture porn and racism is EMBEDDED into the plot. there is not a tlou without it. this is undeniable. attempting to deny it is to make attempts to save your own skin in lieu of poc begging you to experience this content with some level of consciousness about its origins.

it hurts to see the people we poc share this platform with brushing over our trauma and using it as fodder for their fanfiction and entertainment. it just does. especially when the vast majority of all of us have experienced this trauma firsthand or generationally to a degree that most white people have been lucky enough to be spared from.

denying that tlou is racist is simply a racist take. interacting with tlou is not something that is inherently racist in and of itself. this seems to be where the mix up has occurred. the mix up has also occurred on our end; for thinking that our experiences would be empathized with. or that certain members of the fandom would move forward with a larger degree of awareness. we know better than to think we’ll be taken seriously these days.

ive seen arguments like: the actors knew what they were getting themselves into! other poc disagree with you!

1- acting is an industry. many of the tlou hiring stories happened quickly without the specifics of the storyline being shared. pedro had the first 3 scripts and confirmation that he’d die; likely not HOW he would die.

2- poc are not a monolith. we can also be racist. we can also partake in racist ideology. we can also have differing views on this. i think most of us agree, though, that neil is a piece of shit whose perspective inundates the game.

that’s my piece. im missing some stuff but i typed this on my phone between finals. so 🐛

poc you will always be safe on my blog and with me. we can enjoy parts of tlou while disgracing other parts of it.

[red-dye40]

LOOK EVERYONE BEE'S MAKING ANOTHER LONG TEXT POST!

LET'S ALL READ IT AND REALLY REALLY ABSORB EVERY LAST WORD!

Hello, it's me, Bee. I'm typing with proper capitalization to show you how serious this post is.

Recently, and especially yesterday, I've been getting increasingly upsetting and alarming engagement from fans (it feels stupid saying "fans" but also maybe my overfamiliarity is part of what's biting me in my huge ass.)

I am always of the mindset of letting people do their freak shit, never yucking anyone's yum, etc etc, but I think I have to start being a lot more explicit about where I stand on some things.

First of all, I want to specify upfront that Newfag Runs The Gauntlet is a work of fiction, and what's more, it's very explicit social commentary. You are Not supposed to root for Newf. He is purposefully Not A Good Person. That goes for pretty much everyone in NFRTG in fact; like, yes the CrowdSauce posts are funny and ridiculous, but if you find yourself reading some of the more violent and disturbing parts of those threads and being like "woah that's just like me!" then I urge you to understand that it's not a Good thing.

NFRTG isn't written to be representation for paraphiles or radqueers. I in fact do not use either of those terms to describe myself, because I personally am deeply uncomfortable with how broad and vague and muddy the definitions are, and how it invites and potentially encourages some really unsavory behavior. NFRTG is a cautionary tale first and foremost. It's a horror novel because it is SCARY how willingly all these characters agree to ruin people's lives for a laugh. It's also FUNNY because I am very funny :) and it's HOT and you can think it's HOT because I do! And definitely write parts of it to be hot and horny! That's part of the horror, too! Not knowing whether you're disturbed or disgusted or aroused! But please please please know that these characters are Not the good guys. There are really no good guys to be found. Intentionally. And that's not a Good Thing.

I'm going to take a big big BIG step back from fandom engagement for my own sake. There inevitably comes a point where creators kind of can't afford to keep up intense fan engagement and I think I'm there, so I'm gonna untrack my tags and let you all have your fun without mommy breathing down your neck. If you want me to see something, you can tag me or submit it to the site for sure! I WANT to see your art and writing and theories and all that! I LOVE it! I just don't think I need to be privy to ALL of it.

My closing remark is I am so grateful and so lucky to have gotten such a following so fast. Pretty much everyone I've interacted with has been very kind and sweet and curious, and I so admire that. What a lucky little bug I am! I want to keep feeling positively about my work and the impact it's having on others, so I urge everyone to approach NFRTG with a critical eye, understand that I am very much Pointing Out A Problem when I write characters doing or saying terrible things, understand that I very much Don't want people to kill themselves or each other, that I don't think these behaviors are just things we should turn our backs to. I was once a deeply suicidal, nihilistic, self-entitled channer who frequented gore sites and watched awful shit for fun. That was not good, and it took years of therapy for me to even START to unpack that and crawl out of that hole of self destruction. But I'm so much happier and healthier and better off now that I'm away from all that, and I will always encourage people to do the same. I really really would prefer it if people stayed alive and helped themselves and didn't harm others. That is my ask.

Thank you for your reading and I love you and I LIKE you. Please be safe and good :)

[sam-keeper]

"is it ultraorthodox to critique the reactionary rhetoric of large swathes of an industry and its members by applying class analysis and understanding the position of said industry in the larger systems?"

i'll be frank, i thought that's what we were here for. and i mean as communist artists (the people who say these things!) i think it's incredibly important to hold discussions about how the material aspects of both broad and specific artistic industries (such as film or writing or painting) impact the rhetoric through which the industry exists.

why is that first line in quotes? I didn't say that. did YOU say that? someone seems to have said it, but it's simply not clear who.

anyway you're elevating the worth of a lot of discourse that amounts to "nyah nyah you think you're progressive but you're actually a CAPITALIST" gussied up with a bunch of rigid theoretical typologies that cover up the fact that the people posting these hot takes entirely understand "the art industry" through their social media feeds (and sorry I absolutely do not agree that "the people who say these things" are working artists themselves. that has not been my observation at all.)

it's really trivial to point to countless ways in which even someone who in one domain dropships merch and in another domain has to take hours at a contract job where they get no benefits because they aren't considered an employee and therefore has a fairly complicated class position. is it petite bourgeois when youtube demonetizes your video through a bogus copyright strike and pipes all the ad revenue to Nintendo instead? hey, maybe your publisher gave you a deceptive contract that promised great royalties, only to take all their ongoing expenses out of your royalty share so they can keep making money off your comic while you're left with just the advance. that's rough buddy, but did you know... you're actually petite bourgeois?

what is this accomplishing as far as movement building is concerned? is this really about critique to the end of building something or is it about what 99.9% of social media is about: showing off?

I watch my anarchist friends build solidarity organizations while we sit on our asses and debate marxian epicycles. perhaps it's time we ruthlessly critique our own obsession with having the best toy model of the cosmos.

[imdoingjustgr8]

hey

soooo... how have any fellow td fans been coping recently

meme aside, i got """a bit""" of a vent coming below that no one's obligated to read. and if you do, forgive me if it ends up long asf and kind of all over the place. it was 5 in the morning when i began writing and i just want a place to get all my thoughts out or i won't be able to sleep in peace.

so, here it goes:

td suddenly being taken down out of nowhere and confirmed to be canceled, never to come back was a massive bummer and all, but honestly? i've been taking the news of the official td discord server's impending deletion much harder. don't get me wrong, i do feel really damn bad for outlaik, i just find him dropping td much easier to accept than seeing the first and only big dc community i've ever joined, that encouraged me to post so much sonexe art in the first place, hell, even have made a bit of a name for myself in (literally being known as "the sonexe guy") be sent to oblivion along with it.

to think that i initially only played a random goofy-looking sonic.exe roblox game out of sheer boredom, to think that i initially joined the discord to only make player reports and maybe lurk around. but when i discovered the creations channel, i've ended up checking that very channel almost religiously, posted alot of my own silly drawings, and met so many cool, funny people and amazing fellow artists that have inspired me to this day.

i've only been around for 2 (and a half?) years, so to see everything go down to shit so suddenly was really jarring. i tend to be a really sentimental guy, like "i hoard 1000+ pictures of a sand sculpture i just built in multiple angles" levels of sentimental, so the thought of all those fun interactions and discussions, creative takes and suggestions, and amazing art that i couldn't all save becoming inaccessable to look back on, to become completely wiped out soon has been pretty distressing to me. it doesn't help that most of the artists i've followed on there don't seem to have links or have posted on other platforms.

one of my biggest comforting hopes at the moment is that if anyone else from on there i've interacted with happens to see this and recognize me, artist or not, i'd be really happy to give you a follow! and to those who don't, if i might not see you again for awhile or ever, i wish you well and hope you know you're cool asf. like, i seriously feel very lucky and grateful of how nice and unexpectedly crazy-supportive everyone was, especially with my first ever sonexe post. i really mean it when i said you're all what encouraged me to post without fearing massive judgement and made me feel excited to share my silly doodles and ideas. seriously, thank you all.

also, i feel as if this is something that needs to be said, or atleast said more; i hope that people would learn to be more considerate of outlaik's pov on everything. i seriously doubt anyone would have the motivation to continue a project they wanted to move on from long ago in the first place. getting a copyright claim on his ass, having his acc and dev career at risk, still being constantly interrogated about td's return (bc of ppl making shit up) when he's already done all he could was just the final nail in the coffin for him with the game. i respect him wanting to just quickly move on and i do hope he finds successs, possibly pull even more than what he got from td with current and future projects he can fully enjoy. i'd also have to thank him and his game for bringing us all together in the first place.

ok big sappy rant over. idk how to end this gracefully i just rlly want to go to sleep atp lmao. i've been typing for 4 straight hours kill me rn

good mor-night 😪

[dancingdorito]

As much as I think we should hold criticism until the season is over, I genuinely think we should have a discussion about how the discourse surrounding Andor is HELPFUL and GOOD. It's not normal for a show to fulfill everyone's needs, it's a story written with a purpose. If you were to watch every show with the expectation of having your own wishes fulfilled, you'd miss the point of art, and you'd miss the point of the show.

Having some characters being interpreted in a way thats is uncomfortable to the viewer makes sense to the theme of the show. The show being a political commentary requires it to call on real life inspiration and issues. Naturally this creates tension because as humans we have different experiences and therefore different perspectives. Of course there are things we think they could have handled better, but we don't even fully know how this season ends yet, and people are already making decisions about how certain things are being dealt with.

Andor being a prequel means we know how his story ends. We know how his sacrifice affects the galaxy. But we also know that most of the characters we meet in this show will either die or be missing by the time we reach the battle of Yavin. We know and we watch anyway.

Cassian Andor is not like Luke Skywalker, and he isnt meant to be. He is a realistic, flawed, and good rebel. The whole reason he helps Jyn get to Scarif is because he wants all his misdoings and sacrifices to be worth it. So it wouldn't make sense for him to be this fully self-actualized character when we know his ending. It wouldn't make sense for his character to be so believing in the cause when we see him actively disregard orders in Rogue One multiple times, purely because of his heart and belief in others. He believes fully in the cause, but he has his own autonomy and choices.

Does this mean we shouldn't criticize the writing? not at all! It just simply means that having these conversations about these characters helps bring the message of the show across. Being upset that certain characters aren't being given the care you think they deserve is completely normal, and it is great that we can have discussions on this. A political commentary is never going to get everything right, especially with such a large ensemble of strong amazing actors who put so much into this show. Being critical of story choices is the purpose of political commentary, so we can connect this distant galaxy to our own world, and our own issues.

I'm not saying this to excuse the writers for how they have been handling certain characters, I just think that we should keep having these critical conversations because it is important to do so. I also think it would be good to withhold complete judgement until the show is over.

[leupagus]

So I've noticed a trend in the Pitt fandom

And it is not a trend unique to the Pitt by any means, let me be clear! But it is a tiring trend, and one I'd like to see a bit less of, because as someone who's been in fandom spaces for over thirty years, I can attest that such trends can make your fandom experience really, really unpleasant.

It is the trend of the Condemnatory Vaguepost:

Like this one.

The Condemnatory Vaguepost is a post which points out perceived shortcomings in some amorphous "you" or "they" within the fandom while the OP mocks/belittles/otherwise insults (note the "y'all truly amuse me" and "trying to be Woke" and "control yourself a bit please" comments) from a place of presumed moral superiority. A moral superiority which, it has to be pointed out, is never proven or even alluded to. We are supposed to take OP's moral superiority as read because they have identified a "bad thing" that people are doing.

And guys, I've got a recommendation: instead of engaging with people or work that inspires posts like this? Just block them.

Block the people who have takes that annoy you. Block the people who make snide comments about the headcanons you treasure. Block the people who make headcanons you find annoying or problematic or just plain gross. Block me, if this post pisses you off! Block anyone who makes you clench your teeth as you scroll past their posts. You do not need them in your life; you should not want them in your fandom.

"But Gus, decrepit fandom elder," I hear you cry, "what if these people who annoy me have subsequent Content that I cannot then access? "

I have good news for you on that front! They won't. They may well offer valuable contributions to the fandom as a whole, but here's the thing: if you're willing to write a whole post about how these kingdon shippers/robby apologists/etc are stupid/bigoted/etc, then you personally will be annoyed by them even if they make a really great fancam or art or fic or meta, and that will drain all the enjoyment out of whatever it is they contribute. And if you think, "No, I could get over that," then perhaps rethink the value in making these kinds of condemnatory vagueposts at all.

"But Gus, nefarious fandom crone," I hear you cry, "how then can I hope to change the hearts of minds of those I think are doing Bad Things and thinking Bad Thoughts about the characters on The Pitt?"

I have bad news for you on that front! You can't. You will never — and I mean never — win anyone over, or inspire them to change their minds with this kind of behavior. A mel/frank shipper who reads the quoted post is not going to feel shame and remorse for that fic they kudosed last night that made Abby out to be some sort of suffering saint who was relieved to be rid of Frank, only for Mel to fix him with her magic vagina. That mel/frank shipper is instead going to be mad, and hurt, and not for one second think that OP meant to do anything but anger and hurt them. (Which, as far as I can see, is a perfectly justifiable reading.)

And let us be honest with ourselves: the purpose of these posts isn't to change minds. It's to get a little zing of pleasure from telling other people they've done something bad. It's the tattletale impulse we all have, to either appeal to a higher authority and get someone in "trouble" or to simply gloat over our own purity of mind/spirit/body. I've been watching a lot of "Cadfael" lately, and let me tell you, Brother Jerome is within us all.

I don't know that this trend is getting worse — it's been rife in every fandom I've been in, and as I said above, I've been guilty of it myself. (In fact you could argue that I'm still guilty of it, by making this post. Certainly I've lived long enough to look back with shame and regret for a LOT of my behavior, spanning multiple fandoms. My moral superiority here is located somewhere in the Mariana Trench.) But it is startlingly strident considering that this is a new fandom, without any previous franchise (unless you count ER) and which has brought together a huge variety of old fans, new fans, young fans and returning fans. We haven't had the years or decades needed to establish the sort of unspoken rules of what is Just Not Done within the fandom yet. So it's honestly bewildering to see so many different ideas and opinions and preferences being expressed, side-by-side with posts about how those ideas and opinions and preferences are obviously in violation of some standard.

And all of it, all of it, is happening because we watched a TV show about hot doctors and we wanted to talk to someone else about it. That's all a fandom really is — a group of people coming together to discuss a shared interest. And a pretty nerdy one at that.

Tl;dr — we're all at the devil's sacrament, maybe we don't have to point fingers quite so gleefully.

[thepseudowoodo]

Eyyyyyy it's part 2! I was going to post this earlier today and then ended up rewriting half of it instead. Writing life, amirite?

Title: Measured With Blood

Rating: M for themes of canon-typical violence and sexual content

Summary: Hans reflects on his relationship with Henry and how it is viewed by the people around them.

(Part 1) Part 2: Godwin & Zizka

Hans had not met Zizka under the most ideal circumstances. 

Face down in the mud and moderately concussed is not a great way to make any new acquaintance, let alone one who wants to take you hostage. His duel with Henry had Hans’ heart pounding so hard in his breast that he feared he might pass out from its pressure. Henry, precious man, already tired from the battle to get even this close to the fortress. Terribly loyal Henry, already battered and bloodied, hands slipping on the grip of his sword and eyesight marred by blood leaking from a cut above his brow.

Henry, the one man Hans trusted without question, even during their stupid fight after the night spent in the stocks, refused to stand down, pacing angrily in front of his fallen lord. Henry, more precious to Hans than anything else in this world, was going to die.  

Henry was going to die at this man’s hands, and Hans would spend every remaining second of his life trying to kill him in return. 

And yet Henry must have had some reserve of monstrous strength because by God’s merciful light, he won. He won, and took the bandit’s eye to boot. The victory was short-lived, as Henry blacked out shortly after their escort carried them past the gates of Nebakov. They had been thrown in a cell together, one of two, though Hans couldn’t bring himself to take note of the occupants of the other. It wasn’t until Henry awoke that Hans felt he could finally breathe fully again, and after that he seemed to be little more than a decoration for the events at Nebakov. Godwin swept in and saved their asses from the fire, leaving them to find occupation around the fort. Henry of course had slipped right into place among the ragtag group there, but Hans had felt as painfully out of place as a pebble in your boot. 

He has nothing meaningful to contribute, so he spent his time recovering his composure, catching Godwin up on their misadventures, and drowning his sorrows in what ended up being some pretty piss-poor wine. A few games of dice later and he was announcing to Henry that honestly, it had been a bad fucking day and he just wanted to sleep. So he did. 

When the Praguers came with Von Bergow, it was clear that Zizka didn’t think much of Hans’ usefulness in the fight, but he needed every man he could get. 

“Put me on the wall with the archers,” Hans said, testing the bow he’d been given. It wasn’t bad, raided from the fortress’s armory, but it certainly wasn’t a stand-out example of the bowyer’s art. “I’m a good shot.”

Zizka’s face said it all. “No offense, sir Capon, but as a noble-”

“Give the lad arrows and put him on the wall,” Godwin rolled his eyes. “Noble blood doesn’t mean shit right now. He’s the most skilled archer in Rattay. Let him lead the archers at the gate.”

“Very well. I don’t suppose I need to tell you how important it is to keep men off the gates.”

It was only by reminding himself of his vow to be worthy of Henry that Hans managed to bite back his sarcastic response and said only, “I’ll do my best.” He didn’t even snap at Zizka’s obviously skeptical expression; merely turned and climbed to his position above the gates with the other archers. Hans rather felt he was already making massive strides towards self-improvement.

Nebakov wasn’t the end of it, though. When he had first met Zizka at the Devil’s Den, it was clear their acquaintance was not improving. Not that it was souring, necessarily. Hans had a grudging respect for the man, who fought and led his men with skill and conviction. But something about Zizka’s rough and hard-calculating ways rubbed Hans wrong, and it was also clear that something in Hans made Zizka hide a patronizing frown whenever he spoke up during meetings. And he did have to hand it to Zizka on that one, he did hide them. Hans only caught glimpses of them in passing moments. 

Every time he volunteered to do something, to take a mission, go on an errand, to do something helpful of substance, Zizka was there to shoot him down. Hans was fairly certain, he reflected with surly gloom from the balcony as he very pointedly didn’t glare down at where Zizka sat, he might stab the next person who told him he was too valuable to be helpful. He was beginning to think it was sheer divine intervention that he was even allowed to go out on his hunting trips as he was, though he supposed the inn needed more food than usual these days and without his regular contributions, things might get much more tight come mealtimes. 

He didn’t notice Godwin come to rest beside him until the man nudged his shoulder with his own. “Your lad will be back soon, don’t fret.”

Hans snorted, taking a long drink from the tankard he’d been nursing. “I of all people should know Henry’s capable,” he said. 

Godwin drank from his own tankard and shrugged in return. “And yet here you are, sulking alone and staring out at the road like an abandoned lover.”

That time Hans snorted his ale, spraying it out over the railing so it fell in a disgusting mist on the table below, who yelled in annoyance. Hans ignored them, turning to stare at Godwin. “I beg your pardon?!”

“Henry will come back.”

“I know that!” Hans ignored the way his voice rose an octave. “I think out of everyone here I probably know that the best!”

“Oh, it’s that way, is it?” Godwin asked, the ghost of a smirk on his aging features. 

“What way?”

“You know Henry best, do you?”

“That’s not what-” Hans snapped his jaw shut and took a deep breath. “What I meant was that I’ve seen Henry accomplish some of the most idiotic, suicidal, impossible tasks. They may all have faith because they’ve seen some of what he can do, but-” Hans gestured widely at the crowd slowly building beneath them, “they haven’t even seen the half of it yet.”

Godwin took his time with his drink, an eyebrow raised at Hans’ statement, but not quite directing it at him. “You’re bragging about him now, eh?”

“Bragging abo-” Hans turned in indignation. “You’d be bragging about him too if you were the type, father.”

“Aye, I might at that,” Godwin conceded. “Although I’d brag about you too, come to think of it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hans snorted, his sour mood returning instantly. “Pull the other one, it's got bells on.”

“I would, lad.”

“Don’t lie on my account.”

Godwin frowned and turned to look at Hans more closely now. He had initially thought that perhaps the young man was lonely, watching Henry ride off again and leaving him behind with a group of hooligans that Hans would have a hard time fitting in with. Perhaps there was more to it than that, though. “If I were going to lie to you, I’d tell a better one. You’ve done a lot to be proud of.”

“Aye, well, feel free to start singing my praises any day then. Maybe if an angelic choir came down upon my shoulders Zizka would actually let me do something for damn once.”

Ah. The missing piece was found at last, Godwin realized. 

“Jan Zizka is a tough man to get along with,” he said. “He’s a man who is used to his command, and is perhaps unused to impertinent young nobles with a history of being kidnapped.”

“He seems to value Henry well enough,” Hans snarled. 

Godwin winced. He wasn’t drunk enough for this. “Aye, well, Henry is… When it comes to Henry, you know, he’s…”

Hans flopped down onto the floor of the balcony, letting his legs slot through the railing and kicking his feet fitfully. “Henry is Henry,” he said ruefully. “And I’m well aware that I’m not.”

“No, you’re not Henry-”

“Oi-!”

“-you’re something better. Because you’re someone Henry trusts and respects. And we both know that he doesn’t have too many names on that list.”

They fell silent, staring out at the darkening forest for a while before Godwin took a deep breath. “I won’t pretend I have some insight into Zizka and why he keeps tying you down, Hans, but I suspect it does have something to do with Henry.”

“What, sacrifice the peasant so the valuable noble gets to live? What rot.”

Godwin snorted. “Hardly. I think it’s because he knows if you’re taken again, or hurt, or – heaven and all the Saints forbid it – killed… Henry would be beyond Zizka’s control.”

Hans looked up at the old priest with confusion clear in his eyes. “What?”

“You were locked away so of course you wouldn’t know, but while he was working to save you, Henry was at odds with everyone every step of the way. Zizka and the Devil kept telling him to leave you where you were; you’re a noble, they wouldn’t hurt a valuable prisoner. His mission to get you was done entirely without Zizka’s permission or knowledge.”

“What does that have to do with-”

“You’re a valuable captive, Capon, but the question you aren’t asking yourself is, to who?” Zizka emerged from the doorway, bandage slightly askew on his head. Hans stood quickly, brushing himself off. 

“Hanush is the one paying my ran-” Hans faltered at Zizka’s expression. “What?”

Godwin clapped a hand on their shoulders. “I… am not drunk enough for this. You two have fun,” he grumbled before making haste back inside to seek out ale.

Zizka frowned after him, and Hans took a perverse sort of joy in seeing that expression pointed at someone else for once. He turned back to Hans, scratching idly at his cheek under the bandage where his wound was still healing. “Hanush would pay a handsome ransom for you, that’s true,” Zizka said, leaning against the wall. “But what would happen then?” 

Hans scoffed. “He'd drag me all the way back to Rattay by my ear, of course. I'm not a fool, I know he thinks I'm just a foolish child-”

“Aye, Hanush might. But despite what you think, I don't. You held together better than most at Nebakov, and Henry and Godwin have spoken very highly of you. I believe you do have skill. But you get taken ransom, and Hanush retrieves you – if he'd even be allowed to – and then you get dragged away. And Henry goes with you.” 

Hans raised his eyebrows, figuring his yes, and? was fairly clear. 

“Henry is a one-man army,” Zizka said. 

“So instead of letting one of Sigismund's lackeys hold me hostage, you're holding me hostage instead, so Henry will work for you.” Hans’ eyes narrowed. “I'm not sure how this is supposed to look any better for you.” 

“No, that’s not-!” Zizka sighed, crossing his arms in tense frustration. “You're no prisoner here. You know we let you come and go as you wish.”

“I'm just not allowed to ever actually help with anything.” 

“Because if something happened to you, Henry would stop listening to reason,” Zizka growled. 

Hans blinked in surprise. “If something happened to me, he'd be yours to hold.”

“No, he wouldn't,” the older man said, shaking his head. “I considered you a fairly intelligent man, Lord Capon but I'm reconsidering that. Do you really think that Henry thinks so little of you he'd run off to a new master the second you were gone?” 

There wasn't really an adequate response to that, so Hans didn't bother coming up with one. In his mind, though, images of Henry were flashing past. Untying his wrists with Cuman blood still warm on his hands. Dragging him through Talmberg to safety. Pacing in front of where he lay on the ground. Immediately pinning Brabant with a dagger to his throat, demanding information. The strength of the hug when Hans emerged from the shadows to greet him. 

“If you were injured, Henry would kill everyone around you and then ignore all else to carry you to safety. If you died-” Hans huffed a sigh as Zizka cut himself off, shaking his head before continuing, “I don't know if he could be stopped. I'm not sure he'd know friend from foe, at that point.”

Hans tries to say something, but after several seconds of trying to find words, he lets his jaw close and stares down into his empty tankard. 

“So no, Lord Capon, we’re not holding you here like a prisoner. What we’re trying to do is keep you safe so that Henry doesn’t… doesn’t slip his leash. The lad’s only a half step from feral most days, and you being safe is the last log holding the dam back.”

That was going a step too far, in Hans’ opinion, and his head snapped up to glare. “If he seems that way, maybe you should give him a day’s rest once in a while! Those circles under his eyes don’t just appear there! If he’s running himself into the ground, it’s on your orders, Zizka! So you keep me here to keep him from going wild but it seems to me that letting him get a full night’s sleep on an actual bed and maybe three full meals and a bath might do just as much good!”

Zizka blinked, his eyebrows raised in surprise, and it wasn’t until he paused to catch his breath that Hans realized he’d been slowly advancing on the man. “...I see.”

Hans squinted, unwilling to surrender the momentum he’d gained. “And what do you see, sir?”

Zizka was unwilling to be cowed quite so easily, though, and he narrowed his eyes in return. “It seems you two are quite the pair. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a squire so devoted to his lord… and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a lord so devoted in return.” 

“We make a good team,” Hans said quietly. “If you’d ever give us the chance to show you.”

Zizka took a deep breath and heaved it out in one great whoosh. “I won’t promise you anything, lad. But perhaps I’ll consider what you’ve said.” 

“I’m not asking you for anything. I am telling you that the next time Henry returns, he will remain here for at least a day before he is sent off again. No!” Hans raised his hand to cut off Zizka, who had opened his mouth to say something dismissive by his expression. “No. I am not asking. This is not a request. I am telling you what is going to happen. I’m not here to upset your command of your men, but Henry is not your man, he is mine, and his well being is my concern. And we both know, if it comes down to it, whose orders he will follow.”

Silence fell between the pair. After several long moments, Hans pulled himself in, regaining some of his usual calm demeanor. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to go bathe my feet in the stream for a bit. It’s been a long day, and I think I fancy an evening of watching the fireflies. God be with you, sir.”

Hans stepped around him and disappeared into the building, leaving Zizka to stare off down the road into the distance. Godwin appeared a short while later, two tankards in hand. He passed one to Zizka with a chuckle. “I warned you not to underestimate him.”

“You warned me about Henry,” Zizka said, taking a drink. “You didn’t say anything about Capon.”

Godwin leaned out over the railing, watching as Hans slung a wineskin over his shoulder and snagged a couple of bread rolls off a table before striding off into the trees towards the stream. “If you’ll recall, I told you that they were very close friends. Quite willing to go to war for each other. I did mean both of them. Hans may seem like an indulgent sop, but he’s got steel in his core.”

“Aye, and I can see Henry’s put his smith’s hands to work on it.”

“They’re as bad as each other, those two. Be careful you don’t rile Hans like that again, or you may lose him. And you know that where he goes-”

“-Henry will follow. Aye, I see your point. I’ll be more cautious from now on."

[seaglassmelody]

Fanworks blathering

So I’ve kind of always struggled with creating fanworks. Most of my writing and almost all of my art has always been original content- even back when I used to RP actively it was usually at most fan OCs (the closest I got to canon was a Hetalia MSN Messenger-based RP group in high school and even then I was Liechtenstein so she was basically an OC anyway haha). It was usually purely original characters though- especially once I got into DnD.

Dragon Age is kind of the perfect fandom for me to be making fanworks in because it has so much space for OC content. Most of the Dragon Age stuff I make is of my PCs (which seems common, this is generally a good thing I think). However, it mostly focuses around scenarios I either make up myself in the in-between spaces of canon, or extrapolating on PC-focused scenes from the games to flesh out my own characters more.

The struggle I have, that being back into Dragon Age is highlighting for me, is I feel very…smothered? By fears of not matching with canon. I for some reason have a deep aversion to expanding TOO much outside of the parameters given by canon- not lore-wise, but when it comes to characters and events. I don’t like to do fanart because I’m afraid of drawing them off-model. I’m afraid of writing too much content with canon characters in case I’ve interpreted details wrong or put things together in the wrong order.

And logically I know that’s just the cost of doing business- fanfic is an amateur art, made out of passion and the desire to share how you relate to a work. But I have an emotional issue with perfectionism anyway, and I feel this deep…fear and discomfort of “coloring outside the lines” so to speak, when it comes to portraying canon stuff. It makes creating really hard, and I really want to do more but I wind up stopping myself short all the time almost without realizing it.

I don’t even really know what to do about it, because I can’t use other people as an example? In my mind, other people have permission to do things that I don’t, so it’s fine if other people get things wrong or see them differently than I do.

It’s making me sad because I want to make more! I want to do my own stuff but I’m constantly hamstringing myself and idk how to stop

[lucythornwalter]

my Anti-AI Disabled Artist Hot Take is that I think a lot of disabled AI users believe in a right to comfort that fundamentally doesn’t exist

and I know this is the piss on the poor website, the no-nuance website, but I feel the need to point this out because I see a disabled AI users talking about “the art community” like we’re a lot of elitists for believing that the process of making the art is what bestows worth upon the finished product. I saw a post where someone went “we all understand that not everyone is going to be a pro athlete because of factors out of their control, why can’t we understand that’s true of artists? what if someone is intellectually incapable of learning how to make art? what if you train and practice for 20 years and you never get good? why should I be barred from making art just because I’m not good or I have difficulties?”

and to that I say the process is the point, even when it’s hard, and I also say abled artists struggle and strive and practice too.

if you practice the flute for 20 years and never get good you will have reaped the benefits of playing for your own entertainment. people play recreational sports with no hope of going pro because they enjoy the experience of playing for their own entertainment. poems that are shitty can express emotions and sentiments authentically and bring catharsis to the author through the experience of writing. acting can be bad and still meaningful to the actors.

doing the thing is the point. the end result is not the point. a stick figure on a Post-It gave the person who drew it something meaningful, it exists as an expression of something the artist felt and the process of drawing it was an outlet for those feelings. assembling a collage requires examining your emotions and using found elements to assemble an expression of those emotions. creating a moodboard is the same. making a word cloud and arranging the words based on what you like best, creating a playlist, tracing a pattern in the carpet with a hand or foot - all of that is meaningful because it is done by a human who is doing it to express a feeling or sentiment. It is done earnestly and translates brain things into something observable. the colors, the positioning, the shapes - you, the artist, are actively making choices that best express your taste. this is why procedurally generated images aren’t art, this is why procedurally generated text isn’t art. there is in fact an inherent value to assembling the final product. the assemblage of the final product is what makes it art. even if the assemblage is screaming to express anger. even if it’s shedding a tear. art is a thing created directly by a human being. eventually when machines become sapient enough to showcase their souls they’ll be able to make art too.

if you do not care enough about the process to want to engage with it despite its difficulty or learning curve or challenge level, you are not entitled to the end result of a finished work of art. it is an unfortunate reality of being disabled that we are not going to do things or get things as easily as abled people. but abled people aren’t effortlessly creating art from perfect comfort either. doing hard things is its own reward. I believe that everyone, no matter their ability or skill level, is capable of making meaningful and important art that authentically expresses their feelings. there is no such thing as Too Disabled For Art. there is no such thing as Too Disabled For Anything But AI. you might never be good. do it anyway. keep doing it. do it badly. that’s how you get better.

(and, just to be clear, I’ve been training in drawing for 23 years, and I’m still not good, and I still get something emotionally beneficial from the act of drawing. again, if you don’t care enough about the process to engage with it despite the difficulty level, you are not entitled to the end results.)

[teabeexo]

𝚃𝚎𝚊’𝚜 𝙷𝚊𝚒𝚔𝚢𝚞𝚞 𝙾𝙲𝚜: 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚞

with a special/bonus feature!

Information and images continue below the cut!

Special Acknowledgement

💚 ┈➤ thank you Dira!

Fools by @dira333 is what absolutely, wholeheartedly inspired Shinju as a character. I read it for the first time and fell in love with the characterization of the reader, as well as the dynamic presented between her and Atsumu.

I also want to apologize for leaving you hanging whenever you asked about my other Haikyuu OCs — I didn’t realize that I had missed it until last night (writing this on the 6th of May)! For your convenience, here is my Haikyuu OC masterlist: enjoy!

Information

📝 ┈➤ just the basics!

Name: Shinju Kita

Age: 18 (pre time-skip), 24 (post time-skip)

Affiliation: Karasuno (third year)

Birthday: May 16th

Height: 5’1” (ft), 155.0 (cm)

S/O (if applicable): Atsumu Miya (eventual boyfriend)

Notable Friends: Kymora Iwasaki (oc), Noa Higashi (oc), Kiyoko Shimizu, Shinsuke Kita (cousin), Aran Ojiro

Character Overview

🗒️ ┈➤just the basic idea! complete lore/stories will be shared elsewhere.

Shinju Kita, in theory, should have an easy go of it. After all, she was raised on a gorgeous farm, born into a steady financial life, and has parents who love her. Alas, for Shinju, it has never been so simple.

Being an only child and the only other new-generation Kita child besides Shinsuke, her parents (her mother especially) felt it was only natural that Shinju and Shinsuke should be the inheritors of the family's work, as well as believing they would follow in the footsteps of their ancestors in terms of lifestyle. But Shinju has always felt unfulfilled by this fate. What if she doesn't want to become a farmer? What if she has no desire for children and the "traditional" path at all?

Shinju, feeling as though she was disappointing her parents due to her deviance from tradition, began to seek other means of making them proud. If it was available, she strode for perfection: academics, athletics, and the arts. And for the most part, all of these routes only ended in self-flagellation and emptiness.

That is, except for one thing: charcoal art. Specifically, portraits: she could draw others, and her surroundings, in the same hues as her very own hair. This newfound love couldn't shake off her residual feelings of fear surrounding disappointment, though. Such a hobby wasn't sustainable, nor generally considered to be a great accomplishment when pursued as a career.

She's stuck. Between family and calling, and practicality and desire. And at the end of it all, how could others love her for what she is when she struggles to love herself?

Letters of Recommendation

✉️ ┈➤ A. K. A. how she’d be described!

If Shinju is anything, she is understated. Her presence and words float and land like an airy breeze -- softly, gently, and with just a little gusto. She's as polite as can be, never intending to trod on well-respected social boundaries. Even so, she knows how to speak her mind. When there is something that needs to be said, she does not mince words. Being straightforward is best.

Shinju's naturally meek nature allows for the full extent of her kindness, but also opens the floodgates for her follies. She lacks a lot of the confidence that she somewhat makes up for with her blunt words. She also fears the rebuking, and most of all, the disappointment of others. This, in turn, is turned inwards. After all, others can't be surprised by finding disappointment in her if she's already disappointed in herself.

Gallery

🖇️ ┈➤ photos! (drawing of her and Atsumu hopefully coming soon — feeling a little burnt out so I’m not sure how long that’ll take)

follow/check her oc tag for content about her, or the tag OCxC: Atsuju for stuff about her and Atsumu (+ writing by others that I picture as encapsulating their relationship).

and an itty bitty tag for @cryptid-flower because… haikyuu OC <3

[elliecutte]

AHHHHHHH MADDY!!! @myokk 🤩😍🤩😍🤩!!!! THE HL AUTHORS ON THIS LIST HAVE ME ON MY KNEES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NO BUT REAL TALK - @crushribbons ’ story Birdie HAD ME GLUED TO MY PHONE!!!!!!! I COULDNT LOOK AWAY, EYE STRAIN AND SLEEP DEPRIVATION BE DAMNED!!!! i had to finish it within 48 hours!!!!! THE PINING 👏 THE MANIPULATION 👏 THE NEEDINESS 👏 THE OBSESSION 👏 THE LOVE 👏 IT WAS EVERYTHINGGGGGG 😍😍😍😍!!!! (and now i’m getting the urge to re-read it…🫨🫨🫨🫨 BUT I MUST RESIST….SOMEHOW….BECAUSE i HAVE TOO MANY STORIES ON MY TBR LIST bahahahaha 🤣🤣🤣)

fun fact, @anto-pops’ oneshots were among the first ever HL written works i ever read in the fandom :D so this author and her fics have a very gery ery special place in my heart!!!! 🥹♥️💗💖💞 if im bored and not sure what fic i want to read, i always go back to an anti-pop oneshot even if i’ve read it 2839405 times 😌😌 AND THE SERPENT’S PARAMOUR IS GOD-TIER, I NEED TO BE RESTRAINED WITH EACH CHAPTER!!! 🫨🫨🫨🫨🫨

AND @applinsandoranges’ stories are a BLESSING!!!! the first long fic i read of applins was one with an MC called Stella Greenbottle but I CANNOT FOR THE LIFE OF ME REMEMBER THE NAME OF THE FIC (it’s 1 am and im getting delirious :D :D) AND IT IS ONE OF MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITES BUT I CANNOT FIND IT ON AO3 AND IM FRESKING OUT BECAUSE I THOUGHT I DOWNLOADED IT BUT I GUESS NOT AND IF ITS DELETED I SHALL GO TO SLEEP CRYING 😭😭😭😭😭 BUT AHHHH her range is unbelievable!!!!!! then i read contempt and was absolutely gagged, then i read no good deed (praying for an update for that one ��🙏)

***EDIT BECAUSE IM TOO LAZY AND TIRED TO DELETE ALL THAT I WROTE - i found it!! it’s called cursed legacy!!! ONE OF MY ABSOLUTE FAVS!!! it was the second long fic i read, if i’m remembering correctly!! 🥹🥹🥹🥹 i love it i love it i LOVE IT - i’m honestly about to reread it and download it just in case BAHAHAHAHA CAUSE I ALMOST CRASHED OUT THINKING THE FIC WAS REMOVED 🤪🤪

DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON @writing-intheundercroft EVERYTHING SHE WRITES IS A MASTERPIECE!!! ITS A MONET AND A VAN GOGH BUT IN WRITING!!! 🤩😍🤩😍 okay i really should stop with the caps bahahahahaha 🤣🤣🤣 BUT when i tell YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU the night shift / this little life series HAD ME HOOKED!!! HOOOOOOOKED I TELL YOU!!!!!

AND ITS BEEN MONTHS SINCE IVE READ IT BUT I STILL THINK ABOUT IT REGULARLY!!!! 🫨🫨🫨🫨🫨🫨 THE NIGHT SHIFT CHANGED ME!! I AM NO LONGER THE SAME PERSON I WAS BEFORE READING IT!!! I LITERALLY EVEN KNOW A FEW LINES BY HEART!!!! and when we’re older is on my tbr list :D and all my love is my guilty pleasure read!!! 😍🤩😍🤩💕♥️💞💖

@morelikeravenbore CREATES ART IN WORDS!!!!! 😍😍😍😍 i still think of the sebastian-skater boy and aura the prima ballerina oneshot - SO GOOD!!! 🤩😍🤩😍🤩 AND I AM RE-READING HOW TO MAKE A VILLAIN CAUSE I STOPPED AROUND CHAPTER 15 but i need to refresh my memory!!!! i’m also editing a comment that i am writing as an apology because i forgot to respond to Aura’s comment way back in october 😅😅😅😅 HEHEHEHE IM SORRY AURA :D BUT HOW TO MAKE A FUTURE HAS ME IN A FRENZY, *cue sleep token song* i am both excited and clutching my pearls for when i am able to read the first couple of chapters for last light!!! 🥹💖💖💗💕

AHHHHHH @sloanesallow’s STORIES LITERALLY HEAL MY SOUL!!!! THEYRE LITERALLY HEALING BALMS FOR THE WEAK AND WEARY SOUL 🥹🥹🥹💛💛💛💛 i’m a sucker for fluff, and i run away from angst bahahahahaha 😂😂😂😂 no seriously, i’m a very sensitive bean so Sloane’s fics always make me all happy and mushy and makes my day better :D :D im a bit shy to comment and i’ve only left kudos 🥹 but i shall ramble when i start reading Call of the Void!!! 🤩😍💗💖💞

i am excited to explore @hazyange1s and @rambling-tam ‘s fics and your non-HL recommendations!!! 🥹🥹♥️♥️♥️ thank you so much for putting this list together Maddy!!! 🥰🥰🥰♥️♥️💗💗💖💖💕💕

and hopefuly there are no typos in this because i’m too tired to proofread, woo! :D :D

The fics that live rent-free in my brain🫶🫶🫶

I was talking with @elliecutte yesterday about the fics I always recommend and think about long after I’ve finished them, & I wanted to document the list somehow♥️♥️♥️ I don’t have an otp and read for a LOT of fandoms so this is all over the place bahahahahahahahah

Unsphere the Stars by cocoartist (Tomione, M). This fic is genuinely my Roman Empire. I think about it CONSTANTLY♥️ It’s the most romantic, swoon-worthy thing I’ve ever read, and the Hermione and Tom are perfectly characterized. You can tell the author is SO well-read and intelligent, her writing is just the most beautiful thing ever, and I find myself just going to random chapters and reading them because I love it so much.

Birdie by @crushribbons ♥️ (Sebastian x f!mc, E). I know I’m so annoying tagging you about this BUT I GENUINELY LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH ‼️‼️ it’s manipulative/needy Sebastian at its absolute FINEST & I think about it a lot🥹 since the second I read it (when you only had part 1 out) I knew I was going to be in for a TREAT…the writing/prose is just 🤌🤌🤌 & the way you write Sebastian made me start to understand why people are actually simping for him😆🫠

One Hundred and Sixty Nine by Soupy_George (Sirmione, T). I read this SO long ago, before I had an ao3 account, and I think about it often. It’s actually much longer than I remember it being because I absolutely devoured it. Hermione travels back to 169 days before Voldemort kills James and Lily, and she has a short period of time to convince Sirius to help her out without seeming like she’s gone mad. I’m the ultimate Sirius fan but I feel like I’m quite picky with how he’s characterized, and this fic gets it right🫶🫶🫶

An Ever-Fixed Mark by AMarguerite (Elizabeth x Col.Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth x Mr Darcy, T). I don’t have much to say except this one, plus Unsphere the Stars are my favorite fics of all time. I think about it all the time, it truly is just beautiful♥️ the author DID HER HOMEWORK in regards to historical accuracy, and I go through every single emotion known to mad every time I reread it. The most beautiful depictions of falling in love and grief and healing and 🥺 I would recommend it to anyone, not just people who like p&p♥️♥️

we are the same underneath it all, aren’t we? by tookajourneytotheunknown (Jack Sparrow x Elizabeth Swann, T). I think this was the first fic I commented on, when I finally got my ao3 account🥰♥️ it is just absolutely BEAUTIFUL writing (do you see a theme here with what I love🤭), and I just think about it all the time😭🫠♥️ the best Jack Sparrow, I love love lovveeeeeeee how the author wrote him !!!!!!! PotC fics are really so hit or miss for me but this one was just amazing. All I can say is that it reads like a fairy tale in the best way possible.

When We’re Older by @writing-intheundercroft (Sebastian x f!mc, E). I simply adore this story🤭♥️ it’s SO WELL-WRITTEN !!!! I love her Sebastian, I love Theo, I’ve actually laughed out loud reading this (Jackdaw😤), I’ve teared up, I’ve wanted to shake some sense into all of the characters. She just does such a good job exploring how it feels to be young and think you know everything when you DON’T, the uncertainty of falling in love, how to navigate opening up your life to another person. I just love it♥️

All of @hazyange1s oneshots !!! & im sure fic when I start reading it🫶🫶🫶 I just adore your writing & every time I read it I’m like ?????? This writing is in our fandom???????? ITS JUST SO GOOD 😭🤌🤌♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

All of @anto-pops oneshots♥️ I’m so weird but I only read them with my morning coffee & it is a strange way to start my day but🫠🫠🫠 c’est la vie. Her Sebastian is so obsessive and manipulative and needy and aldkfksjgkjsjfjdjdjdjsjssjs literally her oneshots hit the spot every time & idk how she does it !!!!

How to Make A Villain by @morelikeravenbore (Sebastian x f!mc, M). I’m not done with this one (yet🤭) but I LOVE IT !!! Aurélie is already so dear to me, and I absolutely love love love how she writes Sebastian🫶 definitely not shying away from his red flags but…ngl I would fall for him too if I were her😔😍

The Call of the Void by @sloanesallow (Sebastian Sallow x f!mc, M). I love her version of Sebastian so much, goofy and dorky and a chronic over-thinker🥺 and Sloane is just such a sweetheart, I love her SO MUCH !!! I’m really excited to see where this story goes, and I’m obsessed with all of the pining between the two of them🤌🤌

Any oneshot by @applinsandoranges 🥹♥️♥️♥️ they’re always so sweet and spicy and aldkfjdhkcjdjfkkdlfkejdjdjdjshshs I’ve been meaning to go through your masterlist and just spam comment soon bc I love them all !!

@rambling-tam writing🥹🫶🫶🫶 I haven’t had the time yet to spam read everything (yet !!) but what I have read so far is breathtaking. Truly some of the best writing I’ve seen in this fandom🥰♥️

I reblog A LOT of the oneshots my algorithm graces me with (idk what’s up with it lately but I feel like I miss a lot🥲). But I recommend all of those as well♥️♥️♥️