#MEAN Stack Project Management

[acquaintsofttech]

MEAN Stack Development: 7 Trends for meeting Timelines

Introduction In the modern development of web applications, the MEAN stack, comprising MongoDB, Express.js, Angular, and Node.js, has become one of the cornerstones. It is a versatile and powerful framework able to handle any type of programming with JavaScript for the client and the server side. With increasing numbers of businesses starting to make use of the MEAN stack for their web apps,…

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Smudged Nail Polish (+18)

General Masterlist ceo!harry x fem!reader / assistant!reader

Summary: Late nights at the office often meant brainstorming sessions and a ton of work undone. But one evening, the line between work and pleasure begins to blur. A simple roleplay dynamic all for the sake of the project ends up in something more real.

A/n: Hello pretty people! i hope you enjoy this as much as i did, just a little one shot i did out of small inspo, i have some requests pending that i'll be working on next week, but for now i hope you like this 🥰 as always thanks to my @eileenrry

Word count: 3k

Warnings: SMUT, workplace dynamics, soft dom, roleplay, spitting, breeding kink, small anal play, dirty talk, protected sex, inappropriate workplace relationship. (If i'm missing something pleaseeee tell me)

It was a late night. Late nights in the office always felt strange—quiet and oddly intimate—but you didn’t mind at all. Just a few months ago, you had landed your dream job: Creative Assistant to the CEO of Pleasing. The title alone sounded impressive, but the perks? Even better. Flexible hours, generous benefits, and the freedom to manage your own schedule on certain days. It was everything you’d hoped for.

But the real dream? That was Harry Styles.

Harry was a force of nature—successful, sharp, and effortlessly charismatic. He was always impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit that seemed to be his signature. The faint trace of his cologne lingered in the air whenever he passed by, a scent you couldn’t place but would recognize anywhere. And then there was his demeanor: respectful, composed, and so disarmingly kind that it almost felt unfair.

Tonight, though, the air in his office felt different. It was just the two of you. Everyone else had already gone home, but with the project nearing completion and half the marketing team either on vacation or out on maternity leave, the workload had piled up. 

“Alright,” Harry said, breaking the silence as he rummaged through a stack of papers. “We’ve got the main framework done, but we still need to draft some scenarios for the campaign since the focus group couldn’t deliver.”

You glanced up from your laptop, frowning. “But how are we supposed to do that? We need feedback from the potential users for each specific scenario they proposed.”

Harry’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, a small, confident smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, we’ll do it ourselves,” he said like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You blinked, trying to make sense of his calm demeanor. “What do you mean we’ll do it?”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his smile growing as if he was letting you in on some great secret. “Roleplay,” he said casually, the word hanging in the air between you.

“Roleplay?” you echoed, your brow furrowing as you tried to process his words.

“We’ll act out the scenarios ourselves,” he explained. “It doesn’t need to be Oscar-worthy, just convincing enough to predict how well each idea might sell.”

You stared at him for a moment, unsure whether he was being serious or if this was some kind of elaborate joke. “Okay… I mean, I’m not exactly an actress,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping, “but if it helps finish this project, I’ll give it my best shot.”

His lips curved into a small smile— “That’s the spirit,” he said, glancing at the papers spread across his desk. “Let’s start with the luxury skincare line scenario. Imagine you’re the target customer—fancy, discerning, and effortlessly chic.”

You straighten your posture, pretending to smooth an imaginary designer coat, and adopted your best posh accent. “Oh, darling,” you began, with an exaggerated wave of your hand, “I simply must have that serum. It’s the fountain of youth bottled, isn’t it?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Not bad, but tone it down just a bit,” he said, gesturing toward you. “Think confident, not cartoon-ish”

“Right,” you replied, clearing your throat and trying again. As the exercise continued, his focus on the scenarios was unwavering, but there was something about his presence—calm yet bossy—that made the small office feel more intimate.”Stop laughing!” 

“I’m not, i’m sorry…continue” he said obviously holding back a laughter that tried to disguise as a smile

Each line you spoke, each moment of collaboration, seemed to shift the atmosphere slightly. You weren’t sure if it was the late hour or the proximity, but it felt as though the boundaries between professional and personal had started to blur, ever so slightly.

Harry glanced at the next sheet of paper in the pile, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite place—anticipation, maybe? “Alright, now let’s switch gears,” he said, holding the paper up. “This one’s targeted at men. The campaign focuses on nail polish as a statement piece for confidence and individuality.” he read.

You tilted your head, intrigued. “And who’s playing the confident, self-expressive man?”

His gaze met yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “That would be me.”

You couldn’t help but grin, the image of Harry Styles—polished, corporate Harry—role-playing as a nail-polish-loving trendsetter suddenly lighting up your night. “Alright then, Mr. CEO. Show me how it’s done.”

He reached into the desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of nail polish. Black, of course. “We’ll use this as a prop,” he said casually.

“Where did you even get that?” you asked, trying to suppress a laugh.

“It’s from one of the older product lines,” he replied, shaking the bottle lightly. “Okay, here’s the scenario. You’re the interviewer, and I’m the guy explaining why nail polish isn’t just for women—it’s about breaking boundaries, blah blah blah”

You leaned forward, picking up a pen as if it were a microphone. “Alright, sir,” you began, adopting a mock-serious tone, “what inspired you to wear nail polish?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. He extended his hand, pretending to examine his nails like a pro. “Confidence,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s not about following trends; it’s about creating them. Nail polish isn’t just color—it’s an attitude.”

You raised an eyebrow, fully immersed in the act now. “And what does black say about your attitude?”

“It says I know who I am,” he replied, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that momentarily made you forget this was all pretend. “Strong. Bold. Unapologetic.”

You faltered, your pen lowering slightly as you tried to keep the playful mood intact. “That’s... a very convincing pitch,” you admitted, your voice softening.

Harry smiled, uncapping the bottle and holding it out toward you. “Want to try?”

You blinked, surprised. “You want to paint my nails?”

He shrugged, still holding the bottle steady. “Why not? Consider it part of the roleplay.” You hesitated, glancing between him and the tiny bottle of polish. “Alright,” you said, holding out your hand with a mix of curiosity and nerves. “But if this ends up a mess, It’s on you.”

Harry chuckled softly, taking your hand in his. His fingers were warm, steady, and unexpectedly gentle as they held yours. “Trust me,” he murmured, dipping the brush into the black polish. “I have a steady hand. You’ll be fine.”

The first stroke of the brush sent a shiver up your spine, the cool polish meeting your nail while his grip remained firm yet careful. “You’re oddly good at this,” you said, watching as he filled in the nail with precision.

He glanced up briefly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Years of being in this business, love. You pick up a thing or two.”

Your heart stuttered at the casual “love” nickname, though you weren’t sure if he even realized he’d said it. You shifted slightly in your chair, trying to play it cool. “So, is this part of your usual day? Painting nails after hours?”

He chuckled again, his eyes focused on the task. “Not exactly. You’re the first.”

Something about the way he said it—low and intentional—made the air between you feel thicker. You swallowed, feeling his thumb brush lightly against your knuckle as he moved to the next nail.

“Done,” he said finally, releasing your hand and holding it up to inspect his work. The glossy black polish caught the light, neat and perfect. “Not bad, if I say so myself.”

You looked at your hand, then back at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, Styles. You might be working on the wrong department”

“Ready for the next scenario?”

“Ready”

He reached for another paper, scanning it briefly before meeting your gaze. “We’re supposed to act as a married couple discussing which products fit into their daily routine.”

Your stomach flipped, though you weren’t sure why. “A married couple?”

“Yep,” he said, standing and straightening his suit jacket. “We’ll set it up in the kitchen. I’ll be making coffee, and you…” He gestured toward the mock product setup on the counter. “You can decide which items fit into our routine, like something we both can share”

You followed him to the makeshift set, your polished hand still tingling from his touch. As he walked, he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, suddenly looking far more casual—and far more distracting.

“So,” he said, moving behind the counter and grabbing a prop mug, “how long have we been married?”

You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. “How long do you think we’d last?”

His lips twitched into a sly smile. “Forever, obviously. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Your cheeks flushed despite yourself, and you rolled your eyes to hide it. “Alright then, Mr. Perfect Husband. Let’s see how good you really are at this.”

You stood in the imaginary kitchen, fiddling with a bottle of moisturizer from the array of products set out on the counter. Harry leaned casually against the opposite side, arms crossed, the tie around his neck loosened just enough to make him look effortlessly handsome.

“So, darling,” he began, his tone dripping with mock affection, “are we really going to argue about whose moisturizer is better again?”

You rolled your eyes, holding up one of the bottles. “Well, Mr. Styles, when your so-called favorite leaves your skin looking like it’s been through a desert, I think it’s fair to say mine is better.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, stepping closer and picking up another bottle. “Excuse me, but this—” he pointed at the label, feigning offense—“is luxury. You just don’t appreciate the finer things.”

“Luxury doesn’t mean effective,” you shot back, placing your hands on your hips. “And besides, we both know you’ve been stealing mine anyway.”

He smirked, setting the bottle down and closing the distance between you in two easy steps. “Caught me,” he admitted, his voice lower now. “But can you blame me? Yours smells better. And…” His eyes flickered over you, playful but intense. “It works.”

You froze, the playful banter suddenly charged with something else. Harry’s presence was overwhelming, the way his voice dipped and the heat in his gaze as he looked at you made the air in the room feel heavier.

“So,” you said, trying to regain control of the moment, “does that mean you’ll finally admit mine’s the better choice?”

“Never,” he said with a grin, though the teasing edge in his voice had softened. His hand brushed past yours as he reached for the product, and the brief contact sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, clutching the moisturizer as if it were your lifeline. “Well, then I guess we’re at an impasse.”

“Guess so,” he murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the moisturizer anymore. He was looking at you, his expression unreadable but undeniably intense. His hand lingered on the counter next to yours, the proximity making your pulse quicken. He took a step closer. Inches away.

“Harry…” you began, but your voice faltered.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Tell me to stop,” he said softly, his voice steady but with a hint of vulnerability. “If this isn’t okay…”

But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, your pulse racing. His hand moved to your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“This doesn’t feel like roleplay anymore,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

“Good,” he said simply before his lips met yours.

The kiss started slowly, tentative, as if testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his other hand sliding around your waist to pull you closer. The desk pressed against your back, and all thoughts of work, scenarios, and professionalism melted away.

His lips left yours briefly, trailing down to your jaw and neck as his hands explored, his touch igniting every nerve. “You have no idea how hard it’s been,” he whispered against your skin, “pretending this wasn’t on my mind.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you gasped softly. “We shouldn’t—”

“But we are,” he cut in, his voice firm yet laced with desire. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you want this…”

“I do,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them.

That was all he needed. He lifted you effortlessly onto the desk, his lips finding yours again as the world outside his office ceased to exist. you could feel his growing thickness against your thigh, and a surge of anticipation shot through you.

It was risky. It was unprofessional. But god, did it feel right.

He pushed your skirt up, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your panties and tugging them down. His breath was warm against your skin, the faint stubble of his jaw rough and enticing.

Your body responded eagerly to his touch, your heart pounding with every brush of his lips against your skin. and the heat and wetness between your legs just growing bigger and bigger by the second

As he kissed his way down your body, his hands exploring every inch, a new, raw sensation overtook you. He was unraveling you—piece by piece, moment by moment—until all that remained was need.

When his mouth finally found the place between your thighs, you had to bite back a moan. His tongue was slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of you until he found the perfect spot. Your fingers gripped his hair, pulling him closer as the sensations overwhelmed you.

His grip on your thighs was firm, holding you in place as he worked his magic. When your orgasm began to build, it felt like nothing you had experienced before—hot, heavy, and urgent. It swept over you, making your legs tremble and your breath catch.

Afterwards, he stood up and leaned over you, a smug grin on his face. "My perfect wife" he said in almost a moan before capturing your lips again "Fucking perfect sweet wife"

"Fuck, Harry..."

"I'm not done yet"

Before you could process his words, he pulled off his boxers, and his cock was right there, thick and pulsing and begging for attention.

You couldn't take your eyes off him. You licked your lips.

He reached into the pocket of his suit pants, pulling out a condom and tearing open the foil wrapper with his teeth. The sound of his belt and zipper being undone sent a fresh wave of excitement through you. He slid the condom over his hard length and pressed into you, filling you with one smooth thrust.

"Oh god"

"God has nothing to do with this" his voice thick with lust

"Fuck, Harry, please"

"Please what?" he asked, his tone low and teasing “Use your words”

"Just fuck me"

He didn't need to be told twice. His hips snapped against yours, driving him deeper inside with every thrust. It was primal, urgent, and everything you didn't know you needed. You gripped the edge of the desk, bracing yourself as he pounded into you.

The tension coiled in your belly, hot and electric. He reached down, his thumb finding your clit and drawing tight circles.

"Knew right when i chose you to be my wife" he said as if he was still roleplaying but god both of you were too far from it.

"You're mine" he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "All mine"

"Yes"

"Say it"

"I'm yours"

He thrust into you harder, the edge of the desk pressing against your ass. He was relentless, his fingers and cock taking you apart bit by bit. "Gonna knock you up, fill you up with my babies"

Your toes curled at his words, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you. It was wrong, so wrong, but the taboo only made it more exciting.

"God, yes"

He drove into you again and again, his rhythm frantic and desperate. "Gonna put a baby in m'wife"

Your legs tightened around his hips, pulling him deeper, you felt one hand on your ass gripping you tightly, him calling you wife made things twist inside you, this was a roleplay that wasn't in the work papers.

"Turn around" he demanded as he pulled back.

"What?"

"Now"

You turned around, tummy on the desk and raising your ass up. He slammed into you again, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you against him.

"That's it, love, take it"

His words were filthy, but they only fueled the fire inside you. He reached around, his fingers finding your tightest hole teasing just a bit to see your reaction.

"Mmm, fuck. I can't wait to ruin this pretty little ass too"

He spit directly into your hole. He pressed against your entrance, pushing the tip of his finger in as his cock pounded into you. It was too much, the sensations overwhelming and intoxicating.

"More"

"Can't do more love i don't have lube in here and i don't want to hurt this pretty hole"

"Next time..." you breathed

"Next time" he echoed, his voice full of promise

You clenched around him, feeling the tension building. His breath was hot against your neck, his thrusts relentless. "Gonna fill you up, m'pretty wife"

"Yes"

"Come around my cock, Gonna put a baby in this tight fucking cunt"

That was it, that was all you needed to hear. Your orgasm tore through you, leaving you shaking and breathless. He followed soon after filling up the condom, his cock pulsing inside you.

For a few moments, neither of you moved, the reality of what had just happened hanging heavy in the air. He pulled out slowly, tying off the condom and tossing it into the trash. He helped you off the desk, his fingers brushing against your skin.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You nodded, your heartbeat still racing.

“My nail polish it’s ruined” you said breathlessly looking at your nails. the nail polish, all smudged.

“Oh love, i’m going to ruin more than nail polish on you”

------

Taglist: @hermionelove

[luvv1anime]

hey...uhh soo like I was thinking you could write a short thing like.. bakuogu and his girl are doing a school project and she says kat...I don't think this is gunna work for us.. i think we need to break up- sqeezes, and bakugou thinks they are actually breaking up.. but the whole time she was talking about the project.. like..just somthing wholesome and a bit funny to me.. yk?

Hii sorry this took so long ive been busy and im not rlly a writer so i had no clue how to approach this so i hope its good and what you were looking for!!

Masterlist

The dorm common room was quiet except for the scratch of pencils and the occasional frustrated groan from Bakugou.

“Ugh,” you muttered, flipping through yet another page of notes. “This whole project is a mess.”

Bakugou, seated beside you, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, glared at the stack of half-finished poster boards like they had personally insulted him.

“We’ve been at this for hours,” he muttered. “It’s fine. We’ll just blow the rest out tomorrow morning.”

You sighed and set your pen down. “Kat…”

“Hm?” he looked up at you, waiting.

“I don’t think this is gonna work for us.”

Bakugou blinked. His whole body stilled. “…What?”

“I just think it’s not clicking, y’know? Like maybe we’re not as good a team as we thought,” you continued, voice soft but serious.

His jaw tightened. “Tch… so that’s it? You’re giving up on us just because of one dumb project?”

You paused, squinting at him. “Wait. What do you think I’m talking about?”

Bakugou’s scowl deepened. “Us, dammit! You said— ‘this isn’t gonna work for us’— what the hell else would you mean?!”

You stared for a second… then burst out laughing. “Katsuki! I meant the project! Like, the concept? The volcano and the cardboard city? It sucks! I wasn’t breaking up with you!”

Bakugou’s face went red in a flash. “Hah?! The hell kinda way is that to word it?! Who starts a sentence like that?!”

“You!” you giggled, nudging his arm. “You’re the dramatic one, remember?”

He grumbled something under his breath, arms still crossed—but you caught the tiny smile he was hiding.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered, ears still pink.

“And you love me.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.

You were still giggling when Bakugou snatched the pencil from your hand and tossed it onto the table.

“Hey!” you protested, half-laughing, half-whining.

“Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no heat behind it. His eyes were still a little wide from earlier, still slightly red around the edges like he was holding back more emotions than he knew how to handle.

You tilted your head at him, smile softening. “You really thought I was breaking up with you?”

He grunted. “It sounded like it, okay? Don’t look at me like I’m some kinda dumbass.”

You reached over and took his hand, threading your fingers through his, warm and sure. “You’re not a dumbass, Katsuki.”

He didn’t say anything at first—just gave your hand a light squeeze, eyes flicking down to where your fingers fit perfectly in his. Then his voice, low and a little rough: “You scare the hell outta me sometimes, y’know that?”

Your smile widened. “Me? Scary? That’s rich coming from you, Mister I-explode-first-ask-questions-later.”

Bakugou snorted. “Tch. Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean I wanna lose you over a dumb science project.”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek, quick and soft. “You won’t. Not unless you somehow manage to blow up the dorm during this thing.”

A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No promises.”

You both laughed, and somehow, the broken cardboard volcano and the crumpled poster didn’t seem so bad anymore. It wasn’t perfect—but neither were either of you. And that was kind of the point.

“Let’s ditch the cardboard,” you said. “We’ll do a digital presentation instead. Less mess.”

Bakugou nodded. “And less chance of setting off the smoke alarm.”

He tugged you a little closer and rested his chin lightly on your shoulder, voice low. “Next time, start with ‘this project sucks’ instead of ‘we need to break up.’ Got it?”

You grinned. “Got it. Wouldn’t want to traumatize my boyfriend again.”

He kissed the side of your head. “Damn right.”

Taglist: @midnightjewel

[cosmiclily]

heyyyyy🫶 idk if your vi asks are open but just in case, i was wondering if maybe you would want to write a fluffy modern!uni!au with jock!vi who has soft spot for poetry and she and EnglishLitMajor!reader are a couple and have like regular picnics where reader reads vi like dickinson or plath or rich or something, while vi is laying with her head on reader's lap. i hope this is not too niche or too specific! (sidenote i feel like vi's favourite poem would be wild nights by emily dickinson wink wink) anyway i hope this makes sense and thank you in advance if you decide to write it!!🥰

like the poems

✰Jockey!Vi x English Lit!reader

wc:2.2k

notes: hope you enjoy it!! 😚

I wouldn’t say no one saw it coming when you and Vi started dating. I mean, sure—it was a bit of a surprise, considering Vi’s reputation. She was that girl: the hockey player with bruised knuckles and a cocky grin, who somehow managed to be just smart enough to breeze through exams but never aimed for anything higher than the bare minimum to stay on the team. The type who was at every party, always with a drink in hand and someone trying (and usually failing) to flirt with her.

And then… there was you. The English Lit major who spent most of her time reading under that one tree by the quad, or curled up in the farthest corner of the library, or sitting in the campus café with a stack of books taller than your coffee cup. You were the girl who had to be dragged out of her dorm whenever there was a party—the one who only went if your friends guilt-tripped you into “being social for once.”

No one really expected your worlds to collide like that.

And yet… they did.

It all started with a Literature class project. (A class Vi swore up and down the dean forced her to take. Total lie, of course. She’d enrolled voluntarily and regretted it exactly never.)

The assignment was simple—or, at least, Professor Mayer made it sound simple as he stood at the front of the lecture hall, clutching a cup of coffee that had definitely gone cold hours ago.

“Pick a poem,” he said, waving one hand like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Any poem. Doesn’t matter how old or how new. Your job is to give it a modern interpretation. But”—he raised a finger, pausing dramatically—“it has to be something that makes you feel something. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

There was a shuffle of notebooks, the click of pens, and someone sighing dramatically in the back. Vi sat next to you, chewing on the end of her pen, looking… surprisingly thoughtful. You’d noticed her before—it was impossible not to. She was Vi. Loud, chaotic, impossible to ignore. But you’d never really seen her like this—quiet, focused, like the words on the syllabus actually meant something to her.

Then, under her breath, barely loud enough for you to catch, Vi muttered, “Guess I’m doing Wild Nights, then.”

Your head snapped toward her before you could stop yourself. “Dickinson?” you blurted, incredulous.

Vi blinked, caught—but recovered fast. That trademark grin curled at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah. Problem?”

“Not a problem,” you stammered quickly, cheeks heating. “Just… surprising.”

“Didn’t peg me as the poetry type, huh?”

“Well… no.”

She leaned back in her chair, tapping the end of her pen against her lip, her smile turning smug. “Yeah. No one does.”

And that was how it started. A conversation that turned into exchanging notes. Notes turned into sitting together during lectures. Sitting together turned into partnered projects. Partnered projects turned into coffee breaks that had technicallystarted as study sessions… but somehow never involved much actual studying.

If you were feeling dramatic about it—and, honestly, as an English Lit major, you absolutely were—it was like Professor Mayer himself had played Cupid, unwittingly orchestrating the entire thing.

“Alright, everyone,” Professor Mayer declared, clapping his hands like he was about to deliver a monologue. His scarf flared dramatically behind him as he paced. “For this next assignment, you’ll be working in pairs. Since we’re focusing on Women in Literature, I want you to choose a female author and reinterpret a central theme from her work through a modern lens. You can do this through a visual project, a short film, a podcast, a series of essays, a staged performance… whatever you think brings it to life. Surprise me. Engage with it. Make it matter.” He spun on his heel, waving a hand as though the very fate of literature rested on this group project. “And before anyone asks—no, you cannot work alone. Literature is about connection. About conversation.”

The second the words left his mouth, Vi was already turning toward you, that familiar grin creeping onto her face like it belonged there.

“Wanna pair up?” she asked, casual, but the way her blue eyes flicked between your lips and your eyes gave her away. There was a challenge in it, sure—but also something softer. Something curious.

Your heart did that ridiculous little flip again. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, sure,” you managed, trying—and failing—to sound normal. Cool. Totally unaffected.

“Cool,” she replied, biting back a smile, leaning her elbow on the desk like she suddenly had all the time in the world. “Kinda already had someone in mind anyway.”

You ducked your head, pretending to focus on your notebook. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, voice dropping lower—like it was a secret meant for you and no one else. “Definitely.”

You scribbled absolute nonsense in the margins of your notebook, doing everything in your power not to look directly at her. Your fingers were practically trembling.

Vi tapped the edge of her pen against your notebook, right next to your hand. “So… Mirror or Lady Lazarus?” she asked, as if it was the most casual thing in the world. But her tone was laced with something deeper—something thoughtful. For someone who pretended not to care about school, she was suspiciously invested.

You glanced at her, lifting a brow. “Going full Sylvia Plath this time?”

Vi grinned, resting her chin in her hand. “Kinda fits, doesn’t it? The whole rebirth thing. Burning everything down and starting new.” Her grin faltered just a bit, softening around the edges. “It’s… kinda cool. Powerful.”

Your lips twitched, fighting back a smile. “Lady Lazarus,” you echoed. “Dramatic.”

“I eat men like air,” Vi quoted under her breath, winking. “Total girlboss energy.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Dangerous.”

“Damn right,” she shot back, nudging your knee under the desk.

And right then, in the middle of a cluttered lecture hall filled with shuffling papers, lazy chatter, and half-awake students, you realized something—this was the beginning of something that was going to ruin you in the best possible way.

──────────────────────

Your dorm room was quiet, your roommate was at someone else’s place, the coffee machine was brewing another cup of coffee and your indie playlist played in the background. You sat cross-legged on your worn leather couch, laptop open, notebook resting in your lap. Vi lounged next to you, arms sprawled across the back of the couch like she was familiar with your place, like she owed it—like she owned you, frankly, with the way her knee kept brushing against yours.

“Okay,” you started, clicking open a document. “So… Lady Lazarus. What are we thinking?”

Vi tapped her pen against her lip, pretending to think—though her gaze was unmistakably more focused on your mouth than the Google Doc in front of you. “Dramatic as hell. Depressing. Kinda hot.”

You snorted. “You’re impossible.”

“Not denying it.” Her grin was sharp, teasing. “But seriously. The whole rebirth thing. She’s basically like, ‘I’ve been torn apart, burnt down, but guess what? I come back. Every time.’” She gestured vaguely with her pen, like that explained everything. “It’s punk.”

Your lips twitched. “Punk poetry. You should trademark that.”

“Totally should,” Vi agreed, nudging your knee with hers. “But seriously. I was thinking… what if we did, like, a visual project? A short film. No dialogue, just visuals that follow the themes. Death, destruction, transformation… and then—boom. Rebirth.”

Your brows lifted. “That’s… actually kind of brilliant.”

Vi’s grin softened. “Yeah?” she asked, just a hint of surprise in her voice—like she hadn’t expected you to actually like the idea.

“Yeah,” you said, nudging her back. “You’ve got range, hockey girl.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” She leaned in, resting her chin in her palm. “I contain multitudes.”

“Oh my God, did you just quote Whitman?”

“Damn right I did.” Her eyes sparkled. “You’re rubbing off on me.”

Your heart did a very stupid, very inconvenient little flutter. “I should be concerned.”

“You should,” Vi said, grinning like she knew exactly what she was doing to you. Her fingers drummed lazily on the couch between you. “So what’s the shot list, Lit Girl?”

You cleared your throat, trying—failing—to stay focused. “Um. Maybe… we show the character going through, like, different versions of herself. Layers. Peeling back everything people expect her to be. Burnout, breakdown, but then—she comes back stronger. Maybe it’s symbolic. Fire. Water. Ash.”

Vi nodded slowly, biting her lip in thought. “Could end with her walking away from the camera. Alive. Changed. Not for anyone else. Just… for herself.”

You blinked. “Vi… that’s actually—”

“Deep? Yeah, yeah, I know.” She shrugged, but her smirk was proud. “Guess hanging out with you is making me smarter.”

“Or I’m corrupting you with literature.”

“Same difference.”

Your gaze caught hers, and for a moment, the teasing faded. Her blue eyes softened—curious, careful. There was something heavier in the air now, something unsaid but loud all the same.

“You know,” she murmured, fingers twitching like she wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure how, “it’s kinda weird.”

“What is?” you asked, barely a whisper.

“How easy this feels. Being with you. Talking to you.” Her voice dipped, quieter now. “Doesn’t… usually feel like this.”

Your breath caught. “Yeah,” you admitted. “Me neither.”

For a second, neither of you moved.

And then Vi shifted, closing the tiny space between you like it had never been there at all. Her hand cupped your cheek, tentative at first—like she was waiting to see if you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

So she kissed you.

Soft, at first—gentle, like a question. Her lips were warm against yours, tasting like coffee and something sweeter, something entirely her. And when you didn’t pull back—when you kissed her back with just as much softness turning fast into something breathless—her hand slid into your hair, pulling you closer like she never wanted to let go.

Your notebook slid off your lap, forgotten.

She smiled against your lips. “God… you taste like cinnamon,” she muttered, kissing you again before you could even reply.

“Focus, Vi,” you gasped between kisses, even though you were absolutely not following your own advice.

“Focusing,” she mumbled. “Focusing on you.”

Your fingers fisted in the collar of her hoodie, pulling her impossibly closer until you were on her lap, like you belonged there, like you’d always belonged there.

And maybe you did.

When you finally broke apart—foreheads pressed together, breath shaky—you laughed. “So… about that project.”

Vi grinned, thumb brushing your hip bone. “Yeah, yeah. After this study break.”

“Study break, huh?”

“Mhm.” She tilted her head, smirking. “You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

And just like that, she kissed you again.

Honestly? The project could wait.

──────────────────────

Fast forward a few months, and here you were—on your usual Thursday afternoon picnic in the park.

Vi lay stretched out on the blanket, head comfortably in your lap, hair fanned across your thighs like silk. Her hockey jersey was tossed somewhere into the grass, replaced by a soft white tee that hugged her frame just a little too well for your sanity. Her legs were lazily crossed at the ankle, one arm flung over her face to shield her eyes from the sun, the other lazily twirling a blade of grass between her fingers.

“You paused,” she mumbled, nudging your knee with her temple. “Keep reading.”

You smiled, running your fingers absentmindedly through her pink-streaked hair, thumb grazing the curve of her temple. “Impatient,” you teased, flipping the page back. “‘Wild nights—Wild nights! Were I with thee…’” Your voice softened, the rhythm slipping easily off your tongue. “‘Wild nights should be our luxury.’”

Vi sighed—long, content, a little dreamy—and tilted her head back just enough to look up at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Still think Dickinson had it bad for someone,” she mused, that lazy grin tugging at her lips.

You laughed, brushing your thumb over the edge of her jaw. “Mhm. Terribly scandalous.”

“She probably wrote that in the middle of the night. Lying awake, thinking about her crush.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Funny. Sounds familiar.”

Vi reached up, catching your wrist in her hand, thumb brushing against your pulse. Her grin softened, faltered into something more vulnerable. “You’re my luxury, y’know,” she murmured. Quiet. Honest. Like the words were something delicate and sacred.

Your chest tightened—full, achingly full of her. “And you’re my wild night,” you whispered back, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, letting your lips linger there like a promise.

Vi squeezed your hand, eyes fluttering shut. “God… you’re such a nerd.”

“You’re literally the one begging me to read you poetry.”

“Yeah, well…” She cracked one eye open, grinning. “I like the way your voice sounds when you do.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Hopeless.”

“Completely,” she agreed, tugging your hand toward her chest, holding it there like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Wanna hear another?” you asked, voice softer now, like the question itself was something sacred.

“Yeah,” Vi breathed, melting further into your lap. “Always.”

So you read. You read Plath. You read Adrienne Rich. You read until the sun dipped low behind the trees, until the sounds of campus faded into something distant and unimportant. Until it was just the two of you, tangled in words and sunlight and something that felt an awful lot like forever.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[mostlysignssomeportents]

What’s a “public internet?”

I'm in the home stretch of my 24-city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in LONDON (July 1) with TRASHFUTURE'S RILEY QUINN and then a big finish in MANCHESTER on July 2.

The "Eurostack" is a (long overdue) project to publicly fund a European "stack" of technology that is independent from American Big Tech (as well as other powers' technology that has less hold in Europe, such as Chinese and Russian tech):

https://www.euro-stack.info/

But "technological soveriegnty" is a slippery and easily abused concept. Policies like "national firewalls" and "data localization" (where data on a country's population need to be kept on onshore servers) can be a means to different ends. Data localization is important if you want to keep an American company from funneling every digital fact about everyone in your country to the NSA. But it's also a way to make sure that your secret police can lay hands on population-scale data about anyone they might want to kidnap and torture:

https://doctorow.medium.com/theyre-still-trying-to-ban-cryptography-33aa668dc602

At its worst, "technological sovereignty" is a path to a shattered internet with a million dysfunctional borders that serve as checkpoints where thuggish customs inspectors can stop you from availing yourself of privacy-preserving technology and prevent you from communicating with exiled dissidents and diasporas.

But at its best, "technological sovereignty" is a way to create world-girding technology that can act as an impartial substrate on which all manner of domestic and international activities can play out, from a group of friends organizing a games night, to scientists organizing a symposium, to international volunteer corps organizing aid after a flood.

In other words, "technological sovereignty" can be a way to create a public internet that the whole public controls – not just governments, but also people, individuals who can exercise their own technological self-determination, controlling crucial aspects of their own technology usage, like "who will see this thing I'm saying?" and "whose communications will I see, and which ones can I block?"

A "public internet" isn't the same thing as "an internet that is operated by your government," but you can't get a public internet without government involvement, including funding, regulation, oversight and direct contributions.

Here's an example of different ways that governments can involve themselves in the management of one part of the internet, and the different ways in which this will create more or less "public" internet services: fiber optic lines.

Fiber is the platinum standard for internet service delivery. Nothing else comes even close to it. A plastic tube under the road that is stuffed with fiber optic strands can deliver billions of times more data than copper wires or any form of wireless, including satellite constellations like Starlink:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/03/30/fight-for-44/#slowpokes

(Starlink is the most antifuturistic technology imaginable – a vision of a global internet that gets slower and less reliable as more people sign up for it. It makes the dotcom joke of "we lose money on every sale but make it up in volume" look positively bankable.)

The private sector cannot deliver fiber. There's no economical way for a private entity to secure the rights of way to tear up every street in every city, to run wires into every basement or roof, to put poles on every street corner. Same goes for getting the rights of way to string fiber between city limits across unincorporated county land, or across the long hauls that cross national and provincial or state borders.

Fiber itself is cheap like borscht – it's literally made out of sand – but clearing the thicket of property rights and political boundaries needed to get wire everywhere is a feat that can only be accomplished through government intervention.

Fiber's opponents rarely acknowledge this. They claim, instead, that the physical act of stringing wires through space is somehow transcendentally hard, despite the fact that we've been doing this with phone lines and power cables for more than a century, through the busiest, densest cities and across the loneliest stretches of farmland. Wiring up a country is not the lost art of a fallen civilization, like building pyramids without power-tools or embalming pharoahs. It's something that even the poorest counties in America can manage, bringing fiber across forbidden mountain passes on the back of a mule named "Ole Bub":

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/the-one-traffic-light-town-with-some-of-the-fastest-internet-in-the-us

When governments apply themselves to fiber provision, you get fiber. Don't take my word for it – ask Utah, a bastion of conservative, small-government orthodoxy, where 21 cities now have blazing fast 10gb internet service thanks to a public initiative called (appropriately enough) "Utopia":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/16/symmetrical-10gb-for-119/#utopia

So government have to be involved in fiber, but how should they involve themselves in it? One model – the worst one – is for the government to intervene on behalf of a single company, creating the rights of way for that company to lay fiber in the ground or string it from poles. The company then owns the network, even though the fiber and the poles were the cheapest part of the system, worth an unmeasurably infinitesimal fraction of the value of all those rights of way.

In the worst of the worst, the company that owns this network can do anything they want with its fiber. They can deny coverage to customers, or charge thousands of dollars to connect each new homes to the system. They can gouge on monthly costs, starve their customer service departments or replace them with mindless AI chatbots. They can skimp on maintenance and keep you waiting for days or weeks when your internet goes out. They can lard your bill with junk fees, or force you to accept pointless services like landlines and cable TV as a condition of getting the internet.

They can also play favorites with local businesses: maybe they give great service to every Domino's pizza place at knock-down rates, and make up for it by charging extra to independent pizza parlors that want to accept internet orders and stream big sports matches on the TV over the bar.

They can violate Net Neutrality, slowing down your connection to sites unless their owners agree to pay bribes for "premium carriage." They can censor your internet any way they see fit. Remember, corporations – unlike governments – are not bound by the First Amendment, which means that when a corporation is your ISP, they can censor anything they feel like:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/15/useful-idiotsuseful-idiots/#unrequited-love

Governments can improve on this situation by regulating a monopoly fiber company. They can require the company to assume a "universal service" mandate, meaning they must connect any home or business that wants it at a set rate. Governments can ban junk fees, set minimum standards for customer service and repair turnarounds, and demand neutral carriage. All of this can improve things, though its a lot of work to administer, and the city government may lack the resources and technical expertise to investigate every claim of corporate malfeasance, and to perform the technical analysis to evaluate corporate excuses for slow connections and bungled repairs.

That's the worst model: governments clear the way for a private monopolist to set up your internet, offering them a literally priceless subsidy in the form of rights of way, and then, maybe, try to keep them honest.

Here's the other extreme: the government puts in the fiber itself, running conduit under all the streets (either with its own crews or with contract crews) and threading a fiber optic through a wall of your choice, terminating it with a box you can plug your wifi router into. The government builds a data-center with all the necessary switches for providing service to you and your neighbors, and hires people to offer you internet service at a reasonable price and with reasonable service guarantees.

This is a pretty good model! Over 750 towns and cities – mostly conservative towns in red states – have this model, and they're almost the only people in America who consistently describe themselves as happy with their internet service:

https://ilsr.org/articles/municipal-broadband-skyrocket-as-alternative-to-private-models/

(They are joined in their satisfaction by a smattering of towns served by companies like Ting, who bought out local cable companies and used their rights of way to bring fiber to households.)

This is a model that works very well, but can fail very badly. Municipal governments can be pretty darned kooky, as five years of MAGA takeovers of school boards, library boards and town councils have shown, to say nothing of wildly corrupt big-city monsters like Eric Adams (ten quintillion congratulations to Zohran Mamdani!). If there's one thing I've learned from the brilliant No Gods No Mayors podcast, it's that mayors are the weirdest people alive:

https://www.patreon.com/collection/869728?view=condensed

Remember: Sarah Palin got her start in politics as mayor of Wasilla, Alaska. Do you want to have to rely on Sarah Palin for your internet service?

https://www.patreon.com/posts/119567308?collection=869728

How about Rob Ford? Do you want the crack mayor answering your tech support calls? I didn't think so:

https://www.patreon.com/posts/rob-ford-part-1-111985831

But that's OK! A public fiber network doesn't have to be one in which the government is your only choice for ISP. In addition to laying fiber and building a data-center and operating a municipal ISP, governments can also do something called "essential facilities sharing":

https://transition.fcc.gov/Bureaus/Common_Carrier/Orders/1999/fcc99238.pdf

Governments all over the world did this in the late 1990s and early 2000s, and some do it still. Under an essential facilities system, the big phone company (BT in the UK, Bell in Canada, AT&T and the Baby Bells in the USA) were required to rent space to their competitors in their data centers. Anyone who wants to set up an ISP can install their own switching gear at a telephone company central office and provide service to any business or household in the country.

If the government lays fiber in your town, they can both operate a municipal fiber ISP and allow anyone else to set up their own ISP, renting them shelf-space at the data-center. That means that the town college can offer internet to all its faculty and students (not just the ones who live in campus housing), and your co-op can offer internet service to its members. Small businesses can offer specialized internet, and so can informal groups of friends. So can big companies. In this model, everyone is guaranteed both the right to get internet access and the right to provide internet access. It's a great system, and it means that when Mayor Sarah Palin decides to cut off your internet, you don't need to sue the city – you can just sign up with someone else, over the same fiber lines.

That's where essential facilities sharing starts, but that's not where it needs to stop. When the government puts conduit (plastic tubes) in the ground for fiber, they can leave space for more fiber to fished through, and rent space in the conduit itself. That means that an ISP that wants to set up its own data center can run physically separate lines to its subscribers. It means that a university can do a point-to-point connection between a remote scientific instrument like a radio telescope and the campus data-center. A business can run its own lines between branch offices, and a movie studio can run dedicated lines from remote sound-stages to the edit suites at its main facility.

This is a truly public internet service – one where there is a publicly owned ISP, but also where public infrastructure allows for lots of different kinds of entities to provide internet access. It's insulated from the risks of getting your tech support from city hall, but it also allows good local governments to provide best-in-class service to everyone in town, something that local governments have a pretty great track record with.

The Eurostack project isn't necessarily about fiber, though. Right now, Europeans are thinking about technological sovereignty through the lens of software and services. That's fair enough, though it does require some rethinking of the global fiber system, which has been designed so that the US government can spy on and disconnect every other country in the world:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/10/weaponized-interdependence/#the-other-swifties

Just as with the example of fiber, there are a lot of ways the EU and member states could achieve "technological sovereignty." They could just procure data-centers, server software, and the operation of social media, cloud hosting, mobile OSes, office software, and other components of Europeans' digital lives from the private sector – sort of like asking a commercial operator to run your town's internet service.

The EU has pretty advanced procurement rules, designed to allow European governments to buy from the private sector while minimizing corruption and kickbacks. For example, there's a rule that the lowest priced bid that conforms to all standards needs to win the contract. This sounds good (and it is, in many cases) but it's how Newag keeps selling trains in Poland, even after they were caught boobytrapping their trains so they would immobilize themselves if the operator took them for independent maintanance:

https://media.ccc.de/v/38c3-we-ve-not-been-trained-for-this-life-after-the-newag-drm-disclosure

The EU doesn't have to use public-private partnerships to build the Eurostack. They could do it all themselves. The EU and/or member states could operate public data centers. They could develop their own social media platforms, mobile OSes, and apps. They could be the equivalent of the municipal ISP that offers fast fiber to everyone in town.

As with public monopoly ISPs, this is a system that works well, but fails badly. If you think Elon Musk is a shitty social media boss, wait'll you see the content moderation policies of Viktor Orban – or Emmanuel Macron:

https://jacobin.com/2025/06/france-solidarity-urgence-palestine-repression

Publicly owned data centers could be great, but also, remember that EU governments have never given up on their project of killing working encryption so that their security services can spy on everyone. Austria's doing it right now!

https://www.yahoo.com/news/austrian-government-agrees-plan-allow-150831232.html

Ever since Snowden, EU governments have talked a good line about the importance of digital privacy. Remember Angela Merkel's high dudgeon about how her girlhood in the GDR gave her a special horror of NSA surveillance?

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-24647268

Apparently, Merkel managed to get over her horror of mass surveillance and back total, unaccountable, continuous digital surveillance over all of Germany:

https://www.hrw.org/news/2021/06/24/germanys-new-surveillance-laws-raise-privacy-concerns

So there's good reasons to worry about having your data – and your apps – hosted in an EU cloud.

To create a European public internet, it's neither necessary nor desirable to have your digital life operated by the EU and its member states, nor by its private contractors. Instead, the EU could make Eurostack a provider of technological public goods.

For example, the EU could work to improve federated social media systems, like Mastodon and Bluesky. EU coders could contribute to the server and client software for both. They could participate in future versions of the standard. They could provide maintenance code in response to bug reports, and administer bug bounties. They could create tooling for server administrators, including moderation tools, both for Mastodon and for Bluesky, whose "composable moderation" system allows users to have the final say over their moderation choices. The EU could perform and/or fund labelling work to help with moderation.

The EU could also provide tooling to help server administrators stand up their own independent Mastodon and Bluesky servers. Bluesky needs a lot of work on this, still. Bluesky's CTO has got a critical piece of server infrastructure to run on a Raspberry Pi for a few euros per month:

https://justingarrison.com/blog/2024-12-02-run-a-bluesky-pds-from-home/

Previously, this required a whole data center and cost millions to operate, so this is great. But this now needs to be systematized, so that would-be Bluesky administrators can download a package and quickly replicate the feat.

Ultimately, the choice of Mastodon or Bluesky shouldn't matter all that much to Europeans. These standards can and should evolve to the point where everyone on Bluesky can talk to everyone on Mastodon and vice-versa, and where you can easily move your account from one server to another, or one service to another. The EU already oversees systems for account porting and roaming on mobile networks – they can contribute to the technical hurdles that need to be overcome to bring this to social media:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/14/fire-exits/#graceful-failure-modes

In addition to improving federated social media, the EU and its member states can and should host their own servers, both for their own official accounts and for public use. Giving the public a digital home is great, especially if anyone who chafes at the public system's rules can hop onto a server run by a co-op, a friend group, a small business or a giant corporation with just a couple clicks, without losing any of their data or connections.

This is essential facilities sharing for services. Combine it with public data centers and tooling for migrating servers from and to the public server to a private, or nonprofit, or co-op data-center, and you've got the equivalent of publicly available conduit, data-centers, and fiber.

In addition to providing code, services and hardware, the EU can continue to provide regulation to facilitate the public internet. They can expand the very limited interoperability mandates in the Digital Markets Act, forcing legacy social media companies like Meta and Twitter to stand up APIs so that when a European quits their service for new, federated media, they can stay in touch with the friends they left behind (think of it as Schengen for social media, with guaranteed free movement):

https://www.eff.org/interoperablefacebook

With the Digital Service Act, the EU has done a lot of work to protect Europeans from fraud, harassment and other online horribles. But a public internet also requires protections for service providers – safe harbors and carve outs that allow you to host your community's data and conversations without being dragged into controversies when your users get into flamewars with each other. If we make the people who run servers liable for their users' bad speech acts, then the only entities that will be able to afford the lawyers and compliance personnel will be giant American tech companies run by billionaires like Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/04/kawaski-trawick/#230

A "public internet" isn't an internet that's run by the government: it's a system of publicly subsidized, publicly managed public goods that are designed to allow everyone to participate in both using and providing internet services. The Eurostack is a brilliant idea whose time arrived a decade ago. Digital sovereignty projects are among the most important responses to Trumpism, a necessary step to build an independent digital nervous system the rest of the world can use to treat the USA as damage and route around it. We can't afford to have "digital soveriegnty" be "national firewalls 2.0" – we need a public internet, not 200+ national internets.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/06/25/eurostack/#viktor-orbans-isp

[musubi05]

╰┈➤ R.I.P Dinos

Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Summary: You have to make an active volcano for science class. Sam was more than happy to help!

Warnings: None!

"Jesus all of these assignments for what? I swear this school sucks," you mumbled as you walked down the bunker's grand stairs. Luck was not on your side today but it almost never was for you. Today, specifically, you got tasked with four different projects from four different teachers. Thankfully one of them was a group project.

You threw your bag on the table in the library, accidentally causing a beer bottle to shatter once it hit the ground. Again, luck was not on your side.

Sam ran around the corner with a gun in his hand causing you to put your hands up. "Oh my god it's just you," he breathed out relieved. He uncocked his pistol and put it back in his waistband.

"Ouch," you replied sarcastically as you bent down to pick up the shards of glass. Sam came over and crouched on the floor to help.

"You know what I meaann." Sam rolled his eyes.

You chuckled softly, tossing a handful of glass shards into the trash bin nearby. "Yeah, yeah. Just messing with you," you muttered, brushing your hands off on your jeans.

Sam flopped down into one of the library chairs with a dramatic sigh. "So, what’s with the whole bag slam? You mad at the table or what?" he asked, leaning back and propping his boots up on the edge.

You groaned and pulled out the stack of assignment sheets. "Four projects. Four teachers. All due next Monday," you grumbled, spreading the papers out like a bad poker hand. "One of them’s a group thing, though, so I’m hoping I can trick someone into doing most of the work."

"Dang. Only a week to prepare," Sam’s eyes flicked over the papers disinterestedly, but then he snatched one up. His lips curled into a mischievous grin. "At least one of these seem fun! A volacano! Oooo."

You pursed your lips in a line with a unfazed look. "Are you serious right now?"

Sam shrugged as he read the projects details on the paper. "Yeah, actually. Why don't we do it together? Who's better at exploding things than me?"

"Dean is pretty good at exploding things with that grenade launcher," you smirked when Sam raised an eyebrow.

"He used that thing?! Without me-" Sam took a breath to stop himself. "You know what? It doesn't matter. I'm better with mixing things to explode. I don't need a gun to do it."

"Fine, we can do it together. But we can't make it actually explode. If I get in trouble I'm blaming it on you." You point your finger at him with your warning.

"Okay okay. Minimal property damage." Sam put his hands up like he was swearing to it. "No fun," he mumbled.

"I am fun! Just don't want the attention." Sam hummed in response understanding what you mean.

⛧

You guys got started later that day after getting the supplies and your workspace was a mess. Newspapers covered the entire table, and somehow, you had managed to get some powder in your hair from the mâché. Sam, who has clay all over his hands, was vigorously shaping the volcano’s body with a mixture of paper-mâché and clay.

"Okay, okay, hear me out," Sam said, voice full of excitement. "What if we carve out tiny lava paths down the sides? Like, little rivers of doom?"

You raised an eyebrow as you smoothed another strip of paper-mâché onto the volcano’s surface. "And what happens when the 'lava' doesn’t follow your little paths and just explodes everywhere?"

"Then we know it’s realistic," he shot back with a grin.

You shook your head, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "Fine. But if this thing floods the classroom, I’m telling everyone it was your idea."

Sam dramatically placed a hand over his heart. "I’d expect nothing less."

After another half hour of slathering on layers, the volcano finally looked somewhat presentable—if you ignored the fact that it was still dripping with glue.

Sam leaned back in his chair, hands on his hips. "Dude. We made this."

"Yeah," you said, admiring the lumpy, yet oddly charming volcano. "And somehow, neither of us got hurt in the process."

Sam grinned. "Yet."

⛧

The next day, once the volcano had dried, the real fun began.

You were painting the gray and white paper-mâché into green and brown hills on one side. On the other side, that was already dried, Sam stuck little plastic dinosaurs into the scene. He gave one of them a dramatic shove, sending it tumbling down the side of the volcano. "This one knows what’s coming," he narrated ominously.

You rolled your eyes, but you were trying not to laugh. "Sam, I don't think the dinosaurs even knew the difference between a volcano and a mountain."

"Shhh," he hushed you, gently placing a palm-sized T-Rex on the peak. "This is the Volcano God. He watches over the others."

You looked at him, unimpressed. "You’re ridiculous."

"And yet, you keep me around."

Shaking your head, you grabbed a couple of tiny fake trees and positioned them at the volcano’s base. "Okay, I think this actually looks pretty cool."

Sam clapped his hands together. "Now we just have to make it erupt."

The moment of truth had arrived. The volcano sat on a metal tray, ready for the test eruption. Sam held the baking soda like it was a vial of liquid gold, while you carefully poured the vinegar into a cup.

"Okay," you said, taking a deep breath. "If this explodes too much—"

"It won’t," Sam interrupted confidently. "I measured this out."

You gave him a skeptical look but still handed him the vinegar. He dramatically lifted the cup over the volcano. "And so, the Volcano God awakens!" he proclaimed before dumping the liquid in.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, with a satisfying hiss, thick red foam bubbled up from the crater and poured down the sides. The tiny T-Rex at the top was quickly swallowed in the fizzing mess.

Sam gasped. "The Volcano God has fallen!"

You burst out laughing as the foam dripped onto the tray. "Dude, this actually looks sick."

Sam grinned proudly. "Told you."

As the eruption slowed to a stop, you sat back, arms crossed. "Okay. We definitely deserve an A for this."

Sam nodded, wiping a bit of foam off his sleeve. "Agreed. And if not, we threaten to make it actually explode next time."

You shot him a look.

"Kidding!" he said quickly, but his smirk said otherwise.

⛧

Today was the day. The day you had to turn in all four of your projects. After a week of nonstop researching, putting things together, and writing. You finally finished and jesus, you were tired.

Unfortunately Sam had to leave after helping you finish with the volcano to go do a hunt. He didn't want to just leave you alone with all this stress of school. Every time you were stressed out or very focused on something you wouldn't take care of yourself that well.

Sometimes you'd forget to eat meals. Sometimes you don't drink enough water and you don't realize until you have a huge headache that won't go away no matter how much water you drink. You also stay up at night making sure everything is perfect. That trait is from Sam himself and you mentally thank him every time this happens. However, you still convinced him to go and that you'd be fine.

You walked into the bunker, down the stairs and into the library as quickly as you could. You were happy that you were done and happy that Sam was coming home soon. You had planned to get some snacks so you could watch a movie in Dean's man cave which was one of your favorite things to do to pass the time.

You set your volcano down on the table and your bag on one of the seats when you heard the bunker's garage door opening.

"Sam?" You called out to see if that was him.

"Yep. I'm back!" He announced as he walked into the main room with his warm smile. You went down the little steps with arms open wide to hug him which he accepted with no hesitation.

"Welcome back," you said softly as your grip slightly tightened around him. He rubbed your shoulder with his thumb in response.

"Thanks, sweetie. So, how was school?" He asked not wanting to get out of the hug just yet.

"Better now since I'm not worrying about any projects," you bluntly spoke with annoyance about those assignments. "Speaking of..." you broke the hug to go back in the library with a curious Sam following you.

"Tada!" You put up jazz hands to show off the volcano. "I brought it back!"

"What grade did you get on it?"Sam asked as he smirked a little as if he already knows.

"Well, she hasn't officially graded it since she's slow at grading things but I may have saw good points on the rubric she was writing on," you returned the smirk to Sam.

"Ayy that's my girl!" He ruffled your hair a little but you didn't protest like you normally did. "But why bring it back? I thought you'd just throw it away."

"So we can make an actual explosion!" You said which warned a big smile from Sam.

"You're the best sister ever."

[sweetheartdecay]

accidental confession

izuku accidentally confesses his feelings for you in a moment of panic, leading to an awkward but sweet conversation.

----

middle school had always been a challenging time for izuku midoriya. as a quirkless boy dreaming of becoming a hero, he often felt isolated and misunderstood. however, there was one person who always seemed to make his days a little brighter, you. your kind smile and encouraging words were often the highlight of his day, though he never quite knew how to express his gratitude or growing feelings for you.

it was another typical afternoon after school. you and izuku were in the library, working on a group project together. the room was quiet except for the soft rustling of pages and the occasional whisper between the two of you. izuku's heart raced every time you leaned in to look at something in his notebook, your proximity making his thoughts scatter.

you noticed Izuku seemed more fidgety than usual, his face slightly flushed as he scribbled notes in his ever-present hero analysis notebook.

"hey, izuku," you said softly, placing a hand on his arm to get his attention. "are you okay? you seem a bit… distracted today."

izuku's eyes widened, and he immediately started to stammer. "i-i'm fine! really! just, um, a lot on my mind, i guess." he forced a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

you gave him a concerned look but decided not to press further. "alright, but if you need to talk about anything, i'm here, okay?"

izuku nodded, his heart pounding even harder. he took a deep breath, trying to focus on the project, but his mind kept drifting back to you and the way your eyes sparkled with kindness.

as the minutes passed, you two continued to work in relative silence. then, out of nowhere, a loud crash echoed through the library. someone had knocked over a stack of books, and the sudden noise startled both of you. without thinking, izuku reached out and grabbed your hand, his reflexes taking over.

"izuku?" you said, looking at him in surprise. his hand was warm and slightly trembling around yours.

realizing what he had done, izuku's face turned beet red, and he quickly let go, stammering apologies. "i-i'm so sorry! i didn't mean to—"

"it's okay," you interrupted, a gentle smile on your face. "you just surprised me, that's all."

izuku took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. he felt a wave of panic wash over him, and before he knew it, the words tumbled out of his mouth. "i like you!"

the library fell silent again, but this time it was a deafening silence. izuku's eyes widened in horror as he realized what he'd just blurted out. "i-i mean, i, um, i like you as a friend! no, wait, that's not what i meant either! i mean, i do like you as a friend, but also more than that, and—"

you blinked, trying to process his rapid-fire confession. a slow smile spread across your face as you watched izuku's panic. "izuku, are you trying to say you have feelings for me?"

izuku gulped and nodded, looking like he wanted to disappear. "y-yes," he managed to whisper, his voice barely audible.

you felt your heart swell with warmth. you'd always thought izuku was sweet and admired his determination, and hearing his confession made your own feelings clear. "izuku, i like you too."

his head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise and hope. "r-really?"

you nodded, taking his hand again, this time on purpose. "yes, really. i've liked you for a while now."

a smile slowly spread across izuku's face, relief and joy washing over him. "i'm so glad," he said softly, squeezing your hand.

the two of you sat there for a moment, just holding hands and smiling at each other, the world around you fading away. it was awkward, it was sweet, and it was the start of something wonderful.

[hueningstar]

Beneath the Thorny Vines

Summary : You and Yeonjun go from bickering rivals to sharing charged, intimate moments during a late-night study session, where unspoken tension turns into undeniable attraction.

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A/N : Let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions. Your support means the world ! <3 Alsoo,requests are open🙃 And about my 2 reqs that I got..school is starting and I really need to do my hw and study but I promise that in a few days you WILL get them☺️

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Pairing : Yeonjun × reader

Genre : Enemies-to-Lovers, Slow Burn, College AU

Warnings : nipple play, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it)

MDNI

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The first time you met Choi Yeonjun, he was leaning casually against the doorframe of your lecture hall, a smug smirk plastered on his face like he owned the place. And maybe he did, judging by the way everyone’s eyes flitted to him as though he were a magnet pulling their attention.

You hated him instantly.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice dripping with confidence. “Looks like you’re in my spot.”

Your brows furrowed as you looked up from your notebook. The lecture hall wasn’t even half full, yet he had the audacity to claim ownership of the seat you’d chosen near the window.

“I don’t see your name on it.” you shot back, folding your arms.

Instead of being deterred, he chuckled—a sound that irritated you more than it should have. “Well, I usually sit here. But if you want to fight about it, we can flip a coin.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your things and moved a few seats down, muttering under your breath about entitlement. You thought that would be the end of it, just another annoying encounter in a sea of college chaos.

You were wrong.

From that day forward, Yeonjun seemed to make it his mission to get under your skin. Whether it was cutting you off in class discussions, conveniently signing up for the same group projects, or flashing that infuriating grin every time he passed you in the halls, he was always there.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?” you snapped one afternoon after he’d turned in another half-hearted attempt at a group project. You’d spent hours perfecting your section, only for him to barely skim the surface of his.

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Relax, it’s not like it’s the final grade. Besides, I figured you’d overachieve enough for the both of us.”

Your jaw clenched. “Unbelievable.”

“You say that a lot,” he teased, his voice light. “I’m starting to think you actually enjoy arguing with me.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

As the semester dragged on, your interactions with Yeonjun became a strange routine. He’d rile you up, you’d bite back, and somewhere in between the tension, there were moments where his charm almost—almost—made you forget how infuriating he was.

Like the time he caught you struggling to carry a stack of library books and, without a word, took half of them from your arms.

“Don’t get used to this,” he said, smirking as he walked beside you.

“I wasn’t planning to,” you replied, though your tone lacked its usual bite.

Or the time he stayed behind after class to help you clean up spilled coffee, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed you a paper towel. For a split second, you saw something softer in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

The turning point came during a campus fundraiser. You’d been assigned to work the same booth as Yeonjun—selling homemade baked goods to raise money for the art department.

“Try not to scare off the customers.” you said, eyeing him as he lounged lazily behind the table.

“And miss out on the chance to charm everyone who walks by?” He grinned, picking up a cookie and taking a bite.

“You’re supposed to sell those, not eat them.” you scolded, swatting at his hand.

“What, you think people won’t buy them if one’s missing? Watch and learn.”

To your surprise (and mild annoyance), Yeonjun’s charm worked wonders. Within an hour, he’d managed to sell more cookies than you thought possible, effortlessly chatting up every passerby.

“See? I’m not completely useless,” he said, leaning closer with a playful glint in his eyes.

You hated the way your heart skipped a beat.

As the weeks turned into months, the sharp edges of your rivalry began to blur. You still bickered—some things never changed—but there was a new undercurrent to your interactions, a warmth that neither of you acknowledged but both felt.

One evening, as you sat alone, frantically typing away at an essay due the next day, Yeonjun appeared out of nowhere and slid into the seat across from you.

“Need help?” he asked, his tone uncharacteristically genuine.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Why would you offer to help me?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Maybe I don’t hate you as much as you think.”

For the first time, you allowed yourself to smile back.

And maybe—just maybe—you didn’t hate him as much as you thought, either.

Yeonjun leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you with that ever-present smirk. For once, though, it didn’t feel condescending—it felt… softer.

“Fine,” you relented with a sigh, sliding your laptop toward him. “But if you mess this up, I’m holding you accountable.”

“Deal.” He rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie, revealing forearms that were unfairly distracting. Settling in, he scanned the notes on your screen, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You tried to focus on anything but him: the sound of the clock ticking, the faint hum of the air conditioner, the scratch of your pen on paper. But your eyes kept drifting back to Yeonjun, to the way his lips pressed together as he read, to the faint strand of hair falling into his face.

“Your formatting’s all wrong,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Excuse me?”

He grinned, tapping at your keyboard. “Relax, I fixed it. See?”

You leaned closer, your shoulder brushing against his as you followed his gesture. He smelled faintly of something clean and woodsy, and you were suddenly hyperaware of how close the two of you were.

“Uh, thanks.” you mumbled, your voice quieter than intended.

“Don’t mention it.” he replied, but his tone had shifted, too. When you glanced up, you found him looking at you—really looking.

The smirk was gone, replaced by something deeper, something that made the air between you feel heavier.

“Why do you do that?” you asked softly, your heart pounding.

“Do what?” His voice was just as quiet, his gaze locked on yours.

“Act like you don’t care about anything.”

He tilted his head, a small, humorless laugh escaping him. “And why do you act like you care about everything?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. But before you could think of something, Yeonjun leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Maybe we’re not so different, after all.”

The tension crackled like static electricity. Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed yours, lingering for a moment too long. His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up, as if he were testing the waters.

“Yeonjun…” you started, your voice wavering.

“Shh,” he murmured, a teasing edge returning to his tone. “I’m just helping you with your essay, remember?”

But the way his hand lingered on yours said otherwise.

As Yeonjun's fingers intertwined with yours, he slowly pulled you closer. His other hand reached up to cup your face gently, tilting it up to meet his gaze. He looked at your lips, then back into your eyes, asking a silent question.

His thumb caressed your bottom lip, sending shivers down your spine. "You're so..." he murmured, seemingly at a loss for words. His eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of confusion, desire, and something deeper. "...annoying. And frustrating. And..."

He paused, his forehead resting against yours now. "And so infuriatingly kissable." he finally whispered, his warm breath fanning across your face. His hand on your face tightened, pulling you into a gentle, tentative kiss. His lips were soft, questioning, almost unsure.

His kiss was gentle but demanding, contradictory in the best way. One hand remained on your face while the other moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer. When he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing your bottom lip, you couldn't help but melt against him. "Mmm..."

A soft groan rumbled in his chest as you parted your lips, inviting him in. His kiss turned more urgent, more passionate. He explored your mouth like he was trying to memorize the taste and feel of you. His hand on your back slid down to grip your hip, pressing you flush against him.

The kiss went on for what felt like an eternity, stealing your breath and your thoughts. When Yeonjun finally broke the kiss, you were both left panting, your hearts racing in sync. He rested his forehead against yours once more, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment.

His eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes dark with desire. A slow, almost lazy smirk spread across his face as he took in your flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips.

Without warning, he lifted you up and placed you on the desk, pushing the books and papers to the side with a careless swipe of his arm. He stepped between your legs, forcing them apart to make room for him.

He leaned in to claim your lips again, more forceful this time. One hand slid up your thigh while the other tangled in your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss. You could feel his growing hardness pressing against your center as he moved closer.

His fingers deftly unbuttoned your shirt, exposing your lacy bra underneath. He paused, admiring the view, before hooking a finger under the strap and pulling it down, baring more skin.

"Fucking hell." he breathed against your neck, his lips and teeth tracing a path down to your collarbone. His hand snaked around to unhook your bra, freeing your breasts.

He took a moment to appreciate the sight before lowering his head, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. He sucked and swirled his tongue around it, eliciting a gasp from you. His free hand kneaded your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

His mouth moved back to yours in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as his hands made quick work of your pants and underwear, pushing them down your legs. He stepped back just enough to remove his own shirt, revealing his toned chest.

He reached for his belt, unbuckling it and lowering his zipper. You watched, mesmerized, as he pulled out his hard, throbbing cock. He stroked it a few times, spreading pre-cum along the length before reaching for your legs and spreading them wider.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he growled, positioning himself at your entrance. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a heady mix of desire and affection. "And I'm not going to be gentle."

He thrust into you suddenly, filling you completely in one brutal stroke. You cried out, feeling like you might be split in two as he buried himself inside you. He wrapped your legs around his waist, angling you for even deeper penetration. "You're so tight."

He hissed through gritted teeth, his arms trembling as he held you up. He pounded into you, over and over, each thrust hitting deeper than the last. You were screaming, but he muffled the sound with his mouth, kissing you brutally as he took you.

Just when you thought he couldn't get any harder or faster, he reached between your bodies and rubbed at your clit, sending sparks flying through your entire being. You came with a scream, your inner walls clamping down on his cock as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

He followed soon after, pulsing deep inside you with a fierce 'fuck' against your neck. His entire body shook as he emptied himself, then suddenly pulled out, spinning you around and bending you over the desk. His hand came down hard on your ass, making you jump.

He didn't give you a moment to catch your breath before slamming back into you, his hips cracking against your cheeks with each brutal thrust. You were crying now, your face buried in the papers on the desk as he used you like a fucking animal. His balls slapped against your thighs with each stroke.

He snatched a handful of your hair, yanking your head back as he hissed in your ear, "This is what you needed, wasn't it?" His other hand found your clit again, pinching and rubbing mercilessly as he continued his relentless assault on your ass.

A shudder ran through your body as his dirty talk mixed with the brutal stimulation, pushing you swiftly towards another orgasm. Your fingers clenched the edges of the desk, knuckles white from gripping so tightly. "Yes!" you cried out, your voice raw and desperate, "Fuck me harder!"

He snarled in response, his hips moving like a piston as he fucked you with all his might. The desk creaked and shook beneath you, papers flying everywhere. His hand tightened in your hair, pulling so hard it stung, but only adding to the intense pleasure coursing through you.

Just as your orgasm hit, he released your hair, instead wrapping his arm around your waist to lift and turn you to face him. Kneeling, his mouth found yours in a fierce, dominating kiss. His tongue claimed your mouth as thoroughly as his cock had claimed your pussy.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly, pulling you flush against his chest as he thrust up into you with increasing urgency. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, a primal rhythm that drove him closer and closer to the edge. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum in you."

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you and held you in place as his cock pulsed and spasmed, filling your pussy with his hot, thick cum. You could feel it overflowing, coating your inner thighs as he emptied himself completely inside you.

He nuzzled into your neck, his breathing slowly returning to normal. "Damn, you always make me forget everything else," he murmured contentedly. His hands roamed over your sides possessively. "I need to get back to work, though. Can you..."

He gently shifted you off him, watching as cum dripped from your still-sensitive pussy. "Dirty girl," he whispered appreciatively, pulling his tie to clean you up slightly. "Be a good girl and clean my desk while I'm gone. And maybe then I'll consider bending you over it again later."

You nodded obediently, still trembling from the intensity of your climax. He winked at you before striding out, leaving you sprawled naked on the couch, his cum leaking from you and a trail of papers scattered across the hardwood. Slowly, you pushed yourself up, glancing at the messy desk.

You spent the next hour meticulously cleaning his desk, organizing the scattered papers and dusting the surface. As you worked, you couldn't help but replay the intense encounter in your head, your body still tingling from his touch. Just as you finished, you heard the door open behind you.

He stepped back into the room, his eyes scanning the neatly organized desk. He looked at you, standing there naked and covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the cleaning, a predatory smile spreading across his face. "Good girl." he murmured, locking the door behind him.

Moving swiftly towards you, he pinned you against the freshly cleaned desk, his strong hands gripping your hips. "I suppose only one thing is left to do now," he growled playfully, his eyes gleaming with mischief and lust.

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[chiasaaa]

— the night is yours

itoshi sae x f! reader

summary: your niece from belgium visits you in madrid to interview your boyfriend for her academic paper.

warning: english is not my first language. apologies for any grammatical or spelling errors.

— when you told sae to vacate his saturday for you, he expected something planned for both of you is up in play. true enough, there is a plan. it’s just far from what he expected it to be.

he sits on the single recliner in your shared living room, distant eyes staring right through the soul of your poor cowering niece. sae always despised interviews—always viewed it as people trying to dissect the information they want to manipulate for themselves right out of his system. it’s uncanny.

sae already bears with the fame by giving short single responses whenever a match ends and he’s declared the most valuable player of his time (which happens all the time), and he absolutely despises every second of it. it’s every second wasted when he could be celebrating his win with you instead. he had no idea how you managed to convince him to participate in your niece’s little project, yet there he was.

maybe the tea you coaxed him with proved effective, after all. that, and a little something you promised him for when the interview’s finished and you have your home alone for yourselves.

he must love you very much, is what goes on in his mind as he watched your niece scramble through the sheets of paper she had prepared for this day.

“hey,” he called out to her softly, causing her to pause from her anxious squirming. “it’s alright. take your time.”

though it was nothing special, he saw how his assurance helped her relax. she nods by a tad bit, then stacked her papers together neatly. unbeknownst to the two, you’ve been watching through the corner of your eyes as you face them sideways on the counter stool, pretending to work on the designs your team had previously come up with for approval.

your niece isn’t that far from your age, currently 15 years old. a gap of three years has always been quite weird as it stands between ‘we’re old enough to view life differently’ and ‘but we’re young enough to get along well’. for someone like sae, however, it’s a completely different story. he’s like an old man stuck in a young player’s body. people normally find it hard to get along with him. and you know that he gives zero fucks about anyone.

however, one thing you love about him is that he tries. he will always try if it means being closer to your family. quite the awkward fellow he can be, but it becomes a part of his charm at some point. even your father, who had long been against you dating, grew fond of him. now that you see him trying his best to make your niece comfortable with him, you could only quietly fawn over the sight.

he always gives you reasons to fall in love everyday—not like he still has to.

you have already loved him for him.

you have never been so lucky.

“as an athlete, of course it’s important for us to maintain a healthy balanced diet because—“ you snapped out of your own world when sae’s voice penetrated through your ears in a gentle tone. your eyes glided back to his direction, finding him talking through a clipped mic on his shirt. they finally proceeded with the interview proper after fifteen minutes of preparing, and he’s as collected as ever.

though, this is the first time you’ve ever heard him respond to an interview so coherently. as if he made an effort to put his answers together well enough for your niece to extract useful information. and as he was going through with the interview, he caught a glance of you watching.

you smiled, so sweetly and gratefully that it had him pause for a moment as well. sae knew what you were telling him through your honey-dipped eyes. he didn’t need you to tell him, just as much as you didn’t need him to tell you when he sent the faintest smile back.

when the interview was over, you and sae walked your niece out the porch.

“thank you for today, auntie!” she hugged you tight, grateful for making the interview possible in the first place. she was only ever able to pursue the topic she wanted because of you connections, after all.

“no worries, hija. tell your mom to drop you off again same time tomorrow, yeah? sae and i plan to take you around the city before you fly back home.”

“really? thank you!” she then turns to sae. “thank you too, uncle sae! i’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

and so she runs off to the taxi cab where her mother waits, taking them home as soon as she enters. you and sae stay by the porch until they’re out of sight, with sae still stunned that your niece finally called him uncle for the first time in the three years you’ve acquainted them.

“looks like you’re promoted, uncle sae.” you tease, smirking as he closed the door after you entered. “does this call for a congratulations?”

he rolls his eyes. of course, the ever so teasing you will make a big deal out of it. though, he can’t blame you. he has to admit that it had him a little excited to feel part of your family.

“maybe it does,” he comes forward and gently tugged you close by the waist, “don’t act like i forgot about your promise to me, hermosa.”

chuckling, you wrapped your arms loosely around his neck and teased him with a peck on his lips. “oh, i didn’t.” you leaned closer until your lips hovered by his ear. “and you have permission to do what you want with me for the rest of the night, mi guapo.”

that was all he needed to hear, and you’re in for yet another sleepless night filled with blissful memories.

[dancingbabya-notes]

Their name for you

<-•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•->

Your partner didn’t always call you by the nickname he has for you now, but there was a reason that he started referring to you that way.

Characters: Togata Mirio, Amajiki Tamaki, Shinso Hitoshi, Bakugo Katsuki, Midoriya Izuku, Kaminari Denki, Kirishima Eijiro, Shoji Mezo, Todoroki Shoto

!!!this version is fixed and has the rest of todoroki's part!!!

<-•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•→

Mirio

You simply shook the snow that was covering your wings and quickly melted sending a terrible chill up your spine. “Fuck it’s freezing.”

“Oh, come on L/N, it’s not that cold.” Yuyu laughs as she throws another snowball at your back.

Squeaking when the snow slides down your skin between your wings. “Yuyu!” Your quirk picked up making the immediate section around you colder.

Suddenly someone’s hands were on your shoulders. “Now Birdy, calm down a little bit. If you’re cold I can just keep your warm.”

You nearly shoved your classmate away with your wings, but the bandage that was holding two of the four in splints prevented that. “Mirio, I’d beat you if I could.”

“Awe come on Sunshine, don’t pout.”

Sighing a bit, you lean back into his hold. “Fuck off.”

“That’s my Birdy.”

You quirked a brow. “You know if anyone, but you called me birdy I’d probably get suspended.”

Feeling his chest as he hums you roll your eyes before continuing the walk to class.

Amajiki

“Y/N.” you whip around completely forgetting where you were and the pile of fabric that your classmates had stacked on your head to see how much weight could be put on your head before you stopped working-- which was a lot more than they thought so they stopped mid-way.

Your body teetered as you tried to adjust it, so you sat properly-- not a poor example of a shrimp while you were working on your projects-- and you also fell backward because a lot of the fabric was still attached to the bolts. Before you could fall back into the precariously placed bag of sewing supplies, arms pulled you up, so you were at least on the tips of your feet as Amajiki kept you from sustaining further injury than was allowed.

“Sorry Amajiki,” you chuckle a little bit glancing at the mess behind you. “Damn I could have sworn I told them to clean up everything after they were done.”

“Are you okay Lovely?” His face was red, and he would probably pass out if he didn’t calm down soon.

“Yes, I’m fine, but why the nick name all of a sudden?” you chuckle making sure you had a clear space to stand.

You could just see his head practically burning up from how red he was getting. “ I- I

Smiling, you give him a quick hug. “I like it, Tamaki.”

He stood there for a moment before pulling his tall form into a ball on the ground, incoherent rambling comes out, but you did hear a mention of your name and how he thought lovely suited you which made your ears burn as you tried to busy yourself with cleaning up the mess.

Shinso

He could have been stereotypical and called you “Kitten” or “kitty” but no. You didn’t remember a cat in his eyes, and no matter how much he argued that he was a cat person, your personality was not cat like.

“Puppy, are we out of the cat treats again?” Hitoshi asked one day while you were busy cleaning the bathroom.

You nearly took out the tub spout with the speed with which your head came up, recoiling from impact you fell face first into the cloth you were using to clean the tub. There was no worry about chemical burn you were rinsing the tub which made how you hit the tub spout even more confusing. Hitoshi runs into the bathroom to see what happened and if you were okay.

Although it was a bit strained you managed to speak. “Y-yeah we ran out a few days ago I wrote it on the fridge.”

Shutting off the water and checking the back of your head for any sign of blood Hitoshi groans. “Thats not important are you okay puppy?”

There it was again. You look up at him, eyes big as you point to yourself. “You mean me puppy?”

“Yes, you’re…

He didn’t get a chance to finish his explanation as you ignored the slight throbbing in the back of your head as you practically tackled him to the ground into a hug. Defeated and tired, his hand rubs your back as he doesn’t even bother getting off the still very wet floor, he’d have to take a long bath later and he’d be lucky if you let him have that long before you complained that you wanted his attention again.

“Yup, definitely a puppy.” he sighs, as you hug him a little tighter. It was a wonder you weren’t in any specialized field with how much strength you had, but it was mainly due to working at your family’s pet shelter and being the only one confident enough to handle the more playful dogs.

Bakugo

You’d called your boyfriend many different terms of affection depending on how you were feeling. But he very rarely used one for you. It didn’t matter to you because you knew he showed affection differently.

“Tsuki!” You shout from the second floor of your house, you both decided early on to buy a house and whoever wanted to keep it could not that it mattered he had absolutely no plans of leaving you alone at any time.

When you were met with silence you leaned out of the doorway. “Tsuki!” being a little bit louder.

Thinking that he was wearing headphones or something you were about to scream for him. Only for him to tap you on the shoulder. Nearly jumping from your skin, you leaned a little too far on the banister. His arm catching you before you can fall over.

“I just keep catching you don’t I, happy?”

You nearly narrow your eyes at him, but he just pulls you closer before kissing the top of your head.

“Happiness needs someone to be Happy.” he mumbles.

You smile as you hug him tightly. “We gotta replace the banister now, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do, the hell were you yelling about anyway?” he frowns looking into the room you were just in.

You pull him in and point. “Ah, um… we should probably call an exterminator.”

Midoriya

You roll your eyes as Midoriya was once again showing off during agency training, everyone was doing their best to get stronger and not everyone had the correct conditions to train their quirks-- you included, seeing as every time you tried to train you regenerative quirk you were practically grounded to the school. IT wasn’t like you didn’t understand why he was praised, there was more to it than simply training. But you still found yourself saying: “Congratulations do you want a cookie?”

Midoriya smiles as he pulls you into a tight hug. “Yes, I do Cookie.”

Your heart leapt a bit as he did this, but deciding to be a bit of a menace he bites your cheek. Pushing him away you huff. “That’s not sanitary I’m covered in sweat.”

Suddenly he was pushed off you. “For fucks sake keep your damn hands to yourself.” Bakugo groans as he nudges you a bit too.

Which was a bit of an alarm for you since he was not one to pull his punches with any of them. You grab his arm watching as he seemed to relax a bit. “How long have you been avoiding me Blasty?”

“None of your damn business mind reader.”

“Awe come on, Kacchan, Cookie is as sweet on you as they are on me,” Midoriya pouts a bit as he pushes against Bakugo’s still extended arm.

Bakugo rolls his eyes a bit as he doesn’t budge. “I don’t want any part of your sappy relationship.”

“Are you sure? Puppy would probably be much more excited if you were a part of it,” you tease as you wait for your quirk to stop patching him up.

Kaminari

Bouncing from one foot to the other you hated waiting for Power-loader to allow you into the lab, it wasn’t like you were banned from it you simply were given time limits. With your quirks it was kind of like a cooldown because who knew how dazed you’d be if you spent the entire day using your flame breath. Once allowed inside you zip from one space to another quickly grabbing your things and returning to your earlier tasks. Kaminari, who needed you to recalibrate his disk shooters.

“You look like a little bumblebee buzzing about.” He chuckles.

Pausing in your tracks you look directly at him. “Thank you for the compliment. Now put your disk shooters on my table space so I can start fixing them.”

“Of course, bumblebee,” He beams before getting hit with something.

“No. No.” You frown covering your face, because now your heart was in your ears. Great you’ll have to face the consequences of this later because this idiot decided to say something like that. Making fall a little bit more in love with him.

Hearing a sharp. “L/N!” before trying to clean up the mess you’d just made.

Kirishima

Since you had a harder time with Japanese than you’d like to admit so early on in your relationship you called your friend Kirishima “Edgy” because for some reason his name just made you think that was the right way to say his name on top if his quirk.

“Eiji, where are my extra weights?” It wasn’t uncommon for him to be in your apartment at any moment simply because he enjoyed being in your company.

He looks around. “Uh, I dunno Babe do you think you forgot them?”

“No, I haven’t even used them yet.” You mumble trying to think.

“Baby.”

As you pace around the mini gym you had in your apartment you look for the missing weights.

“Love.”

Not finding them in the closet you cross your arms.

“The light of my life.”

Glaring at the ground you try to wrack your brain for where you could have placed them coming up blank when your face is picked up and squished in a hand that was rather large.

“Rosebud.”

Blinking you look at Eijiro confused as you felt embarrassed for ignoring him this whole time before a sharp smile is in your face.

“You left them by the door rosebud.” he chuckles a bit before planting a kiss on your nose and pulling away.

“You’re the worst you know that right?”

He simply laughs before pulling you into a hug and preparing your face with kisses.

Shoji

Dating was difficult with your quirk. Eyes constantly glued to the ground and never looking at another if you can help yourself. So, when your current partner started referring to you by a pet name you couldn’t help but look up at him. Towering over you small frame as he crossed his arms.

“Stardust when was the last time you took a break?” Mezo wasn’t mad and you knew that, but your head hung down a little bit.

“I can’t remember,” was all you could muster before he plucked you up from your computer chair like he normally would.

Pouting a little bit, it was hard for you to even fathom why he called you this, even as you were being placed on the couch.

As if reading your mind Mezo chuckles as he pulls a blanket from the nearby chair. “I call you stardust because of the performance from school.”

“Huh?”

“Because the first time you really looked up your eyes sparkled like stars.”

You pull the blanket over your head not even wanting to look at him. “Mezo that’s not fair.”

Todoroki

“Sho?” you felt like every time you visited this man, you’d lose him somewhere in the maze that was his childhood home. Not that there were any happy memories left from the large place, but you found that for his other family members sakes he returned.

You were surprised by how accommodating the entire building was, though you had to gently remind yourself that not everyone was the same height as Enji. Not finding the dual quirk user anywhere near where you’d been, you began hunting for him. Because the moment you left without telling him first you could only imagine the problems that would cause and the abuse of money that would start.

As you looked around for your boyfriend you wondered about something for a while now, Shoto had never referred to you by your given name, he’d often tap you or stood behind you-- often giving you a near heart attack when you’d turn and almost smack him with your wing.

“Sho, where are you?” you call out a bit as you kept looking around.

Fuyumi waves as she notices you in the hall. “Oh, y/n I was wondering where were, have you seen Shoto?”

Shaking your head, you sigh. “I was just looking for him so I can let him know I was gonna head home.”

“Huh.” his sister crosses her arms trying to pinpoint where in the house her youngest brother would be.

Before you realize you felt the temperature change behind you seeing your breath a bit. “Oh there you are Sho.”

He pulls you into a hug and from how tight his hands were against you there much be something wrong.

“Hey? Do you need me to stay the night?” you ask as you try to hug him back.

He nods against your shoulder, and his hold gets tighter.

Fuyumi waves a bit. “I’ll make you some extra dinner let me know if anything changes.”

Nodding a bit you follow Shoto as he pulls you along his grip on your hand as if the moment he let go you’d disappear, but he wasn’t dragging you. Once you got to his room you sit down and hold your arms open for him to cuddle into you. Your wings going up to kind of create a slight separation between the two of you and the rest of the world.

“My love you’ll never leave me right?” he whispers.

You look down at him and hug him tightly. “Did you have a bad dream?”

He nods.

“Of course as long as you want me next to you I will never leave,” you state.

“Thank you my love.” He states.

Chuckling a bit you rub his back to sooth him a little bit. “Is that your name for me now?”

“Yes because you are my love.”

[goldencithaerias]

Young Silco x Reader - Modern School AU (not proofread but the Silco brainrot is too real to ignore <333)

CW: SFW, tad bit suggestive near the end.

You two were classmates in high school; one shitty group project together where only the two of you were doing the work was all it took for you and Silco to bond together, mainly from talking shit about the other kids in your group who didn’t do anything.

You visit his house almost every Friday after school, mostly alongside Vander and the two younger siblings down the block. Sometimes, Powder would get you to play house with her, and she’d always coincidentally make you and Silco the parents.

It was awkward at first, but you were too fond of the little prodigy to deny her the joy of seeing you and your friend hold hands.

When it’s just the two of you in his somewhat rundown room, however, it’s much more intimate, in a sense. Just two teenagers geeking off about their hobbies and theories for the upcoming episodes on the show you both were illegally watching off of some shady website.

You had accidentally turned those short hangouts into sleepovers on multiple occasions, having fallen asleep on his bed after spending too many hours yapping about the rumored messy breakup between the class president and vice president. Silco isn’t too keen on sharing his personal space, but he never had the heart to wake you up.

Other times, it’d just be the two of you falling asleep together on the couch while watching Mean Girls, stacked on top of one another like pancakes with abs.

(Vander took a picture once and teased him about it later the next morning, and suddenly Silco was very interested in creating pillow forts between the two of you whenever you went over to continue watching Dexter. Said pillow forts never worked in separating you from his arms, unfortunately.)

During the summer of junior year, after successfully obtaining your driver's license, you drove the group downtown to an arcade you used to frequent as a child.

Powder beat the absolute shit out of everyone at Target Terror, and Vi got an all-time new high score that caused the boxer machine to almost malfunction. Vander managed to talk the staff out of kicking all of you out after that incident.

You tried out the claw machines after a cute whale shark plushie caught your eye, but ultimately failed to obtain the thing (since all claw machines are nothing but scams.) Silco saw how disappointed you were, and attempted at said claw machine, before being let down as well from his failures.

(He bought you a shark keychain for your car keys a week later. Said it was a congratulatory gift and definitely not because seeing you mopey and sad tugged at his heartstrings in a bad way.)

Silco invited you to homecoming during your senior year. It wasn’t a straight-up confession, but honestly, people were surprised that you idiots aren’t already dating in the first place.

You showed up, of course. Seeing Silco without his iconic side bang was sad, but you’d be lying if you said him with slicked-back hair wasn’t hot as hell.

The two of you spent approximately twenty minutes in the poorly decorated cafeteria room before sneaking off somewhere else. Ended up sloppily making out in the bathroom before you got caught by some poor freshman.

You giggled like a maniac during the entirety of the drive home, while he cringed and grumble for you to shut up. You continued said messy make-out session the moment your foot went past his bedroom door.

Definitely let you wear his jacket during the school day!!! Even if your styles were opposites or otherwise, he’d always leave his cherished leather coat inside your locker first thing in the morning. It smells a whole lot like ink and newspaper.

Silco isn’t the best with PDA, nor is he comfortable showcasing his affection for you or vice versa in any public space, period. Even around your little group, the most he’d do is hold your hands, and even so it is kept to a minimum.

In the privacy of his or your room, however? Better be prepared for a shower of kisses and gentle caresses all over your body.

A forehead kiss a day keeps the sadness away, they say.

[psychocitywrites]

Hard Truths - II

Summary: Rafe Cameron has everything a man would want. Now he’s looking to settle down. He thinks he’s found the one that checks all the boxes, except she’s not you.

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

A couple days had passed since he went to the gala. Rafe was sitting in his office thinking about his first and last interaction with Heather Hayworth.

Rafe grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter to go meet with Heather. He thought about what he would do the moment you would introduce them to Heather. He’d be a gentleman and offer her a glass. Then, he would talk to her and get on her good side.

He’d done it a million times before with other girls. They always ate the attention he’d give them.

When they finally got to Heather, you’d introduced both him and Kelce as former classmates of yours.

“I used to help Kelce with his math homework, and Rafe was the person I looked up to the most when I lived at the Outer Bank.”

Well, that was a surprise. He hadn’t expected you to describe him that way to Heather, but he was thankful anyway.

Hearing your short introduction, his heart beat a little faster, yet he thought it was because he was finally meeting Heather.

She seemed to like that, so she smiled at them.

But when he asked if she wanted a glass, she asked “Is the champagne? I’m sorry, I can’t have any.”

Okay, no big deal.

“But y/n can.” She took a glass and passed it along to you.

Kelce snickered at him. You looked unsure whether to accept that wasn’t offered directly to you, but you did anyway.

“Miss Hayworth means well. It’s just her personal belief that her body is her temple, so she tries to avoid toxic drinks and food.” You whispered before Kelce took you attention away.

 “It’s no worries. It’s my fault for assuming.” Rafe frowned. He’d wished he’d known before he made a fool of himself.

“Miss Hayworth, I’m Rafe Cameron from Cameron Developments.” With that, she seemed to look at him up and down, checking him out.

“Mr. Cameron. I believe you’re in charge of the Hayworth Hotels expansion in North Carolina. I’m pleased to meet you.” She stuck her hand out for him.

Rafe took it and kissed the back of her hand. “Please, call me Rafe. Mr. Cameron is my father.”

“Well, if that’s the case, call me Heather.”

He took that as a good sign. “Alright then Heather, will you be coming to North Carolina to oversee the project?”

“Yes, I’ll be stepping in for my father. Hope that’s alright with you if you can show me around a bit. Maybe we can even have a good time.” She was straightforward. He liked that.

Rafe smirked as he said, “How about we start off with some coffee? Or tea? If that’s your thing. I know a good place -”

“Are you talking about Cloud Café? Man, we should totally go. They got amazing croissants. You’re coming too? Right, y/n?” Kelce asked.

“Um-” You looked at Rafe not sure if it was an open invitation for more people, but before you could answer, Heather took the initiative.

“She’s free. We can all go. I’d like to hear more about you from your friends.”

Heather reached into her bag and grabbed her business card. “Here’s my number. Text me the info. When and where.”  

With that, she winked before someone else called her over and she disappeared with you.

---

And he did text her. Now, he’s just waiting for his time at work to end. Technically he could leave whenever, but Ward hated when he did, so he tried to stick it out until then.

His thoughts were interrupted by Topper walking in in holding a stack of papers.

“So I heard from Kelce y’all are going on a double date. How come whenever I ask, I get blown off?”

“First of all, it’s not a date. And second of all, because he never dated Sarah and Ruthie can’t keep her mouth shut for five minutes.”

“Ya got me there.” Topper laughed putting the papers down to put both his hands up. “Which reminds me, Ruthie also told me you’re going with Heather Hayworth. How’d you managed to even to snag someone like her?”

“A friend of a friend.” Not really wanting to talk to Topper about you.

Topper narrowed his eyes. “Well, besides me, you have Kelce, possibly Barry but I don’t see how he’d have the connections, so I’d put my money that it was Kelce that set this thing up. Wait-” he groaned.

“Was it really Kelce? Cause if it was, I owe him fifty.”

“Kelce didn’t introduce us, He wasn’t even supposed to come, but he invited himself anyway.”

“-and his date.” Topper concluded.

“She’s not his fuckin’ date.” That annoyed Rafe.

“Who’d he invite anyway?”

Rafe sighed. “Do you remember y/n? We went to Kildare High together. She’s Heather’s assistant.”

“Oh shit man! Dude you’ve got a golden goose egg right there!” Topper exclaimed. Rafe looked at him confused.

Topper, seeing his expression, went on to say, “Who knows Heather better than her assistant? No one. She knows her schedule and routine. What she likes to eat. To drink. If you’re serious about wanting to get married. You’ve got a golden opportunity to use for your advantage.”

He’d then remembered Kelce’s words. “Maybe she can help you shoot your shot.”

“Come on man, get serious.”

“I am serious. What girl doesn’t like romance. Y/n would probably say yes. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to try.”

The alarm on Rafe’s phone interrupted their conversation. Rafe grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone before sliding out the door.

“Look Top, I’ll think about it. I gotta go.”

“Well if it works, invite me to your future wedding!”

---

Rafe arrived at the café fifteen minutes early. He heard a bell ring as he stepped inside and made sure to find a table only for two, not wanting his time with Heather to be interrupted with Kelce and you.

As he was sitting down scrolling through his phone, Heather’s name popped up, indicating a call. When he picked up, Heather was apologizing profusely.

“Hey Rafe, I am so, so, so sorry. I’d rather you hear this from me, but I’m stuck in a meeting. I sent y/n home already, so maybe you and Kelce can still hang. Okay? Bye.”

She hung up before he could say anything.

What the fuck?

He decided he was just going to text Kelce and go back to his apartment, but as he was about the hit send, Kelce texted him first.

Kelce: Dude Kelce: Do you have y/n’s number? Rafe: No, why? Kelce: Bc I forgot to ask for it Kelce: Don’t hat me Kelce: Hate* Kelce: I can’t make it :(( Rafe: And that’s my problem why? Kelce: Bc I need YOU to let her know I can’t make it. DUH

Fuck this.

Rafe called Kelce. “Kelce, what the fuck are you talkin’ about? You can’t make it? Now I gotta let her know that?”

“I’m sorry okay? My parents need my help. Something came up-” “Kelce get off the phone!” “Shit! Man, I really gotta go!”

“Kelce? Kelce? Jesus fuckin’ Christ Kelce.” Rafe muttered to himself as he stared at his phone.

Just then, he heard the bell ring, looked up and saw you enter. You walked in wearing a casual dress, the complete opposite of what Rafe was wearing, dressed in his best suit as he came right after work.

He sighed, feeling bad he had to break the news that both Heather and Kelce had canceled.

Fuck my life.

---

You’d actually gotten there with some time to spare.

You knew that Heather had been looking forward to just hang out with Rafe by herself, so she gave you two tickets to go to the Museum of Art with Kelce. However, when you just saw Rafe walking up to you, you would’ve never expected what he’d say.

“Heather called. She said she couldn’t get out of her meeting, and Kelce had something come up. So it looks like it’s just us.”

“Oh. Um- well,”

“What?” he asked.

“I-it’s just I know you’re just here for Miss Hayworth. You don’t have to stay.” You stammered.

He frowned as you said that, but he didn’t deny it.

“What makes you say that?” He asked instead. You gave him a look.

“Come on, everyone prefers her. Look at her. She’s beautiful, rich, put together, what more could you want?”

He stared at you. “You’re pretty too, ya know.”

You shyly looked down at what you were wearing, a light blue colored flowy sundress. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” He broke a smile at your response.

Feeling awkward, you began to walk back to the exit with Rafe following shortly after.

“Do you need a ride? I can give you one.” He offered.

“Actually, Heather gave me these art museum tickets. It’s only valid for today, so I was just going to walk there.”

You pulled the tickets from your purse. Rafe noticed the second one.

“Were you gonna go with Kelce?” You nodded.

“I’ve never been before.” He responded as rubbed the back of his neck. Why’d I just say that?

It was true though. Ward never let him go to these types of places, claiming it would be a distraction from what was more important: the company.

Instead of making a big deal out of it, you grabbed his hand to put one of the tickets in his palm.

“It’s your lucky day today. I need a companion. It makes it more fun.” You smiled.

Rafe had never had this happen before. He’s usually the one in control. Planning dates, buying gifts, and taking the lead. He could feel his heart thumping through his chest, but he thought it was just his nerves.

“Unless…it’s not really your thing.”

“No! I mean yes!” he shouted.

“What I mean to say is that I’ll go, if it’s fine with you.” He didn’t know why he was so nervous.

You beamed and nodded, and his heart leaped.

“Of course it is, Rafe.”

You reached out his hand, intending to shake it, but when Rafe’s hands covered yours, he interlocked your fingers and began walking beside you.

He made sure the match your stride. Not walking too fast because of his long legs, and he found that he really liked that the feeling of being with you. It was just Rafe and you. Together.             

next

taglist: @lolabunnyworldss @drunkinthemiddleoftheday

[interclover]

YAHHH THEY'RE FINALLY HERE!! My gijinkas for the BFDIA final 7 :D I've been working on them since december, hence why nickel is there xD I'm so proud of how they've turned out

More yapping about my designs under the cut!!

BOOK:

I wanted her to clash with Pencil's design (which, originally, was going to be here, but once she got eliminated I decided to erase it LOL it also didn't help the fact that she's one of my least favourite characters) (but you can picture your typical white mean girl). She's awkward and typically reserved, in contrast with Pencil, Match, Ruby and Bubble's extroversion. I think I made a good job at expressing that.

Plus, her fashion sense is more old-fashioned and formal, since I associate libraries and books with the past (it's also a nice contrast to the rest of freesmart, who dabble in 2000s (sub)cultures, with Pencil and Match fitting into the popular girl stereotype and Ruby being scene (in my hcs)).

Her blazer is a nod to those book covers!!

Square shapes everywhere

This is a bit of me projecting, but I also didn't want to make her too feminine :p not only bc she's not perceived as "pretty" enough to be a full-on member of Freesmart, but also because I'm enby and Book is enby because I kin her. Sorry/j.

NEEDLE:

South-korean needle realness

She's BUFF. I wanted her to keep an overall needle-like body shape, while still being stacked. This is the first time I studied muscle references, and it paid off.

We can see her running around and doing risky things a lot in the show, so I think she got some bruises from that.

Also, I wanted to give her an outfit that was as practical as possible while still being fashionable. I still have my doubts about the boob window, but I believe it turned out alright! Pencil would obviously pick someone pretty with a good sense of fashion.

Lots of needle motifs (bangs, earring, body shape, hairstyle)

PIN:

She's sharp and pointy! Hence the piercings

She has lots of freckles in her body, covered at all times by her jacket and tights.

In my hcs, instead of losing their limbs, contestants lose their mobility in said areas. Mainly because I didn't know how to potray when they regained them. The batteries in Pin's wheelchair fuel her arms as well, and they're connected by wires (which. i just realised. I forgot. well.), able to transmit electricity without harming her to the metal armor she wields. Think of it as a mecha suit!!

Matching necklaces with Coiny #coinpincanon

I wanted her to have an intimidating outfit as well, mostly reflecting how, outside her harsh exterior, she's trying to become a better person.

COINY:

Probably the gijinka that went through the most redesigns. I had to look up inspiration for this one, since every Coiny gijinka I drew left me severely unsatisfied: they either looked too much like other people's gijinkas or to the rest of the male cast. In the end, I'm really happy about his design! I managed to stray away from my other designs while still retaining his personality.

Again, matching necklaces with pin :3

The bandana is meant to reflect a coin's glow. This is one of my favourite details and I didn't even realise it until I got to shading.

He's latino!! I still have to think about most of my designs' nacionalities, but he's latino for sure.

Round body shape and many coin motifs :3 I hc him to be alternative. Even though that doesn't entirely come across in his design, he made his accessories himself (diy king) and he enjoys nu-metal music.

NICKEL:

He was the first one to be drawn, I hope you can't realise that 😭 my style changed so much what

He's, overall, just a silly guy! A goober. Full of whimsy and joy

Since I hc II Nickel and BFDI Nickel as relatives (still unsure of making them twins or cousins), and I had designed my II Nickel WAYYY before I began this, I knew I had to give them a similar build. In comparison to his II counterpart, BFDI Nickel is a bit more chubbier, with more round shapes to represent his happy-go-lucky personality.

He has prosthetic arms!! I settled on giving every metallic or scientist armless character a pair of prosthetics :p it seemed cool ok.

He'd have some freckles, too, as well as beauty spots :3

I'm going to be fully honest, I gave him that outfit because I have the same shirt and I thought he'd like baggy pants JSHDKJH he got the favourite treatment.

TENNIS BALL:

Not much to say here, his design is pretty straightforward. Fluffy hair because tennis balls are fluffy, plus sized and tall because tennis balls are big. Yeah

He'd put his hair up in difficult challenges or when he's researching/studying/inventing something, though.

The suspenders came to me in a vision (that one Matt Bellamy outfit)

Golf ball pin!! #duo

FRIES:

Underpaid fast-food employee, who got tired of so much bullshit and decided to become an unstoppable menace.

He's afro-american :p

The turtleneck also came to me in a vision (I hate jimbalaya mouthwashing. However, it fits Fries nicely).

And that's all! Massive thank you if you decided to read all of this :D I appreciate it a lot!!/gen

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Doctor Who, but Chronologically: 54

One year later! We move from 2005 to 2006, but accidentally - Eccleston and Rose are back, but they only intended to be gone 12 hours. Instead, it's been 12 months. This means Rose has been missing for a year, with a nationwide manhunt searching for her and poor Mickey her presumed murderer - we find out almost like a horror reveal, as Rose breezily announces she's home, and Jackie embraces her like she's seen a ghost, and over her shoulder Rose sees stacks and stacks of Missing Person posters with her own face.

And I'll be honest! I do not rate Camille Coduri as an actor. I do not think she's really up to the emotional weight of "frantic mother finally reunited with her missing daughter." But nonetheless, she absolutely nails one of those scenes; after the initial tears, and then the initial anger, during all of which Rose can only say that she's been "travelling", they have a more muted, poignant moment in the kitchen.

"What kills me, Rose," she says, tearfully, "is that you still can't say where you were. What happened to you? What could be so bad that you still won't tell me? Where were you, sweetheart?"

It's SO SO good. SO good.

And of course! Rose cannot say. She and the Doctor retreat to the roof.

"I can't tell her I've been to the year Five Billion," says Rose, giving us a treat to look forward to presumably at the end of this project. "I can't do this to her again."

"She's not coming with us," the Doctor says.

(They have great Best Mate vibes by now. Clearly, a lot has happened for them since last episode! Which, of course, we've seen a bit - they fought ghosts in Victorian London.)

And then an alien spaceship crashes into Big Ben.

This kicks off the plot! While Rose is apologising to everyone she knows at Jackie's Aliens Have Landed Watch Party, the Doctor gives her a key to the TARDIS and then goes to check out the possible First Contact. It has been taken to Albion Hospital, which is the hospital from the Empty Child! Hooray! We know this one. It turns out to be a sort-of cute pig whose brain has been hardwired to make it walk a bit like a human. It's dead, but then it wakes up (probably them nanites again) and tries to run away before it gets shot by an army man - the Doctor is furious at this, because it was clearly just scared. Poor pig. Meanwhile, in Tredegar House Downing Street a bunch of politicians assemble because no one can find the Prime Minister, and into this steps Harriet Jones, MP for Flydale North. She is played to perfection by Penelope Wilton (FUN FACT back in the 80s she was approached to play the Lady in Silver Nemesis), and amongst the alien landings she really wants to get her proposed bill for cottage hospitals read, and can't understand why no one wants to make time for it.

"I know I'm hardly one of the babes," she says at one point, which I think confirms that the Prime Minister is Dead Tony Blair. At another, she manages to talk to the new Acting PM, and starts describing her mother's care home.

"BY THE SAINTS, WOMAN, HAVE SOME PERSPECTIVE" he bellows.

She ends up hiding in a cupboard in hopes of adding her bill, but this means she actually views what's really going on - the politicians are secretly the real aliens! Uh oh! They are killing important people and then wearing their skin suits. Gross. A quirk of this that has aged quite badly is that this means all Secret Aliens have to be fat, because they have bigger skins, so we're unfortunately left to be suspicious of fat people. I think they perhaps should have thought through those implications a little more, especially given that another indicator for the audience is excessive farting.

Anyway, the Doctor returns to Rose, but therefore materialises the TARDIS in front of Mickey and Jackie. Mickey already knew this. Jackie, by contrast, reacts as well as you'd expect and calls an alien hotline to report him. This gets us a super fun segment where the words "the Doctor" and "TARDIS" flag up on the government system (and yet this did not work for Rose's google session last ep smdh), triggering a red alert; many people with guns come and whisk the Doctor and Rose away to Tredegar House Downing Street.

"But why?" Rose asks in their limo.

"Over the years I've made a name for myself," explains the Doctor, "and now, who's the greatest expert on alien life?"

"Patrick Moore?"

"OTHER THAN HIM."

God they're fun.

But, on arrival, only the Doctor is allowed into the war room. Harriet Jones manages to grab Rose, and spills her traumatic afternoon. Meanwhile, the Doctor realises the plot!

"The pig's not a diversion," he says. "It's a trap."

It's a GREAT line. And he's right - if every expert on aliens is in one room, they can all be taken out in one go. This takes us to the final cliffhanger: the Doctor and other experts are being electrocuted by their ID cards as two aliens gloat over them, Harriet and Rose and a staffer find Tony Blair dead in a cupboard and then get menaced by an alien, and a policemen in Jackie's flat starts menacing her in her kitchen.

At this point, I must talk about the aliens.

Reader I was unimpressed by these fuckers back in 2005 when I watched it the first time, and they have of course not aged very amazingly, unfortunately. They are called the Slitheen and they have deeply stupid hands. Each finger has a non-retractable claw about a foot long. There is simply no way they would be capable of the advanced technology we're told they are. It's like if humans tried to do brain surgery using only these bad boys:

Also. I don't judge them for this - RTD was still working out tone, and was throwing things at the wall to see what would stick, and it is a children's show when all's said and done. But the constant "teehee farting" concept Is Not For Me, Bestie.

HOWEVER I applaud the physical costumes and puppet work ANYWAY

Someone graffiti'd the words Bad Wolf on the TARDIS... I wonder what that means?

QUESTIONS:

“She” (an unknown person) is returning (Suspects: River, Missy, Me, Clara)

There is something on Donna’s back

An entire planet, Pyrovilia, just… disappeared, somehow. (Maybe because the TARDIS is exploding??? Saturnine was also lost, and that WAS because of the TARDIS exploding. The lion man’s planet was also lost but he was a bit of a knob about it if I’m honest. The Thijarian planet was destroyed by some sort of impact). Is this the Flux?

The TARDIS is sort of melting because it’s corrupted, but it’s fine again. NOPE, back to not working.

The Doctor has employed(?) Nardole

(And Nardole was “reassembled???” Nardole had glass nipples and invisible hair?? He used to be blue, and could apparently go back to it??? He’s some sort of helplessly criminal con-artist??? WHAT THE FUCK IS HE)

There’s an immortal Viking girl now. Her name is Me and she’s now looking after the people the Doctor abandons

Why was Rory entirely unconcerned by the entire world suddenly going silent when that is Not Normal and should have been, at the very least, extremely disconcerting?

What did the Doctor do to Queen Lizzie One?

Why is Amy seeing a one-eyed woman in a vanishing window? (She’s with the Silents, but we don’t know why Amy saw her)

Why is Amy’s pregnancy inconclusive? (Maybe because the baby had Time Lord DNA?) She’s deffo pregnant and the baby becomes River, but why inconclusive?

Who is Sarah-Jane Smith?

How is the Doctor Bill’s teacher and why/where does he have an office?

What is going on with the Cyber War and the Cyberium???

What happened with the Other Cyber War? Were either of these Cyber wars affected by the Doctor blowing them up with Nemesis?

What happened with the Third War that deleted the void?

Why does Rose seem particularly important?

What order do these Doctors go in? (Eccleston, Tennant, uncertain, Smith, Capaldi, Whittaker)

Which companion just… forgot the Doctor, and how?

Yaz and Vinder are about to die as Mori/Mwri/Muuri (Not anymore, somehow)

There is a Lupari shield around Earth.

What’s a Time War? Did this destroy the Doctor’s planet and/or family? Did this destroy the Auton world?

What’s the Rift?

What’s Bad Wolf? Gwyneth saw “the Big Bad Wolf” in Rose’s mind, and it was on a 1987 poster as graffiti. NEW INFO: It was graffiti on the TARDIS!

In which war did the Doctor become a war criminal, and how?

Is Rory plastic or not? Yeah, must be, he couldn’t possibly remember being plastic otherwise

Why is the Doctor sulking on a cloud?

How exactly does the Doctor have a cloud?

What exactly happened with Strax to, uh, tame him?

Which friend killed Strax?

Which friend brought Strax back?

Where did this lesbian lizard and human couple come from?

What happened with Clara as Souffle Girl and the Daleks?

How does Clara actually join?

Why so many Claras? A psychic midwife says she’s just normal human

Why is Missy apparently in robo-heaven? Is this because she’s now dead?

Why is probably!Missy pushing Clara and the Doctor together?

What is Trensilor and what happened there?

Who is Handles?

The Doctor is about to be dissolved by a beautiful geode man

The universe is being crushed by the Flux

Will the Doctor open the fobwatch? Is it actually just a pager?

Sontarans are invading Earth again

Who is Kate?

Who is Osgood? Another name of Clara’s again?

The fuck is the deal with the Grand Serpent

Does Martha get to go to an ice cream planet with 12-fingered massage aliens?

How did the Doctor forget Clara?

Who is Bill’s puddle girlfriend Heather? This is presumably the star-eyed water faerie

How did Nardole die?

When does the Doctor shrink and enter a Dalek called Rusty?

Whittaker is falling to her death rn

Was that ring relevant?

Does anyone know the Doctor’s name? Missy says it’s “Who”

When did Yaz talk to Dan about fancying the Doctor?

When did Dan talk to the Doctor about fancying Yaz?

What’s happening with the bees?

What happened with Donna’s ex and a giant spider?

What war wiped out the Daleks, and is it one of the ones already mentioned?

What did the Doctor mean when he said “The (Daleks) always live, while I lose everything?”

If Dalek Caan is the last Dalek left why are there more now?

How did the rest of the Time Lords die?

How and why did Amy melt?

What’s the question that will make silence fall?

Why do the Silents… want silence to fall?

How and why are Silents at war with the Doctor when he… hasn’t even heard of them?

How does Hitler get out of the cupboard?

What’s the significance of fish fingers and custard?

Why does the Doctor feel guilt about Rose, Martha and Donna?

What happened with the space whale?

How does the Doctor survive River? He doesn’t, apparently

How does he erase himself from history

Did Captain Jack lose his memories to the same people as the Doctor? What did he lose?

When did the Doctor send the Daleks into a void to save the universe?

Why do Amy and Rory think the Doctor is dead? Is it because of River as an astronaut?

Is Matt Smith’s Doctor a tree racist?

Why is the beautiful geode woman stealing people into a Passenger form?

River says she’ll die one day when the Doctor doesn’t remember her, let’s hope she doesn’t mean it

Why doesn’t the TARDIS like Clara?

When was the Master Prime Minister?

How do Amy and Rory rejoin the Doctor given that they haven’t died yet in 1950s Manhattan?

Looking forward patiently to the year Five Billion :)

[liketwoswansinbalance]

What would you do if you knew you couldn't fall??

Did you mean "fail?" Unless you meant literally falling, I will answer as if you wrote "fail." You can correct me if that is the wrong interpretation, and I could answer the question again.

Assign first-class experts to solve the world's problems... so I wouldn't have to do it all—assuming the technicality is that I start the projects, then they probably would not fail. Would that loophole work? (Realistically, if it didn't work, I don't think I'd actually be altruistic enough to do all that...) Would I have to see the projects through to completion? That's quite a lot of work. But doing this would likely mean I will probably have a clean conscience for the rest of my life, ideally, because, I know I should if I had the power to do so.

In relation to #1, even if this is non-necessary, also assign people to figure out if there's life on other planets. I just want to know. Don't need to contact whatever is out there—I don't want anything to go wrong. I'd just want to possibly spy on them for a little while. The problem is: spying is unethical, so I'd have to convince myself that I'm either doing it for cautionary reasons or as a longitudinal, naturalistic "study." This could be a pandora's jar, so I might take it off the list.

Cure stupidity and herd mentality. (Curing all physical ailments is built into no. 1 already.) Or better yet, get someone else to do it. (At the same time, we could argue that these qualities are part of being human or flawed, and that we shouldn't tamper with our human-ness. In which case, just no. Also, we would lose part of our former connection to literature, pre-cure. For instance, we would no longer comprehend the meaning of the trope: "love causes poor judgment." So, would it be worth it? Even if the world were terraformed and otherwise reshaped in more metaphorical ways to be "perfect," I think we would still manage to invent new problems because it's what we've always done as a species. Thus, there needs to be a reasonable stopping point. And, I'm not sure what that point is, meaning several other items on this list might have to be struck out.)

Have the world's politicians be... better somehow? Ensure they are sane and moral, that they trust science, are scientifically-literate... I feel, perhaps, like we might get better results if we chose science-fiction writers, particularly those who've managed to predict our present and know how to do social commentary. They seem to be aware of and actually care about the state of humanity. (I'm not really well-informed enough to make any decisions, but I know well enough that the world needs people of varied knowledge and skillsets to continue on. So, I'm not completely, intentionally trying to valorize only what I'm interested in. I'm just biased like any other human being is.)

Delegate everything I don't like doing to competent people (like cooking), and reap the benefits of the exact outcomes I'd want every time. If they were successful, I'd never have a problem with dust and no one would ever move my stacks of books and paper, which often collect dust.

Turn myself immortal and gain eternal youth. (This should probably be item no. 1 on the list, actually, to account for how long the first few tasks could potentially take.) Then use those means on others who would want it done. If it's someone I don't like, I could still let them become immortal, and would just tell them after this favor not to cross paths with me again. I would also try to convince anyone I want to keep around to stay.

No. 6 would attract too much publicity. I'd need a way to continue being relatively anonymous, except for what I would selectively want to be recognized for. (If I couldn't fail at it, I'd love to become the next "Shakespeare" or some kind of literary giant... and maybe then have the world forget about me... and be rediscovered and reinterpreted by future generations who use my original and/or revolutionary works as required reading in their syllabi. That'd be striking and cool. I'm not sure how I would stop suffering from belatedness though.)

Find a way to never sleep, never eat, never exercise, and not experience cognitive decline. I would only do the ones I like doing.

Find a way to resurrect people from the dead. (I already know this has too much margin for catastrophe, so there would have to be restrictions on what can and cannot be done. At the same time, I am also aware this would violate nature, so it might have to be removed from the list. Who am I to decree the rules?)

I haven't addressed religion yet. I'd have to find some way to alleviate my guilt, but that's more of a temporary fix and not a real solution. I'd have to find some way to remain a mostly good or at least harmless person, assuming I'm mostly one now. If there's no reason for anyone, any force, or anything to object to my existence, I would hope I would be allowed to continue on with my plans.

If there were some way to affirm what I think my personal beliefs are, that would be great. At the same time, that defeats the point of faith, and so, I'm not sure what to do about this dilemma.

Learn everything I want to learn now that I have infinite time to learn it (and infinite time to procrastinate).

Consume all the media I want to consume and also never miss new installments or works of art because I wouldn't be outlived by creators.

Become some kind of successful writer. I mentioned this before, but to specify: maybe a novelist or maybe an academic critic—why not both?! Sky's the limit!

Eventually, if I could never fail, I might wonder about whether anything could ever be a challenge or worth doing anymore. (Doubt that will happen since I have a fear of failure anyway—and being cured of it would be a wonderful reality to live in!)

And so, I could want to die eventually. (Again, highly doubt that will happen.)

In case: It's not my top priority, but: study philosophy, so I don't become corrupt, apathetic, or suicidal since I know things can happen to the human psyche after too long.

If no. 1 didn't happen, and humans were faced with climate change as well as other problems, then I would want to die before the planet were barren and ruined, so I wouldn't have to live under dystopian conditions.

Some of the above might not happen because I may procrastinate too much. That would suggest that the revised item no. 1 should be: conquer procrastination once and for all, and only then proceed in a rough order.

[bingbongsupremacy]

Library MeetCute

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Hinted Plus!Sizereader

Warning: Y/N use, mentions reader being plus size but not heavily expanded upon

Summary: You're artsy and chubby. All you were trying to do is study in the library. Why does Steve want to sit with you? Will something come from this?

*Not Proof Read*

□□□□□□□□

The library smells like dust and old paper, one of your favorite scents in the world. It’s a quiet sanctuary away from the gray, drizzly Hawkins day outside, and you’ve taken over a corner table with your research. Stacks of books surround you: art theory, nature photography, and one random volume on the history of Indiana for inspiration. Your sketchpad lies open, a pencil resting between its pages as you mull over ideas for the mural you’ve been commissioned to paint at the park near the middle school.

You adjust in your chair, feeling the fabric of your favorite oversized sweater shift against your skin. It’s one of those pieces of clothing that makes you feel good—soft, comforting, and paired perfectly with your black leggings. You tug at the hem instinctively, more out of habit than self-consciousness.

“Uh, excuse me?”

The voice catches you off guard. You glance up and freeze. Standing there, holding a slightly battered book, is none other than Steve Harrington.

You know him, of course. Everyone in Hawkins does. Former King of Hawkins High, current co-manager of Family Video, and resident heartthrob—even if his popularity has taken on a more grounded, approachable vibe over the years. He looks… well, a little frazzled. His hair, that famous Harrington mane, is still artfully messy, and his jeans are just tight enough to hint at his athletic frame. But there’s something in his expression—a mix of sheepishness and determination—that makes you blink.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asks, gesturing to the chair across from you. His voice is casual, but there’s a politeness in it you don’t expect.

“Uh… sure. Go ahead,” you say, scooping up your pencil and pulling your books closer to make room.

“Thanks,” he says, sliding into the chair. He sets the book down—a DIY guide to car repair—and glances at you briefly before flipping it open.

You try to go back to your sketchpad, but it’s impossible. Steve Harrington is sitting across from you, and your brain won’t stop supplying unhelpful commentary. What’s he doing in a library? Doesn’t he have better places to be? And why does he look like he’s actually trying to read that book?

After a few minutes, he clears his throat, looking up. “So… what’s all this?” He gestures to your table, his tone genuinely curious.

You glance at the mess of books, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness. “Oh, uh, it’s for a mural project. I’m painting something for the park, and I’m trying to come up with ideas.”

His eyebrows lift, and a smile tugs at his lips. “That’s awesome. I didn’t know Hawkins had stuff like that.”

“It doesn’t, usually,” you admit with a shrug. “It’s just something I’m doing to brighten the place up a little. It’s… not exactly a thriving metropolis.”

Steve chuckles at that, a sound that’s warm and surprisingly disarming. “Yeah, no kidding. Good for you, though. Hawkins could use some color.”

For a moment, you let yourself feel proud. He means it—you can tell from his tone.

“What about you?” you ask, nodding toward his book. “Fixing up a car?”

“Trying to,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “The Beemer’s been acting up, and, uh… mechanics are expensive. Figured I’d give it a shot myself.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “That’s impressive. Most people wouldn’t even bother.”

He laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, well, desperation’s a hell of a motivator. I’ll probably break it even more, knowing my luck.”

You smile, relaxing a little. He’s not what you expected. Not at all.

The rain picks up outside, a steady drumming against the windows. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and you glance at the clock, realizing how much time has passed.

“Great,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone. “Didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“Same here,” Steve says, glancing at the rain. Then, as if on cue, he looks back at you with an idea forming on his face. “Hey, I could give you a ride. You know, if you don’t mind waiting for me to figure out my car situation first.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “You’d do that?”

“Yeah, why not?” He grins, boyish and easy. “Can’t let you walk home in this.”

Your instinct is to say no. After all, you’re you—curvy, artsy, and quieter than most—and he’s Steve Harrington. You’ve never been the type to attract someone like him. But he’s offering, and the sincerity in his voice makes you pause.

“Okay,” you say finally. “Thanks.”

Somehow, Steve’s car starts without much trouble. The leather seat creaks under you as you settle in, acutely aware of how much space you take up compared to his lanky frame. He doesn’t seem to notice, though.

“So,” he says as he pulls onto the road, “what’s the mural gonna be?”

You explain your vision—a vibrant scene of local nature, full of life and color. You talk about wanting to inspire the kids who play at the park, giving them something to look at that feels magical.

“That’s really cool,” he says, his voice full of genuine admiration. “If you ever need help, let me know. I’m not great with art, but I can hold a paintbrush.”

You laugh softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The conversation flows easily after that, and by the time he pulls up to your apartment, you’ve forgotten to feel awkward.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, turning to him with a small smile. “And for not making it weird.”

He grins, leaning one arm against the steering wheel. “Weird? Me? Never.”

You laugh again, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the heater. As you step out of the car, he calls after you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice softer. “If you ever want to hang out—or need more help with the mural—just let me know, okay?”

You nod, your cheeks warm despite the chilly rain. “I will. Thanks, Steve.”

As you walk up to your building, you can’t help but smile to yourself. Maybe today wasn’t so gray after all.