#destin-web-design

[vdxmarketing]

Top Destin Web Design & SEO Company Helping You Gain More Time

https://vdxmarketing.com/ - VDX Marketing is your freedom-focused digital growth partner in Destin, FL. As a leading Destin Web Design and SEO company, we create automated systems with CRM integration that turn your website into a 24/7 lead-generating machine. Say goodbye to manual follow-ups and hello to a smarter way of growing your business. Trusted by local businesses for delivering real results.

[jobyoda-philippines]

Exploring Career and Job Opportunities in Davao City Philippines

Davao City, recognized as one of the Philippines' most progressive cities, continues to experience remarkable economic growth, creating a vibrant job market that attracts professionals from across the country. The city's diverse economy offers numerous employment opportunities, from entry-level positions to executive roles, making it an attractive destination for job seekers at all career stages.

The Business Process Outsourcing (BPO) sector stands as one of the largest employers in Davao City, providing thousands of jobs across various specializations. Companies in this sector actively recruit customer service representatives, technical support specialists, and quality assurance analysts, offering competitive salaries and comprehensive benefits packages. The industry's continued expansion has created numerous opportunities for career advancement, with many organizations promoting from within and providing extensive training programs.

Part-time employment opportunities have also flourished in Davao City, catering to students, professionals seeking additional income, and individuals preferring flexible work arrangements. The retail sector, food service industry, and education field offer numerous part-time positions with varying schedules and responsibilities. These roles often provide valuable work experience and can serve as stepping stones to full-time careers.

The Information Technology sector in Davao has seen significant growth, with many companies seeking software developers, web designers, and IT support specialists. This growth has been fueled by the city's improving technological infrastructure and the increasing number of tech-focused businesses establishing operations in the region. Tech professionals can find opportunities in both established companies and startups, with many positions offering competitive compensation and the possibility of remote work arrangements.

Davao's hospitality and tourism industry continues to expand, creating jobs in hotels, restaurants, travel agencies, and tour operations. The sector offers positions ranging from entry-level service roles to management positions, with many employers providing training and development opportunities. The industry's growth has also sparked demand for professionals in events management and tourism marketing.

The education sector presents numerous opportunities for both full-time and part-time employment. Educational institutions regularly seek teachers, tutors, and administrative staff. The rise of online learning has created additional opportunities for English language teachers and academic consultants who can work flexible hours from home or teaching centers.

Job hiring  in Davao, the digital economy has opened new avenues for employment. E-commerce specialists, digital content creators, and social media managers are in high demand as businesses increasingly establish their online presence. These positions often offer the flexibility of remote work while providing competitive compensation packages.

Professional development resources are readily available in Davao City, with numerous institutions offering skills training programs and industry certifications. Job seekers can access career counseling services, resume writing assistance, and interview coaching through various employment support organizations. These resources prove invaluable in helping candidates prepare for and secure desired positions.

The financial services sector in Davao has also experienced substantial growth, creating opportunities for banking professionals, insurance specialists, and investment consultants. These positions typically offer attractive compensation packages, including performance bonuses and health benefits, making them highly sought after by experienced professionals.

Davao's agricultural sector continues to evolve, combining traditional farming with modern agribusiness practices. This has created opportunities for agricultural technologists, food processing specialists, and supply chain professionals. The sector offers both technical and management positions, with many companies providing specialized training and development programs.

For those entering Davao's job market, proper preparation is essential. Successful job seekers typically maintain updated resumes, prepare comprehensive portfolios, and stay informed about industry developments. Professional networking, both online and offline, plays a crucial role in discovering opportunities and advancing careers in the city.

The future of Davao's job market looks promising, with emerging industries creating new employment opportunities. The city's commitment to economic development, coupled with its strategic location and robust infrastructure, continues to attract businesses and investors, ensuring a steady stream of job opportunities for qualified candidates.

Whether seeking full-time employment or part-time job in Davao City offers a diverse range of opportunities across multiple industries. Success in this dynamic job market often comes to those who combine proper preparation with continuous skill development and effective networking. As the city continues to grow and evolve, its job market remains a beacon of opportunity for professionals seeking to build meaningful careers in Mindanao's premier business hub.

[wanderlustandwanderlust563]

Embrace the Future Top Web Design Trends for Your Online Business

The digital landscape is constantly changing, and with it, the look and feel of our online experiences. As the digital face of your business, your website needs to stay at the forefront of design trends to ensure a seamless user experience. This essay will delve into the top web design trends that are shaping the future of online businesses.

Minimalist Design In the world of web design, less is increasingly becoming more. Minimalist design is all about simplicity and functionality. It involves stripping away unnecessary elements and focusing on what’s truly important. This design trend is driven by the need for faster loading times and easy navigation. With the advent of mobile browsing, it's become crucial to offer a streamlined, easy-to-use interface that doesn't overwhelm the user with excessive information or complex layouts.

Dark Mode Dark mode has become a popular trend across various platforms and apps, and websites are no exception. It offers a visually appealing contrast to more traditional, lighter designs, and is easier on the eyes in low-light conditions. Dark mode can also help to highlight other design elements and make them pop. Embracing this trend can mean providing a more comfortable viewing experience for your website visitors, potentially increasing engagement and time spent on your site.

Microinteractions Microinteractions are small, subtle animations or design elements that provide feedback, guide the user, or add a bit of visual interest to your website. They can be as simple as a button changing color when it's clicked, or as complex as a full-page animation. Microinteractions can make your website feel more dynamic and engaging, encouraging users to interact with your content. They can also improve usability by providing visual cues and reinforcing actions.

Staying ahead in the online business sphere means embracing the future and adapting to new web design trends. A minimalist design can improve user experience by making your site easy to navigate, while dark mode can enhance visual appeal and viewing comfort. Incorporating microinteractions into your design can increase engagement and usability. By adopting these trends, you can ensure your online business remains competitive and continues to attract and retain customers in an ever-evolving digital landscape.

[thewordsmith4343]

Embrace the Future Top Web Design Trends for Your Online Business

The digital landscape is constantly changing, and with it, the look and feel of our online experiences. As the digital face of your business, your website needs to stay at the forefront of design trends to ensure a seamless user experience. This essay will delve into the top web design trends that are shaping the future of online businesses.

Minimalist Design In the world of web design, less is increasingly becoming more. Minimalist design is all about simplicity and functionality. It involves stripping away unnecessary elements and focusing on what’s truly important. This design trend is driven by the need for faster loading times and easy navigation. With the advent of mobile browsing, it's become crucial to offer a streamlined, easy-to-use interface that doesn't overwhelm the user with excessive information or complex layouts.

Dark Mode Dark mode has become a popular trend across various platforms and apps, and websites are no exception. It offers a visually appealing contrast to more traditional, lighter designs, and is easier on the eyes in low-light conditions. Dark mode can also help to highlight other design elements and make them pop. Embracing this trend can mean providing a more comfortable viewing experience for your website visitors, potentially increasing engagement and time spent on your site.

Microinteractions Microinteractions are small, subtle animations or design elements that provide feedback, guide the user, or add a bit of visual interest to your website. They can be as simple as a button changing color when it's clicked, or as complex as a full-page animation. Microinteractions can make your website feel more dynamic and engaging, encouraging users to interact with your content. They can also improve usability by providing visual cues and reinforcing actions.

Staying ahead in the online business sphere means embracing the future and adapting to new web design trends. A minimalist design can improve user experience by making your site easy to navigate, while dark mode can enhance visual appeal and viewing comfort. Incorporating microinteractions into your design can increase engagement and usability. By adopting these trends, you can ensure your online business remains competitive and continues to attract and retain customers in an ever-evolving digital landscape.

[thewanderer4225]

Embrace the Future Top Web Design Trends for Your Online Business

The digital landscape is constantly changing, and with it, the look and feel of our online experiences. As the digital face of your business, your website needs to stay at the forefront of design trends to ensure a seamless user experience. This essay will delve into the top web design trends that are shaping the future of online businesses.

Minimalist Design In the world of web design, less is increasingly becoming more. Minimalist design is all about simplicity and functionality. It involves stripping away unnecessary elements and focusing on what’s truly important. This design trend is driven by the need for faster loading times and easy navigation. With the advent of mobile browsing, it's become crucial to offer a streamlined, easy-to-use interface that doesn't overwhelm the user with excessive information or complex layouts.

Dark Mode Dark mode has become a popular trend across various platforms and apps, and websites are no exception. It offers a visually appealing contrast to more traditional, lighter designs, and is easier on the eyes in low-light conditions. Dark mode can also help to highlight other design elements and make them pop. Embracing this trend can mean providing a more comfortable viewing experience for your website visitors, potentially increasing engagement and time spent on your site.

Microinteractions Microinteractions are small, subtle animations or design elements that provide feedback, guide the user, or add a bit of visual interest to your website. They can be as simple as a button changing color when it's clicked, or as complex as a full-page animation. Microinteractions can make your website feel more dynamic and engaging, encouraging users to interact with your content. They can also improve usability by providing visual cues and reinforcing actions.

Staying ahead in the online business sphere means embracing the future and adapting to new web design trends. A minimalist design can improve user experience by making your site easy to navigate, while dark mode can enhance visual appeal and viewing comfort. Incorporating microinteractions into your design can increase engagement and usability. By adopting these trends, you can ensure your online business remains competitive and continues to attract and retain customers in an ever-evolving digital landscape.

[thetimetraveler4426]

Embrace the Future Top Web Design Trends for Your Online Business

The digital landscape is constantly changing, and with it, the look and feel of our online experiences. As the digital face of your business, your website needs to stay at the forefront of design trends to ensure a seamless user experience. This essay will delve into the top web design trends that are shaping the future of online businesses.

Minimalist Design In the world of web design, less is increasingly becoming more. Minimalist design is all about simplicity and functionality. It involves stripping away unnecessary elements and focusing on what’s truly important. This design trend is driven by the need for faster loading times and easy navigation. With the advent of mobile browsing, it's become crucial to offer a streamlined, easy-to-use interface that doesn't overwhelm the user with excessive information or complex layouts.

Dark Mode Dark mode has become a popular trend across various platforms and apps, and websites are no exception. It offers a visually appealing contrast to more traditional, lighter designs, and is easier on the eyes in low-light conditions. Dark mode can also help to highlight other design elements and make them pop. Embracing this trend can mean providing a more comfortable viewing experience for your website visitors, potentially increasing engagement and time spent on your site.

Microinteractions Microinteractions are small, subtle animations or design elements that provide feedback, guide the user, or add a bit of visual interest to your website. They can be as simple as a button changing color when it's clicked, or as complex as a full-page animation. Microinteractions can make your website feel more dynamic and engaging, encouraging users to interact with your content. They can also improve usability by providing visual cues and reinforcing actions.

Staying ahead in the online business sphere means embracing the future and adapting to new web design trends. A minimalist design can improve user experience by making your site easy to navigate, while dark mode can enhance visual appeal and viewing comfort. Incorporating microinteractions into your design can increase engagement and usability. By adopting these trends, you can ensure your online business remains competitive and continues to attract and retain customers in an ever-evolving digital landscape.

[thestargazer5533]

Embrace the Future Top Web Design Trends for Your Online Business

The digital landscape is constantly changing, and with it, the look and feel of our online experiences. As the digital face of your business, your website needs to stay at the forefront of design trends to ensure a seamless user experience. This essay will delve into the top web design trends that are shaping the future of online businesses.

Minimalist Design In the world of web design, less is increasingly becoming more. Minimalist design is all about simplicity and functionality. It involves stripping away unnecessary elements and focusing on what’s truly important. This design trend is driven by the need for faster loading times and easy navigation. With the advent of mobile browsing, it's become crucial to offer a streamlined, easy-to-use interface that doesn't overwhelm the user with excessive information or complex layouts.

Dark Mode Dark mode has become a popular trend across various platforms and apps, and websites are no exception. It offers a visually appealing contrast to more traditional, lighter designs, and is easier on the eyes in low-light conditions. Dark mode can also help to highlight other design elements and make them pop. Embracing this trend can mean providing a more comfortable viewing experience for your website visitors, potentially increasing engagement and time spent on your site.

Microinteractions Microinteractions are small, subtle animations or design elements that provide feedback, guide the user, or add a bit of visual interest to your website. They can be as simple as a button changing color when it's clicked, or as complex as a full-page animation. Microinteractions can make your website feel more dynamic and engaging, encouraging users to interact with your content. They can also improve usability by providing visual cues and reinforcing actions.

Staying ahead in the online business sphere means embracing the future and adapting to new web design trends. A minimalist design can improve user experience by making your site easy to navigate, while dark mode can enhance visual appeal and viewing comfort. Incorporating microinteractions into your design can increase engagement and usability. By adopting these trends, you can ensure your online business remains competitive and continues to attract and retain customers in an ever-evolving digital landscape.

[thedreamcatcher4785]

Embrace the Future Top Web Design Trends for Your Online Business

The digital landscape is constantly changing, and with it, the look and feel of our online experiences. As the digital face of your business, your website needs to stay at the forefront of design trends to ensure a seamless user experience. This essay will delve into the top web design trends that are shaping the future of online businesses.

Minimalist Design In the world of web design, less is increasingly becoming more. Minimalist design is all about simplicity and functionality. It involves stripping away unnecessary elements and focusing on what’s truly important. This design trend is driven by the need for faster loading times and easy navigation. With the advent of mobile browsing, it's become crucial to offer a streamlined, easy-to-use interface that doesn't overwhelm the user with excessive information or complex layouts.

Dark Mode Dark mode has become a popular trend across various platforms and apps, and websites are no exception. It offers a visually appealing contrast to more traditional, lighter designs, and is easier on the eyes in low-light conditions. Dark mode can also help to highlight other design elements and make them pop. Embracing this trend can mean providing a more comfortable viewing experience for your website visitors, potentially increasing engagement and time spent on your site.

Microinteractions Microinteractions are small, subtle animations or design elements that provide feedback, guide the user, or add a bit of visual interest to your website. They can be as simple as a button changing color when it's clicked, or as complex as a full-page animation. Microinteractions can make your website feel more dynamic and engaging, encouraging users to interact with your content. They can also improve usability by providing visual cues and reinforcing actions.

Staying ahead in the online business sphere means embracing the future and adapting to new web design trends. A minimalist design can improve user experience by making your site easy to navigate, while dark mode can enhance visual appeal and viewing comfort. Incorporating microinteractions into your design can increase engagement and usability. By adopting these trends, you can ensure your online business remains competitive and continues to attract and retain customers in an ever-evolving digital landscape.

[coffeeandcode735]

Embrace the Future Top Web Design Trends for Your Online Business

The digital landscape is constantly changing, and with it, the look and feel of our online experiences. As the digital face of your business, your website needs to stay at the forefront of design trends to ensure a seamless user experience. This essay will delve into the top web design trends that are shaping the future of online businesses.

Minimalist Design In the world of web design, less is increasingly becoming more. Minimalist design is all about simplicity and functionality. It involves stripping away unnecessary elements and focusing on what’s truly important. This design trend is driven by the need for faster loading times and easy navigation. With the advent of mobile browsing, it's become crucial to offer a streamlined, easy-to-use interface that doesn't overwhelm the user with excessive information or complex layouts.

Dark Mode Dark mode has become a popular trend across various platforms and apps, and websites are no exception. It offers a visually appealing contrast to more traditional, lighter designs, and is easier on the eyes in low-light conditions. Dark mode can also help to highlight other design elements and make them pop. Embracing this trend can mean providing a more comfortable viewing experience for your website visitors, potentially increasing engagement and time spent on your site.

Microinteractions Microinteractions are small, subtle animations or design elements that provide feedback, guide the user, or add a bit of visual interest to your website. They can be as simple as a button changing color when it's clicked, or as complex as a full-page animation. Microinteractions can make your website feel more dynamic and engaging, encouraging users to interact with your content. They can also improve usability by providing visual cues and reinforcing actions.

Staying ahead in the online business sphere means embracing the future and adapting to new web design trends. A minimalist design can improve user experience by making your site easy to navigate, while dark mode can enhance visual appeal and viewing comfort. Incorporating microinteractions into your design can increase engagement and usability. By adopting these trends, you can ensure your online business remains competitive and continues to attract and retain customers in an ever-evolving digital landscape.

[vdxmarketing]

Destin Web Design

https://vdxmarketing.com/website-design-and-seo/ - Transform your online presence with VDX Marketing's Website Design & SEO services in Destin. Boost visibility and rankings with our expert SEO strategies. Get started today!

[charseraph]

what do your tags mean?

Definitions and directory

#pink aesthetic — Definition.

#destinations — Surreal scenes and backdrops, both visual and written, implied and explicitly described, varying degrees of abstract.

#ambiguous in a 🌅 kind of way — Glowing and dark forms, presences, and structures.

#fashion — Objects worn by humanity. Clothing, accessories, tattoos, vehicles, weapons, book sleeves, and certain architecture. Graphics that could be used as textile or inspiration for an avant-garde fashion line.

#shoes that can and will kill you: viewer or wearer — Novel shoes or forms that could inspire shoe design. Killing is defined both as injury and awe.

#returnful — Heartache and longing.

#speakerbreaker — Cybersigilism, aggrogoth, anothergraphic.org type text distortion. Frequent chrome and glassy material.

#proctor godlike — Posts that embody the attitude or appearance of or about proctor gods, benevolent but ominous overseers/representatives/indicators of some aspect of reality.

#bad endinglike — Posts that capture an aspect of Bad Ending, my militaristic sci fi setting. Military aircraft, skinned animals, dark buildings, strange technology, fuzzy and sharp graphs and censors, black and white.

#sundownlike — Posts that capture an aspect of Sundown, my setting in the distant future where most stars have died and all organic sophonts have gone extinct. Dark expanses, light rays, orbits, faint stars, rainbows in the dark.

#boalike — Posts that reflects one of four ideas of my setting BOA: machines that could be sentient, how humans would interact with sentient machines, how they would be depicted in art, and the complexity and colors of a theoretical BOA diagram.

#crownlike — What crown fashion, technology, architecture, and sentiments look like. Snowy deserts, pale and black brutalism, fashion, and electronics, blotchy calligraphic asemic, puffer material, solid primary color shapes.

#boxkitelike — Same for boxkites. Graphics like dewy spider webs. Clashing colors. Blobs and radial symmetry.

#towerlike — Same for towers. Dense rectangular repetitive monochrome graphics and jaxlike forms.

#trumpetlike — Same for trumpets. Smooth red and unfocused organic noise.

#wardlike — Same for wards. Inhospitable brutalism, foggy grasslands, and concrete tubes.

#unnamed supercomputer — What a Humans of New York style compendium of random seedlets (sophont AI) in my optimistic sci-fi setting would look like.

#lovecore — Posts that exhibit or inspire love.

#I look like this — Personal aesthetic.

@speakerbroke Aesthetic blog that compiles the best of speakerbreaker, ambiguous, I look like this, and the like.

[definegodliness]

If, then

If I remain a lovefool, Sleeping just to chase recurring dreams; Alternate realities, wherein Goodbye was never part of our Shared history; If I can't bask in the sunlight without seeing Your smile, and all the colours in the world, Vibrant, as if seen through Your eyes; If I can't kiss her, again, Because her lips feel like Rubber bands, instead of velvet soft Conductors That suck the soul's electric current Into paroxysm; if I can't Devour her With all my senses, because her feel, Smell, taste, and look Do not exude We were made for each other, As if by design — specifically, perhaps even Destined; If I cannot see the future in Undying fascination; If I cannot see past the veil of eternity, And cannot make myself believe None of this is needed to share a life in love, Then, I will never care enough To be trusted with Another heart. Then, If I can Never love again, Let me not become a liar, caught in a web Of self-deceit, and Echoes of the past That mimic something Real.

--- 8-4-2025, M.A. Tempels © Napowrimo 8: Lovefool

[tgirlwerewolfsis]

The Overwatch women are underrated rapists, to be honest.

Imagine freezing in Mei’s blizzard.

Imagine being caught in Widowmaker’s web.

Imagine being Moira’s lab rat.

Imagine Juno being curiously fascinated with your body and having no earthborn human boundaries.

Imagine Pharah swiping you up, flying you somewhere hard-to-reach, and raping you on a rooftop. Her heavy metal armor suffocating you, pressing your back into the roof as she violates you, her thrusts uneven but powerful.

Imagine Symmetra shaping you into the perfect version of yourself through harsh discipline and critique. An extremely strict diet, schedule, and behavioral expectations. Her punishments are cruel, bizarre and sometimes pointless, you believe. But you feel incredibly grateful that your life is in service to such an intelligent woman. She’s helped you grow. She has made you better. Or has she?

Imagine being Junker Queen’s urinal.

Imagine being Sombra’s little snuff puppy (she’ll sell your murder video.)

Imagine D.VA casually playing League and eating Doritos while her mech traps you and carelessly rapes you with an impossibly long, searing hot cybernetic dildo attachment. You scream for help, and her stream’s chat makes fun of you.

Zarya shyly asks you for a hug. You find this in-character for her and incredibly cute, you happily oblige. She instantly throws you over her shoulder with no effort, and begins walking to your next destination. No words, just shift in demeanor. You don’t even process what’s happening until you’re already perched on her shoulder. If you struggle, she’ll just hurt you. There’s no chance you will feasibly escape. What she wants, she’s going to get.

Sojourn picks you off the street as a stray, at first with good intentions, but quickly realizes how annoying you are and abuses you instead. She gave up on you. Murphy is more important anyway. Sojourn neglects you until she wants you. When she does finally want you, her wise and composed facade drops as she growls and beats you senseless. You are her punching bag and sex toy now. You could run, it’s not like she’s keeping you here, but you don’t. Maybe she’d be better off if you di-, oh. She’s home.

Ashe licking her fingers clean after beating your brains in.

Ana stalking you, tranquilizing you, and raping you in your sleep.

Illari fighting her constant guilt by venting that frustration into you, physically, mentally and emotionally. You are something less than human and are designed to be burdened with her overwhelming thoughts. You are meant to take her scratches and strikes. You are a vessel of relief for the last Inti warrior. A pawn. Embrace it.

Brig’s shield is stronger than you thought. And now she’s right in front of you… looking down at you.

Mercy reviving you after all of the other girls rape you and snuff you in horrid ways, just to happily watch it all happen again.

[diamonddaze01]

The Somerset Affair | Chapter 2: When the Music Stops

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.8k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, crying, mentions of a panic attack (not being able to breathe), eventual smut, more to be added a/n: sorry sorry i know ch 2 took forever // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // 3rd chapter will be up faster than this one i swear!!!

summary: when the music stops and everything goes wrong, will seokmin always be there to defend you?

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here!

The morning of your debut should have been perfect. Every detail had been painstakingly planned over months, from the delicate lace of your gown to the pearls in your hair. But as you sit in front of your vanity, eyes bloodshot and heavy with fatigue, you know deep in your bones that this day is not destined to go smoothly.

You had stayed up the entire night, restless, thinking about Seokmin. Every word he had said, every smile, every fleeting touch that had seemed so innocent before now felt charged with meaning, occupying your thoughts and stealing away any hope of restful sleep. The result was staring back at you in the mirror: bloodshot eyes, dark circles beneath them, and lips that trembled as your maid worked tirelessly to dress you. It’s a pity – no amount of powders or rouge can hide the exhaustion and heartbreak written plainly across your face.

The soft rustling of your white debutante gown fills the room, each movement whispering of elegance and careful tradition. The gown is a masterful creation, carefully chosen by your mother months ago to reflect the quiet dignity of your family’s name. Its bodice is fitted, meticulously embroidered with the finest ivory threads that weave delicate patterns of lilies and vines across the fabric, adding dimension without overpowering.

Around the neckline, a border of tiny pearls catches the morning light, giving the gown a subtle shimmer that, like everything else about it, speaks of refinement over opulence. The gown’s sleeves, long and sheer, are trimmed in lace as fine as a spider’s web, designed to lay gently against your skin rather than cling, as if even the gown itself recognizes the demands of decorum.

The skirts cascade from the waist in a perfect fall of lace and satin, layers upon layers of gossamer fabric that float with your every step. Each layer, though fragile to the touch, is artfully arranged to maintain the gown’s perfect shape, a testament to the skill of its makers and the patience it took to assemble. At the hem, more intricate lacework peeks out, creating a subtle scalloped edge that brushes softly against the floor, finishing the gown with a grace that echoes the restraint of your mother’s discerning eye.

You cannot deny that the gown itself is a marvel, designed to highlight and enhance rather than dominate. It is beautiful, in the way a rose is beautiful—with an elegance that feels both timeless and delicate, whispering that a lady’s virtue lies in restraint, in never asking to be noticed and yet never failing to command attention.

But the corset. Oh, the corset. It felt as though it were designed to squeeze the very life from you.

“Breathe in, my lady,” your maid instructs, her voice strained from the effort of pulling at the stiff fabric. She pulls at the stays until your ribs protest in pain.

“I can’t breathe in anymore,” you bite out, trying and failing to draw in a proper breath. The corset feels like it’s made of iron, constricting your lungs until your vision begins to blur. “It’s too tight. I— I can’t—”

But your lady’s maid is relentless, ignoring your protests as she cinches you even tighter. She ties the final knot with a satisfied sigh. “There. That should hold.”

Hold? It felt more like it was keeping you prisoner, you think grimly, but before you can voice any more complaints, your mother sweeps into the room, her graceful presence filling the space with a quiet authority. Dressed in an elegant gown of soft gray silk, she pauses to take in your appearance, her sharp eyes noting every detail.

Your mother’s eyes scan your dress approvingly, but when her gaze lands on your face, her expression falters. “Dearest, you look... unwell.”

Your heart sinks. “I didn’t sleep much last night,” you confess, eyes cast downward, though you don’t dare mention why. The last thing you need is your mother knowing Seokmin has occupied your thoughts in such a way.

Your mother sighs softly and moves to stand beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “This day is important, darling. I had hoped you would be well-rested, but...” She trails off, her tone not unkind, but laced with concern. “There is no time now to dwell on it. The Queen waits for no one.”

You nod, feeling a rush of guilt, knowing how much effort has gone into preparing you for this moment. But the weight of the corset and your sleepless night are conspiring to make you feel utterly overwhelmed. Your mother notices, of course. She always does.

“Try not to worry too much,” she says, her voice softening, though it still holds that undercurrent of expectation. “You must keep your chin high, shoulders back. No one need know what little sleep you had. You are beautiful, my dear, no matter the circumstances.”

Her words, though comforting, do little to ease the anxiety building in your chest. But there’s no time left. Your lady’s maid places the final pearl pins in your hair, and your mother gives you a reassuring squeeze before she gestures toward the door. “It’s time.”

Your nerves flutter violently as you’re escorted downstairs and into the awaiting carriage. The ride to the palace feels both endless and far too short. Every bump in the road jostles your already-tight corset, pressing against your ribs and leaving you breathless. The palace is as magnificent as you had heard—no, it’s more. The palace itself is a marvel of architecture, an opulent structure that seems more the work of fantasy than reality. Vaulted ceilings soar impossibly high, held aloft by marble columns adorned with delicate carvings of ivy and mythical creatures that seem to come to life in the flickering candlelight. Every archway is flanked by gilded moldings, winding and curling like golden vines, each detail rendered with the precision of a master sculptor.

Each corner, each angle of the palace seems to lead to something grander than the last, as if it were designed to swallow you whole in beauty. And perhaps it is, you think, as you press a hand over your fluttering heart. For despite the elegance, there is an undeniable sense of intimidation in the sheer scale of it all—a reminder of how small you are in the face of such a place, and of the scrutiny that awaits within these towering, timeworn walls.

You can feel the architecture itself imposing upon you, weighing down like the firm hand of tradition. For a fleeting moment, you imagine yourself wandering through the palace alone, exploring every column and arch, free of the hundreds of eyes upon you. But here, now, with the gaze of history and expectation pressing down, you straighten your shoulders, drawing in a steadying breath, and follow your Mama into the Great Hall. 

The hall is grander than anything you had even dared to imagine. The polished marble floors shine like glass, capturing reflections in delicate ripples that turn the passing gowns of debutantes into pools of lace and silk. Chandeliers hang from above, so immense and dazzling that they appear to drip crystal stars. They illuminate the room with a glow that is almost celestial, casting every inch of the hall in a warmth befitting the Queen herself.

To your right and left, mirrors taller than any man stretch to the ceiling, framed in gold leaf as intricate as lacework. The mirrors hold your gaze as you pass, capturing the girls beside you as they float forward with their mothers, each one a shimmering, blushing vision in white. You see yourself in these mirrors too, and although the gown fits you perfectly, somehow you feel like you’re wearing another’s skin. For a moment, you imagine your reflection whispering back, “Are you really here?”

The walls are covered in the richest velvet, deep greens and ruby reds that somehow make the hall feel even grander, as if you’ve stepped into the very heart of royalty itself. Enormous portraits of past queens and kings line the hall, each gaze strong and serene, as if they’re assessing every girl who dares to walk beneath their painted eyes. Somewhere in your chest, a knot forms and tightens. It’s strange, the feeling of being surrounded by so much opulence, as if the walls are watching, waiting for something that only they understand.

And perhaps that’s why your breath is so unsteady, why your heartbeat seems to echo through the hall in time with your footsteps. The palace, beautiful as it is, leaves you feeling like a creature of some lesser world, an intruder who has somehow wandered into a realm that does not belong to you. It’s not so much a place as a spectacle, a stunning, overbearing reminder of all that you must live up to, of all the scrutiny you’ll face from these grand walls, these glittering chandeliers, and yes, the very Queen herself. Every step feels like you are walking deeper into a lion’s den, where your every move will be scrutinized, your worth as a young lady judged by the sharpest eyes in the kingdom.

You move with the other debutantes, each girl dressed in white, adorned with jewels and delicate veils, the picture of youth and grace. The line seems to stretch forever as you wait your turn to be announced. The air is thick with anticipation, the rustle of satin and silk as the ladies murmur quietly to one another, some excited, others as nervous as you feel. Your own dress, despite its beauty, feels like a trap. The corset restricts your every breath, and the weight of expectation presses on your shoulders like a leaden cloak.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the room, your nerves growing worse by the second. And then, in the far corner, you spot them. Minghao stands with an air of composure, his eyes quietly observing the room, his presence as regal as ever. Your brother watches the proceedings with a detached elegance, his eyes flickering over the debutantes without much interest. His gaze flicks to you, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of calm knowing your brother is watching.

But next to him, is Seokmin.

He stands taller than most, his posture rigid but his face warm, though tinged with concern. While your brother is a portrait of his birthright and title, Seokmin is different. His gaze is sharper, more intent, and when his eyes find yours, the familiar comfort of his presence makes your heart stutter. You try to remind yourself to breathe, but the memory of his touch, his words, from the night prior clings to you like a shadow.

Seokmin’s expression softens when he sees you, and for a moment, the whole room seems to fall away. His lips quirk in a small, reassuring smile, and though you try to return it, your own face feels tight, your nerves too frayed to muster anything convincing.

As if sensing your unease, Seokmin’s eyes narrow with concern. Does he notice how your corset presses too tightly into your ribs? Or how your eyes are puffy from lack of sleep? The warmth in his gaze is mixed with a flicker of something unreadable, something almost protective. You are painfully aware of his gaze, and the thought of him watching you stumble through this day feels like too much to bear.

The line of debutantes inches forward, each young lady presented with grace and poise, or at least, the appearance of it. Your nerves churn violently in your stomach as your name is finally called. Your mother tightens her grip, ever so slightly, and it’s a silent reminder – You are a Xu. Do not falter. 

“Miss Y/N Xu, sister of the Duke of Somerset,” the herald crows, and every eye in the room fixes on you. “Presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Dowager Duchess of Somerset.”

Your legs feel like jelly as you take your first step forward, your skirts swishing around you. The weight of the gown, the tightness of your corset, and the heavy stares from all corners of the room press down on you. You try to steady your breathing, but the corset refuses to allow for even that small comfort.

Just as you take a step, disaster strikes.

Your heel catches on the hem of your gown.

You stumble forward, arms flailing slightly to catch yourself, but the weight of your skirts and the tightness of your corset make it impossible to recover gracefully. A collective gasp echoes through the room, and you feel your cheeks flush with mortification.

The whispers are instant, rippling through the crowd like wildfire. You can feel the stares—sharp, judgmental, unforgiving. Your mother’s grip tightens, and though she says nothing, you can feel her disapproval radiating through her hold. She doesn’t need to scold you—not in public. But the sting of her disappointment is enough to make you want to shrink into the floor.

Still, you manage to regain your footing, if only barely. You take a shaky breath and continue forward, your knees trembling with each step. But it gets worse. With every move, the corset seems to tighten further, squeezing the breath from your lungs until black spots dance in the corners of your vision.

Just as you’re about to curtsy before the Queen, your knees buckle.

A choking cough rips from your throat, loud and desperate, echoing through the grand hall. You’re bent over at the waist, gasping for breath, your corset pressing tighter with every moment. You cough again, and again, unable to stop, your eyes watering as you struggle to compose yourself.

The Queen, perched on her throne in all her regal glory, watches with a raised eyebrow, her disapproval palpable. Her expression is one of distaste, as if you are a spectacle—an amusing disaster.

Your mother murmurs beside you, “Steady yourself,” and her grip tightens with fury and disappointment in equal measure. It’s too late. Your corset has robbed you of the ability to breathe, and the weight of the entire room’s gaze crushes you. Your vision swims again, and for one horrifying moment, you think you might faint right there in front of the Queen.

Finally, you manage to straighten yourself, gasping for air, your face flushed and tear-streaked. You risk a glance toward the far side of the room, where Minghao and Seokmin still stand.

Minghao’s face is impassive, though his eyes are dark with what could only be disappointment. Seokmin, on the other hand, looks as though he might bolt across the room to help you. His hands clench at his sides, his jaw tight as his eyes flick between you and the Queen.

The Queen’s cold, cutting voice slices through the silence. “Miss Xu,” she says slowly, her tone dripping with disapproval. “It seems you are... unwell.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You manage a wobbly curtsy, your knees nearly giving out beneath you again as you lower yourself.

“Perhaps Miss Y/N should reconsider her readiness for society,” the Queen continues icily. “A young lady of such delicate constitution may not be suited for the rigors of court.”

Her words land like a blow. You rise slowly, trying to keep your chin held high, though your hands tremble and your vision remains blurry from the humiliation. All you want is for this moment to end. To disappear.

As you retreat, the whispers rise in volume, filling the grand hall with gossip and speculation. You can feel the weight of every gaze on you, every judgment passed in an instant. But it is Seokmin’s gaze that you search for in the crowd. His eyes meet yours, and though they are filled with concern, they are also gentle, understanding. A small comfort in the midst of your disaster.

Your mother, ever composed, whispers to you as she leads you from the room, her voice calm but firm. “We will speak of this later, darling. But for now, we must leave with grace.”

You nod weakly, still too breathless and embarrassed to respond. And as you step out of the grand hall, the day that was supposed to mark your entrance into society feels like anything but. All you can think about is how miserably everything went wrong—and how, even in the midst of it all, Seokmin’s gaze had found yours, steady and unwavering.

The silence presses on as the carriage trundles through the city streets, each wheel hitting the cobbles with a sound like a hammer to your heart. You’re trapped, here in this carriage, with no escape from your mother’s disappointment or the day’s memories—the whispered laughter, the blunder before the Queen, and the sheer, unbearable heat of your mortification.

Minghao’s hand rests over yours for only a heartbeat, but it’s enough to keep you from crumbling entirely. Though he releases your hand quickly to avoid Mama’s watchful eye, the gesture is enough to ground you, pulling you back to this place instead of letting you spiral into all the things you could have, should have done differently.

At last, your mother clears her throat, a carefully composed sound that cuts through the quiet like a knife.

“Well,” she says, her voice clipped and precise, “that was… quite the spectacle.” Her tone is a blend of disappointment and a tight, forced restraint. “I had hoped, naturally, for a… more dignified presentation.”

You swallow, feeling the flush of embarrassment burn anew. “I—” you start, but the words catch, failing under the weight of everything you wish to explain and the knowledge that no explanation will undo what’s done.

She adjusts her gloves with a sharp, precise tug, a calculated movement that somehow manages to convey her frustration without a single word. “I trust,” she begins slowly, every syllable measured, “that you understand the gravity of today’s events.”

You swallow, focusing on the intricate embroidery of your gown, tracing the delicate threads to distract yourself from the pressing sting of her words.

“Mother, I—” you stammer, but she holds up a gloved hand, silencing you before the words even form.

“We spent months preparing for this moment,” she continues, her voice tight with restrained emotion. “Months, to ensure you would have the debut any young lady of our family should. Your dress, your bearing, every detail was attended to so you would represent us with grace, with decorum. And yet, today…” She trails off, her eyes gliding over you with a look that could curdle milk.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Minghao interjects quietly, and though his tone is gentle, there’s a faint edge to his words, as though even he cannot quite hold back his defense. He shoots a quick, sidelong glance at you, a small, reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The Queen’s hall was suffocating, and the entire affair was clearly designed to unnerve anyone in attendance.”

Your mother’s expression softens just a fraction as she regards her son, but she’s hardly swayed. “The Queen’s hall has been the site of countless debuts. If anything, the occasion called for composure, not… fainting spells.”

You clench your fists, the fabric of your dress twisting between your fingers, and look resolutely at the floor. As painful as it is to hear, you know your mother is not entirely wrong. Today was supposed to be your moment of triumph, the day you stepped forward as a young woman ready for society, carrying your family’s reputation with poise and dignity.

But instead, you remember the heat that had pressed in from all sides, the feeling of your corset cutting into your ribs, how your hands had trembled with each step. It was supposed to have been an easy task, to walk forward, cursty, and meet the Queen’s gaze with calm respect. And yet, you had felt every gaze upon you like a burn, each stumble echoing through the endless hall. And then, Seokmin’s eyes finding yours, calm and steady…

The memory stirs something warm within you, a faint flicker of relief that somehow dampens the embarrassment. The Queen’s gaze may have been unyielding, your mother’s disappointment all-consuming, but for that one moment, you had felt tethered, no longer alone.

Outside, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the city as the carriage continues its steady roll homeward. The silence stretches again, and the weight of it settles around you like an invisible veil. Minghao catches your eye, and though he says nothing, the look he gives you speaks volumes—a quiet reassurance, a reminder that this one day does not define you, that he still believes in you despite every misstep.

Your mother finally sighs, a faint softening in her shoulders. “We’ll regroup,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “There will be more opportunities, of course, but we’ll need to be mindful, thoughtful. A second chance may not be as kind.” She glances at you, and though her expression remains stern, there’s a glimmer of something almost like understanding.

The carriage ride stretches on in silence once more, each of you lost in thoughts. You glance out the window, watching the city roll by, lanterns casting fleeting golden glows against the carriage walls. It feels surreal, how a day so longed for turned into a series of mishaps, one after another. But as the carriage rounds a corner, you catch a memory from earlier: Seokmin’s eyes, grounding you, unwavering, somehow knowing how terrifying each step felt, how every misstep seemed amplified beneath the weight of so many watching.

As the carriage wheels finally begin to slow, approaching the gates of your family estate, you feel a shift within yourself. Today may have been a disaster, and yet, Seokmin’s gaze and Minghao’s quiet support linger, like small anchors in the storm of the day.

The drawing room is a sanctuary of elegance, its ornate moldings and rich fabrics designed to impress. Tall windows frame the view of the manicured gardens outside, sunlight pouring through in golden streams that dance across the polished wooden floor. Yet, despite the beauty surrounding you, it feels more like a gilded cage today. The delicate scent of lavender from the nearby vase does little to soothe the turmoil within.

You sit hunched over a needlepoint project, your fingers fumbling with the bright threads that feel foreign against your skin. The canvas before you, a swirl of colors and patterns, seems to mock your inability to focus. Your mind wanders far beyond the needlework, replaying the events of your disastrous debut like a never-ending nightmare. Each time you think of it, a fresh wave of humiliation washes over you, sharp and unyielding, like a thorn that refuses to dislodge itself from your heart.

“Goodness, how is one expected to focus with this nonsense?” you mutter under your breath, the needle slipping from your fingers yet again and leaving a careless knot in the thread. You curse softly, frustration bubbling to the surface.

Your mother sits comfortably in her armchair, her brow slightly furrowed as she loses herself in the pages of a novel, the rustle of paper punctuating the silence. Minghao lounges on the settee across from you, flipping through a collection of sketches, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement at his artistic efforts. Every so often, his gaze flickers towards you, a mixture of concern and curiosity etched into his features, but he respects your silence, understanding that you are still recovering from the scarring events of your debut into polite society.

Just then, the door swings open, and Seokmin steps into the room, his presence a burst of light that seems to chase away the shadows clinging to your thoughts. It has been years since the butler last announced his arrival—his visits are far too frequent now, and you can’t help but feel a mix of warmth and apprehension at his entrance. His usually buoyant demeanor is tempered by a trace of concern as he takes in the scene before him, the way your shoulders droop as if weighed down by invisible chains.

“Good morning!” he declares, his voice bright yet careful, testing the waters of your melancholy. “I do hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” your mother replies, glancing up from her book, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “In fact, you may be just what our dear girl needs.”

You offer a small, half-hearted smile, the corners of your lips barely lifting. “And what would that be? A distraction or a dose of reality?”

Seokmin approaches, his smile as warm as the sunlight flooding the room. “A bit of both, if you’ll allow me.” He perches himself on the arm of your chair, leaning in just enough to draw your focus from the needlepoint chaos. “That was quite the debut you had, dear friend. How are you holding up?”

“Barely,” you sigh, tossing the errant needlepoint aside as if it were the source of all your woes. “I feel as if I’ve stumbled through a door marked ‘exit’ into an abyss of mortification.”

His eyes widen with sympathy, and in that moment, your heart flutters, torn between admiration and the painful reality that he may never feel the same. Seokmin has a way of making the world feel lighter, yet your feelings for him are a weight that often threatens to pull you under.

“Ah, yes,” he nods sagely, as if you have just shared the most profound wisdom. “The abyss of polite society can be quite unforgiving. I believe it’s marked with ‘no entrance’ signs, but alas, they are easily overlooked.”

Minghao chuckles softly, his attention now fully diverted from his sketches. “You do have a gift for exaggeration, Seokmin.”

“It’s a talent,” Seokmin replies, feigning an air of grandeur, his hand pressing dramatically to his heart. “But truly, do not let the Queen’s judgment define you. You are far too radiant for that.”

You snort, the sound escaping before you can suppress it. “Radiant? Is that what you call it when one trips over their own gown and nearly faints in front of our sovereign?”

“Why, yes! A splendid display of athleticism!” he shoots back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve inadvertently entertained a room full of people—something they are certain to remember for ages.”

“But not in the way I had hoped,” you reply, frustration seeping into your voice as the memory of the evening flashes before your eyes, a storm of embarrassment churning within you.

“Ah, but hope can be a slippery creature,” he counters, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “What matters is how you choose to move forward. I have heard of many a lady whose debut was marred by similar accidents—yet they rise from the ashes like phoenixes, dazzling everyone with their resilience.”

“Is that your way of saying I should make a grand return to society?” You raise an eyebrow, your heart flickering with the suggestion. “Perhaps adorned in feathers and sequins to distract from my previous mistake?”

“I’d be the first to support such a feat,” he replies earnestly, the sincerity in his voice a soothing balm for your frayed nerves. But beneath your amusement lies an aching truth: his encouragement only highlights the chasm between your feelings and his indifference. He will never look at you the way you long for.

“Yes, Lord Lee, what a wonderful idea!” your mother exclaims, her book long forgotten. “The Fitzwilliam Ball is to be held in the coming weeks—what a splendid way for our darling girl to re-enter society!”

Your face falls. A ball? So soon? The very thought sends a tremor of panic racing through you. “Mama, I—”

“Yes, Mother, a splendid idea indeed,” Minghao muses, a teasing glint in his eye. When you turn your glare to him, he sticks his tongue out meanly, and Seokmin suppresses a chuckle.

You take a deep breath, fighting against the swell of anxiety rising in your chest. “I’m not certain I’m ready for another ball, not after—” you start, but the words die on your lips as Seokmin’s gaze locks onto yours. His expression is gentle yet determined, a silent encouragement that stirs something deep within you.

“Ready or not, life moves on,” he says softly, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “You have to take the reins, even if the prospect is daunting.”

You want to believe him, to embrace his unwavering optimism, but doubt gnaws at you. Can you truly face another crowd, the whispers, the judgment? Your heart flutters erratically, caught in a tempest of affection and despair. Seokmin’s eyes shine with an earnestness that quickens your pulse, yet it only reminds you of the gulf that lies between your feelings and his casual indifference.

“Life indeed moves on,” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else. “But what if I stumble again? What if I make an even greater fool of myself?”

Seokmin’s smile falters for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of understanding that cuts through the air like a knife. “We all stumble, but that’s how we learn to rise,” he replies, his tone steady yet soft. “And besides, I’ll be there. I promise I’ll help you navigate any disaster.”

His words wrap around you like a lifeline, a flicker of hope igniting your heart. But as the warmth of his promise settles in, a cold weight begins to press upon you. You look into his eyes, searching for something more, but find only the steadfast gaze of a friend—someone who would catch you if you fell, but only as a friend.

“Right,” you murmur, the pain of acceptance settling in your chest like a stone, heavy and unyielding, a reminder of the distance between you.

The late evening light filters softly through the sheer curtains of your room, casting a warm glow that barely reaches the pile of books haphazardly stacked beside your bed. These books, filled with tales of love and adventure, have provided a much-needed refuge from the reality of your recent debut. For days now, you’ve chosen to cocoon yourself in their comforting embrace, avoiding the whispers and curious glances of society that followed you after your disastrous introduction.

You had resolutely refused to attend any of the society events your mother deemed essential—the lady’s tea, with its orchestrated conversations and veiled judgments, or the garden party, where laughter seemed to echo around you while you felt only isolation. The thought of facing the same debutantes, the same mamas, their glances lingering a moment too long on you, made your stomach churn. Instead, you preferred the solace of your room, the pages of your books offering both distraction and comfort as you lost yourself in worlds far removed from the judgmental eyes of the ton.

But tonight, your mother is insistent. At last, the Fitzwilliam Ball is upon you, and you have no escape from your mother’s gentle chiding. “Darling,” she calls gently, her voice a melody that pulls you from the pages of your latest escape. The delicate scent of lavender wafts through the air as she steps into the room, her presence commanding yet warm. It is an unusual moment—your lady’s maid typically oversees your dressing, managing the layers of fabric and the intricate details of your ensemble. But today, it is your mother who steps into that role, a significant act that carries with it the weight of her affection and a chance to bridge the gap that your previous missteps had created.

“It’s time to get ready, my dear,” she says, her tone gentle but firm, as she approaches your wardrobe. As she opens the doors, the sight of your gown hanging inside takes your breath away.

The dress, an ethereal creation of lavender silk, shimmers like moonlight trapped in fabric. The bodice is adorned with intricate embroidery that depicts delicate vines and blossoms, each stitch telling a story of artistry and care. The sleeves are fitted, with lace cascading down to create a soft ruffle at the wrist, and the skirt flows in layers, each tier of lace and silk billowing like clouds as it moves. It is a gown befitting a princess, meticulously designed to showcase your family’s esteemed standing while allowing a hint of youthful exuberance to shine through.

“This gown is truly magnificent,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the embroidered flowers as your mother gently lifts it from the wardrobe. “I can’t believe you chose it yourself.”

“Of course, I did. It’s time for your grand re-entrance to society, after all,” she replies, a smile dancing on her lips as she helps you into the gown. The fabric wraps around you like a dream, soft and luxurious, but as your mother laces the bodice, the realization of how tightly it pulls leaves you breathless. Each tug of the laces feels like a reminder of the expectations that have come to define you, but your mother’s presence softens the edges of that pressure.

Yet, it is not discomfort that fills the room. Instead, the sounds of your mother’s laughter and intelligence wrap themselves around you. Your mother’s hands are gentle as she fastens each lace, her fingers brushing against your skin in a manner that reassures you. The stern disappointment of your debut, where you felt like a shadow beneath the weight of expectations, seems to dissipate, replaced by her usual grace and kindness. As she works, her voice drifts like a melody, recounting stories from her own youth, her laughter echoing softly against the mirror as if the memories bring light to the room.

With every loop of ribbon and every gentle tug, she weaves a tapestry of love and support, a tangible reminder that tonight is not merely a duty but a celebration of who you are. As she arranges your hair into an elegant updo, delicately weaving in pearl pins that glimmer like stars, you catch a glimpse of the woman she has always been beneath the layers of propriety. The warmth of her presence washes over you, igniting a flicker of hope that perhaps tonight will mark a new beginning.

“Are you ready?” she asks, stepping back to admire her handiwork, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“I suppose as ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, taking a moment to admire your reflection. The gown transforms you into a vision of beauty, yet beneath the surface, you feel a tempest of uncertainty swirling within you.

“Now, let’s see what your brother thinks.” Your mother gestures toward the door, and as you descend the staircase, your heart quickens with every step.

At the foot of the stairs, Minghao waits patiently, the embodiment of duty and familial pride. His presence, regal and calm, adds to the moment’s gravity. Dressed in a tailored coat that accentuates his stature, he stands as the dutiful son and duke, ready to escort both you and your mother to the ball. The contrast between his composed demeanor and your own fluttering heart is stark, yet comforting. As you make your way down the stairs, your mother’s gentle squeeze of your hand gives you a modicum of strength, each step drawing you closer to the world outside that awaits your return.

“Sister,” Mighao greets, mirth dancing in his eyes. “I suppose if tonight is your big night, this gown does not offend the eyes.”

“Minghao!” Your mother’s rebuke is instant, a gentle reprimand that lightens the atmosphere with her authority.

“For goodness’ sake, brother,” you admonish, donning a façade of false bravado to hide the anxiety swirling within. “It seems as if you would simply keel over before you ever paid me a proper compliment!” You attempt to feign indignation, but the corners of your mouth betray you with the hint of a smile.

As you reach the bottom step, he extends his arm, a silent invitation to escort both you and your mother to the ball. It’s a gesture of duty, but there’s an undertone of affection that brings warmth to your heart. He may be the dutiful son and duke, poised and impeccably dressed in his tailored attire, but in this moment, he is simply your brother—standing beside you as a steadfast protector against the uncertainties of the evening ahead.

Your mother glances at both of you, her eyes sparkling with pride and a hint of nostalgia. “Shall we?” she prompts, her voice carrying a note of excitement that sends a flutter through your stomach.

With a deep breath, you take Minghao’s arm, feeling the reassuring strength of his presence as he leads you both toward the waiting carriage. The air outside is brisk, filled with the scent of blooming jasmine and the distant hum of music preparing to fill the grand halls. Each step you take resonates with the rhythm of your heartbeat, a mix of trepidation and hope.

As you settle into the plush interior of the carriage, the door closes with a soft click, sealing you away from the familiar confines of home and ushering you into a world of possibility. The grandeur of the evening awaits, and as the carriage rolls forward, the cobblestones beneath you echo with the anticipation of what’s to come.

You can’t shake the feeling that this night holds the promise of something new—perhaps redemption, or at the very least, the opportunity to reclaim your place among the society that had once felt so cruel. As the carriage sways gently with each turn, you steal a glance at your mother and brother, their expressions a blend of excitement and encouragement. In this moment, surrounded by their unwavering support, you begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, tonight could be different.

Fate is certainly a cruel mistress—despite your greatest hopes, the ball is positively dismal.

The ballroom is every bit as grand as you’d imagined—no, grander. Chandeliers dripping with golden light cascade overhead, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the polished marble floor. The air is thick with the intoxicating scent of roses and jasmine, mingling with the lively music of the orchestra, where violins soar and the occasional trill of laughter punctuates the harmony. Silks and satins swirl in every direction as the season’s debutantes twirl with their suitors, their gowns a riot of color that makes you feel like a ghost in comparison.

But none of it feels as magical as you once thought it would. Instead, you stand to the side, clutching the silk of your gown, its intricate lace and delicate pearls feeling like a weight rather than a luxury. Your mother had ensured that every stitch was perfect, every detail immaculate, to help erase the memory of your disastrous debut. Yet, it hasn’t worked. The whispers haven’t stopped. Even here, amidst the splendor, you can feel the gazes sliding over you, only to dart away, as if your very presence is a reminder of your failure.

The other debutantes are radiant, their smiles bright as they are swept onto the dance floor by handsome, eligible gentlemen. But you... you might as well be invisible.

Your heart sinks as you watch them, a heavy weight settling in your chest. This is meant to be a night of joy and celebration, yet you feel like a fragile glass ornament left behind, forgotten in the bustle of a festive occasion. The laughter and music create a vibrant tapestry of life around you, but inside, you’re drowning in a sea of insecurity and self-doubt.

Just when despair threatens to envelop you entirely, a presence beside you breaks through the haze. Seokmin, as effortlessly charming as ever, sidles up, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” he remarks, his voice low so only you can hear. “I’m certain some of these mamas could lead an army with the way they maneuver their daughters.”

You blink at him, surprised by his lightheartedness. Despite the heat of embarrassment burning your cheeks, a smile pulls at your lips, momentarily pushing aside the shadows clouding your heart.

Before you can respond, he holds his hand out to you, a silent invitation, and for a moment, you hesitate. Seokmin, who could have any lady in the room, is asking you to dance? Your heart stutters, a wild flutter of hope mingling with anxiety, and you glance around, acutely aware of the whispers beginning to stir again. People are noticing the exchange, their eyes narrowing in speculation. But Seokmin stands before you, his hand outstretched, waiting with an easy confidence that momentarily disarms you.

With a deep breath, you place your gloved hand in his, and he leads you to the center of the ballroom as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The moment your feet hit the floor, however, the murmurs begin in earnest, slicing through the enchantment that had briefly settled around you.

“Isn’t that the girl?” someone whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. “The one who fainted?”

“I’d heard,” another voice chimes in, “that no one would ask her to dance. Poor dear, but what did she expect after such a performance?”

You keep your eyes firmly fixed on Seokmin, but each word is like a needle, sharp and painful, pricking at your composure. The worst of it comes when you catch sight of one of the mamas, her face set in a smirk as she whispers to her daughter—the same daughter you had once taken pianoforte lessons with. The girl lets out a small, mean-spirited laugh, and your stomach twists, the laughter echoing like a death toll.

The memory of your debut hangs over you like a dark cloud, heavy and suffocating. Your embarrassment simmers, threatening to boil over. The murmurs become unbearable, and instinctively, you move to pull away from Seokmin, ready to flee. But before you can, his grip tightens, firm but gentle.

“Leaving so soon?” he teases, his voice low and playful, a lifeline in the midst of the storm. “Didn’t your mama teach you it’s bad manners to leave in the middle of a dance?”

You try to focus on his words, on the feel of his hand in yours, but it’s no use. You feel like every eye is on you, dissecting your every movement, judging, whispering, laughing. Seokmin is a shield, but he can’t block all the venom aimed at you.

“I can’t—” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but Seokmin cuts you off.

He reaches up, loosening a perfectly pinned curl from your hair, letting it fall gently by your cheek. His eyes are soft, almost tender, and in that moment, you feel something flutter to life in your chest. “Eyes on me, Tulip,” he murmurs, and the way he says it—so calm, so sure—makes your heart skip a beat.

For the briefest moment, you think he might love you. That despite the gossip, despite the humiliation, Seokmin sees you—the girl beneath the debutante, the one who has admired him from afar for so long. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Minghao. He stands by the edge of the ballroom, watching. And then—he nods. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but Seokmin notices, and he nods back.

Your blood runs cold.

You blink up at Seokmin, the warmth in your chest turning to ice. “Did you do this because Minghao asked you to?” The words slip out before you can stop them, low and desperate, laced with betrayal.

Seokmin’s brow furrows. “Do what?”

“This. The dance.” You glance around at the swirling crowd, the eyes that have never left you. “The attention. Did you ask me because he wanted you to? To salvage my prospects?”

His confusion is genuine, but the truth is written in his face—open, honest, and devastating. He hesitates, and it’s all you need to know.

“Damn you,” you whisper, voice shaking with fury and hurt. His eyes widen, shocked by the venom in your voice, the curse slipping from your lips like something foreign. “Damn you, Lee Seokmin.”

“Y/N—” he starts, his voice softening, trying to explain, to defend himself. But you don’t give him the chance.

“I thought,” you continue, the words tumbling out in a rush, “I thought you asked me because you wanted to, not because you were told to. I thought you held me in higher regard than this.” You laugh bitterly, a sound that catches in your throat. “How foolish of me.”

The onlookers are whispering more now, their curiosity piqued by the tension in the air, the way your voice trembles with barely contained emotion. But you don’t care. You’re done caring.

With a mocking curtsy, you drop your hands from his and step back. “My lord,” you say, dripping with sarcasm, “I do apologize for any inconvenience to your social standing.”

Seokmin’s eyes widen, panic flashing in them as he realizes the gravity of your words, the weight of what you’re about to do. “Y/N, wait—”

But you don’t wait. You turn on your heel and stalk toward the ballroom’s exit, your skirts swirling around you in a flurry of lilac silk and lace, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. The gasps and murmurs of the guests fade into the background as you flee, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

Behind you, Seokmin’s voice calls out, desperate, pleading. “Y/N, please—stay—”

But you don’t look back. You run.

The chill of the night air bites at your skin as you emerge from the grand ballroom, the sounds of the festivities quickly swallowed by the night. Minghao is hot on your heels, and you hear the familiar click of his shoes echoing against the cobblestone streets. As you enter the carriage, your fury erupts like a dam breaking.

“How dare you meddle in my life?” you exclaim, the words bursting forth with a fervor that sends a shiver down your spine. The tears spill over, mingling with the delicate fabric, each droplet a testament to your exasperation. “I wish to be left alone!”

Minghao, ever the picture of serene composure, raises an eyebrow, though his calm demeanor only serves to ignite your temper further. “I’m only trying to help you, dear sister,” he replies, his voice as soothing as a summer breeze.

“Help? Is that what you call this? You think I’m some delicate flower that requires your constant tending?” Your heart beats faster, each pulse an echo of your indignation. “You are not my keeper, Minghao!”

He opens his mouth, surely to deliver some well-meaning retort, but you are not in the mood for restraint. “You think I can’t manage my own affairs? That I need you to dictate who I should associate with? Let me remind you, I am not a child!”

In a fit of fury, you throw one of your shoes toward him, the delicate slipper soaring through the air; Minghao ducks just in time, the shoe landing with a soft thud against the carriage wall.

“Is this truly your idea of a civilized discussion?” he remarks, feigning offense. “Throwing footwear instead of engaging in rational discourse? My, how you’ve mastered the art of temper tantrums!”

“Better to throw a shoe than to be lectured like a schoolgirl!” you counter, your voice rising to match his. “You presume to know what is best for me, but you are merely reflecting your own apprehensions! You have no concept of my struggles!”

Minghao’s brow furrows, and for a fleeting moment, his expression softens, as if he might relent. But then he leans forward, his voice low and fervent. “And you believe that sulking in the corner will resolve anything? You are only isolating yourself further!”

“Perhaps I wish to be alone!” you declare, your voice ringing with defiance, the words spilling out like water from a broken dam. “Perhaps I grow weary of this charade, that everything is perfect when it is most decidedly not!”

A tense silence envelops the carriage, the air thick with unspoken words. You both breathe heavily, the conflict hanging between you like a fine silk thread ready to snap. The rest of the ride is steeped in a heavy silence, each passing moment thickening the air with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You lean against the plush seat of the carriage, your gaze fixed on the world outside. The blurred lights of the city flicker past, dimming into the encroaching darkness, and with each glimmer that fades from view, a piece of your heart seems to shatter.

Inside, your thoughts spiral. Betrayal gnaws at you like a ravenous beast, devouring any remnants of confidence you had managed to muster before the ball. Seokmin was supposed to be your ally in this fight, your so-called “loyal servant”; a beacon of warmth amidst hushed whispers. Yet now, as the reality settles in, you realize he is merely Minghao's friend, not yours. 

How could you have been so naïve? Your mind races back to moments you once cherished: the laughter shared over private nicknames, the comfort of his presence when you felt small and insignificant. He had danced with you, yes, but it had been an act of duty, an obligation to your brother, not a genuine desire to hold you close. You had hoped, foolishly, that he might look beyond your failed debut, that he might understand the person beneath the gown and lace. Yet here you are, reduced to a mere pawn in a game you didn’t even want to play.

A sob catches in your throat, but you swallow it down. Instead, you grip the edges of your gown tightly, feeling the intricate lace and delicate pearls dig into your palms, until you are sure you will have bruises in the morning.

How could Seokmin have allowed himself to be used this way? Did he not care enough to stand by you when it mattered most? He had seen you, yes, but only through the lens of loyalty to Minghao, not as the woman you wished to be, not as the friend you had thought he saw.

By the time the carriage arrives at your home, the bitterness in your chest is a wellspring of anguish. The vibrant ball is now a distant memory, a dream turned nightmare, and all you can do is silently mourn the friendship you thought would endure. You glance at Minghao, his face set in a mask of determination, oblivious to the storm of emotion swirling inside you.

As you step out of the carriage, he follows closely behind, his footsteps heavy with regret. “Y/N,” he begins, his voice low and earnest, “I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought—”

You cut him off, spinning to face him, your expression fierce with hurt. “It’s too late, brother,” you declare, the words like shards of glass spilling from your lips. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You’ve ruined everything.”

His eyes widen, a mixture of shock and remorse flooding his features. “I never meant to hurt you—”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant!” you snap, frustration and pain intertwining in a chaotic dance. “You acted without thinking. You’ve taken something precious from me.”

Minghao opens his mouth to argue, to defend himself, but the words die on his lips. The truth hangs in the air, heavy and palpable, as the reality of your fractured trust settles between you.

For the rest of the season, you do your best to blend into the walls at every ball, and you succeed. You become a shadow flitting between vibrant gowns and boisterous laughter. Each event becomes a blur of swirling colors and muffled sounds. You move quietly, navigating the sea of opulence with a heavy heart, wearing a mask of indifference that hides the turmoil brewing just beneath the surface.

You linger in corners, your fingers tracing the intricate patterns of wallpaper as if seeking solace in their delicate designs. The bright chandeliers above cast their warm glow on the happy couples swirling in perfect harmony, while you remain firmly anchored in your solitude, an invisible wall erected around your heart. You watch as others twirl and laugh, and your heart aches for Seokmin’s easy companionship, the lively conversations and playful banter that now feel like a distant memory.

With each passing ball, the weight of your isolation grows heavier. Minghao’s well-intentioned apologies echo in your mind, but their impact fades against the reality of your existence. You’ve become an expert at deflecting curious gazes, practicing the art of blending in so well that the laughter and music seem to wash over you like water off a duck’s back.

But it is Seokmin’s absence that echoes loudest in your heart. He might have always been your brother’s best friend, but you had hoped he would be something more—something real. As the music swells, the realization settles heavily on your shoulders: you are utterly, irrevocably alone.

Seokmin doesn’t ask you to dance again for the rest of the season. 

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits@moondustmemories@shinwonderful@ivehypnosis@gwend0lyne @thestoryofana13 @mellowamour @blissedjoon @begentlewithme-please @xabsolutelynothingx @reiofsuns2001 @mngyulvrs @mooniewrld @archivistworld @lexyraeworld @ateez-atiny380 @walkinganxiety01 @lovecleastrange

[3liza]

everyone suggesting alternatives for Photoshop is inevitably not actually using most of the Photoshop functionality, which to be fair is probably the vast majority of the potential Photoshop userbase.

the reason Photoshop has been industry standard for 30 years is that it does almost everything and has almost always done almost everything. it has had a few weird slow adoptions, for example it didn't support basic live mirroring while drawing until the 2010s (ish). it didn't have recovery saves or auto saving until about then. it's never been the absolute last word in real media synthesis, that was Corel Painter for years and now I think CSP is probably the king. illustrator is better at vectors. etc. but Photoshop can do all of those things well enough to prepare a professional grade, print-ready artwork from RAW file to layout to text to retouching to total from-scratch illustration, in one step, with layer and channel separation, multiple types of masking, adjustment layers, lossless file object placement, vector text transformation including all standard print layout tools like kerning, like spacing, comprehensive font support, and both true font variation and faux transformation like fake bold and fake italic. and clients and print workflows are expecting PSD files and file preparation for this reason. Krita, as an example of a popular program suggested as an "alternative to Photoshop" which I have used for hundreds of hours to do professional and personal work, is great for drawing but has a completely unusable text engine, you can't make a webcomic with speech bubbles easily and quickly in Krita. it was like pulling teeth even trying to put "BABY SLUT" on my Lethal Company skin with Krita. but you can lay out an entire magazine in Photoshop in an afternoon, and people do (print preparation is whole other topic I'm not saying vogue is prepared solely in Photoshop, it isn't, I'm saying you CAN do it in Photoshop)

I have never paid for an Adobe product, I am not pro Photoshop, I am pro getting my work done. I would absolutely love for there to be an actual Photoshop alternative, but there isn't. there are individual alternatives for individual features of Photoshop, and if you are working in a limited professional scope or you just want a drawing program or just want to make your webcomic or just want to do pixel art then one or two programs will replace Photoshop for you. everyone who, like me, has to do RAW editing, fashion retouching, print and web layout, pure digital illustration, vector illustration, text and graphic design, and all the rest of the crap I have to do in a format that's accepted by publishers and the rest of the various workflow destinations it's just not realistic. which is why it's great that Photoshop is completely trivial to pirate at any stage of its development you care to install,including versions prior to the introduction of the AI crap, the cloud crap, and the rest of the crap no one serious is actually using unless their manager is forcing them to

[naeverse]

The Cat and His Spider

~Ｖｉｃｅ ＃４~

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟒: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞 

(𝐎𝐜𝐭 𝟐𝟎-𝟑𝟏)

----

𝙂𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙙:

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩.

-

“𝘎𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴”

Ｍｕｓｉｃ：

“𝘈𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘴” - 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘯 5

"𝘉𝘢𝘥 𝘎𝘶𝘺" - 𝘉𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦 𝘌𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩

"𝘋𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘞𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯" - 𝘈𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦

🐈‍⬛️staring: BlackCat!Miguel x Spiderwoman!Fem!Reader

      🤍preview: “Spiderwoman,” he purred, his voice dripping with intent, “I want you.” The cat confessed with a toothy grin, chuckling as your shock was evident, even through the mask. “What can I say? A cat gets bored playing with the same toys,” he groaned, his voice heavy with a mix of weariness and desire.

Burying his face in your neck, he nuzzled the sensitive skin of your throat, a low purr rumbling in his chest as he inhaled your scent again. “Rob enough stores, steal too many jewels, and money starts to lose its value—its reason,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

“I need more—something challenging, something new. Something no one else would think to acquire—or to claim.” 

💰summary: After a police report, you, Spiderwoman is encountered by the infamous Black Cat who forces you to confront the greed that drives him, and the price he's willing to pay.

🖤tw/cw: Adult Themes, Big Dick Miguel, Biting, Black Cat (Miguel O’Hara), Dirty Talk, Erotic Fiction, Exhibitionism, Forbidden Love, Hero/Villain Dynamics, Male/Female, Marking, Mature Content, Mutual Pining, Outside Sex, Rooftop sex, Spiderwoman (Reader-Insert), Temptation, Unconventional Relationships 

❤️Pet names: Amor (Love), Arañita (Little Spider), Bebè (Baby), Cariño (Darling)

      🤍Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🐈‍⬛Word Count: 8.2k words 

The quiet chirps of birds and the usual hum of New York City traffic filled the peaceful night. The prime hour of mischief and villainy had struck at twelve.

You, a spider woman well-accustomed to the troublesome time, perched upon the ledge of a skyscraper. Your body crouched and coiled like a spring, ready to launch at any moment.

Through your mask lenses, your keen eyes scanned the streets below. From this height, the world seemed different—

More tranquil...

Peaceful...

One hand gripped the concrete ledge while the other rested on your knee, tapping rhythmically as you listened intently to the police radio scanner for any nearby crimes.

It felt like a lifetime waiting for a siren, a call for help, or a sign that needed your intervention. But tonight, the only thing calling seemed to be your bed, beckoning from your apartment building.

‘It's so quiet. That's a first,’ you thought, pressing a gloved finger to the earpiece of your mask to heighten the scanner's volume.

You didn’t want to miss a thing.

Returning to the rare calmness of the city, you gazed at the horizon. A soft breeze tugged at the edges of your skin-tight suit, its design and craftsmanship entirely your own.

Your mind wandered to your double life—the life of Y/N. You thought of the responsibilities, obstacles, and challenges that awaited you, still struggling to balance your personas despite being a hero for nearly two years.

A crackling static from your earpiece cut through your thoughts. Your ears perked up as the voice of a male officer broke through, reporting to his fellow comrades—and, unknowingly, to you.

"Dispatch, we’ve got a report of a robbery in progress at the Fifth Avenue jewelry store. Suspect is believed to be armed. Proceed with caution."

"A robbery?" you muttered. It wasn’t unusual—midnight was a common hour for petty theft.

Upon reaching out to shoot a web in preparation for slinging your way to the destination of the robbery, another officer's voice came through—more urgent and frantic than the previous one.

"Dispatch, we have visual confirmation—it's Black Cat! Repeat, Black Cat is on the scene!"

At the mention of the cunning and very familiar villain, you couldn’t help but smirk. “Looks like Miguel is up to his old tricks again,” you muttered to yourself with a small smile.

You and the mischievous feline had some history—history full of many conflicting encounters, where you faced the villain’s relentless seduction, crafty words, and, goodness, his touches alone were enough to leave you questioning whether you should even capture the thief at all.

Your face warmed underneath your mask at the thought of him.

You always adored Black Cat’s honeyed and towering form. Every part of his body was encased in muscles that bulged and moved beneath the fabric of his black and white villain attire.

However, the feline was most famous for his black fur coat. The jacket had a wild, untamed look, with white furry trimmings along the collar and lapels. He always wore the notorious piece unbuttoned, letting his defined 8-pack and taut pecs remain exposed—only further emphasizing the cat’s unfortunate mutations.

Though, he didn’t see them as such.

But it wasn’t his attire that made your judgment falter when you were in his presence. Miguel, simply being himself, was what, secretly, allured you.

Miguel O’Hara wielded his mutation like it had always been a part of him, despite the genetic manipulation he endured as a scientist at the notorious laboratory, Alchemax being what caused him to become what he was now.

Though using such powers for unethical things like theft wasn’t admirable, his confidence in himself still impressed you... 

More than you expected.

With a motion of grace and fluidity, you pushed off the ledge to dive into the open air, racing to the scene. 

The wind whipped past you, as you spun mid-flight to extend an arm, shooting a web towards a nearby building. The webline caught hold and you held on tight, swinging your weight through the bustling streets of New York. 

The city, remaining true to it being a place of unrest, showcased individuals still roaming the sidewalks and visiting establishments in search of fun despite the lateness. 

You swung past shocked and awe-struck citizens, the many lights from the passing towers bouncing off your mask lenses. Your eyes scanned the streets before finally landing on the reported jewelers. 

‘This is the place.’ You thought, circling the perimeter for the naughty feline to find the sidewalks completely empty. “Typical.” The murmur escapes you at the discovery. 

Quietly and discreetly, you lowered yourself onto the exterior of the store, using your ability to cling onto walls to your advantage. You stuck to the shadows, peering in through the windows of the store to find an unusual sight. 

Nothing was disturbed…

Your eyebrows furrowed at the revelation. 

The glass cases of jewelry held all their stored gems and accessories, the alarm hadn’t been triggered and neither was there any sign of a break-in. 

Something was off…

“Weird…” You whispered, shooting a webline to a nearby streetlight to pull your weight to the designated position. 

Landing perched on the hood of the pole, your eyes surveyed the area, a sense of uncertainty clinging to your being. 

Suddenly, an intense, yet familar tingle shot through you like an electric current. 

Your head snapped in the direction that was drawing every nerve of your body towards, overhearing a loud crash and scratch from a nearby alley, one similar to metal and claws. 

Swiftly, you followed the sound. 

Leaping from your spot, you swung, landing lightly on your feet in the foot of the alleyway next to the shop. 

The alley was eerily quiet, the scurrying of critters and a dripping of a leaky pipe being the only sounds that filled your ears. Cautiously, you stepped further into the dark aisle, your senses on high alert for any unusual noises or signs of the villain’s presence.

Glancing to your left, you spotted a vent, torn from its hinges that led out of the jewelry shop and a few claw marks surrounding the brick walling. 

“He was certainly here, only his claws could cause such damage.” You acknowledged to yourself, running a gloved finger along the deep indentation of his talon along the exterior. But, your suspension of the cat’s presence was further confirmed when your scanners picked up on an item that belonged to the feline, and him alone. 

White hair from his mane. 

You scoffed, crouching down to inspect the piece closer. Picking up the coarse strand in your gloved fingers, your eyes trailed along it, the screens in your mask lenses identifying it to, indeed, be his. 

“You are becoming sloppy, kitty.” You uttered, removing a small circular gadget from the strap of your waist, tucking the loose loc inside for safekeeping for the police. 

Before you could further examine the alley, that intense tingle shot through your being once more, accompanied by a deep, confident voice echoing from behind you, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Still listening to police scanners, arañita? It makes you predictable."

Miguel O'Hara—the Black Cat himself—spoke from behind you, emerging from the shadows of the alley.

A playful smirk adorned his lips as the moonlight highlighted his mischievous red eyes, piercing fangs, and the scar etched along his right eye. His presence brought on a sense of uneasiness and, dare you say…

Excitement.

You rolled your eyes, hastily attaching the disk back to your waist before rising to face him. "Me? Predictable? Says the villain who gets his kicks robbing jewelry stores. Isn’t this your fourth one this week?" you retorted, trying to ignore how he always seemed to make your heart skip a beat.

Miguel chuckled, the sound rumbling through the night. "I see someone’s keeping a close eye on me. Should I be flattered or worried?"

"You wish," you replied, thankful for the steadiness in your voice despite the fluttering in your chest.

Your gaze traveled along his body, noting his massive build and bulging arms that hinted at his evident strength. But you knew better than to underestimate him—his immense agility made him even more dangerous.

His scarlet eyes swept over your face, studying you intently. A hum of disapproval escaped him. "Why lie, muñeca?" he teased, stepping closer. His movements were graceful, almost feline, as his gaze never left yours.

"I can hear your heart, you know. Keen hearing and all," Miguel murmured, gesturing to his furry, white cat ears with a clawed finger.

You stood your ground as he approached, his towering frame closing the space between you. His presence engulfed you, the faint scent of his expensive cologne—likely stolen—lingering in the air.

"I can hear your little heart beating against your ribcage, Spiderwoman. It’s quite loud, amor. Very loud," he said, a sly smile revealing his sharp canines. The sight stirred a mix of discomfort and… something else entirely.

When Black Cat spoke, his voice carried a sultry, husky tone designed to seduce. Like a siren’s call, it was nearly impossible to ignore, no matter how hard you tried.

You swallowed hard, shaking off your embarrassment. "We’re not here to talk about me, Miguel. We’re here for you," you said sternly, grateful your mask concealed the flush spreading across your cheeks. "So either come willingly, or I’ll take you to the police by force."

At your words, a deep, rumbling laugh erupted from him, his broad chest shaking beneath his black fur coat. The sound echoed through the quiet alley, catching you off guard.

"Arañita, I thought you were smart. You disappoint me," he said mockingly, tapping a finger against your forehead. The gesture earned him a sharp glare from you.

"Use your eyes, chica. What jewels have I stolen? What bags am I carrying?" he asked, a fanged grin spreading across his face, as though he held a secret only he understood.

Your brows furrowed as you realized the truth in his words. Black Cat carried no bags, no evidence of a robbery. But why would you trust a cunning thief like him?

You wouldn’t…

Never…

You scoffed, your eyes narrowing from under your spider mask.. “Nice try, kitty, but I'm not falling for your games.” 

“Ahh, pero no hay juego.” He stated, holding his white gloved hands up defensively, and shaking his head, his white mane swaying with the motion. “I tell the honest truth, arañita. I've stolen nothing.” 

Despite his 'honesty,' you couldn't bring yourself to believe him. The thought of priceless jewels stashed away somewhere he knew about filled your mind, leaving his words hard to trust.

“You may claim innocence, cat, but I’m certain I heard reports of you committing a robbery here,” you said, your tone laced with annoyance. “So let’s skip the theatrics.”

Miguel snickered, leaning closer. His overwhelming presence and air of dominance made it hard to think clearly. “My little Spiderwoman, you wear confusion and irritation quite well. They’re striking looks on you,” he teased before sighing dramatically. “But it seems, idiota, you’re more predictable than I thought.”

“I am n-not predictable, and do not call me that!” You snapped, not going to take such name-calling from a man who spent his time committing petty theft for entertainment. 

Black Cat laughed, tracing a gloved finger along your jaw. The sensation of his claw through your suit sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m just being honest, amor. Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

Your breath hitched at the stroke his fingers made along your face, his touch enticing. Miguel smirked, taking notice of how you lingered in his palm, neither accepting nor pulling away. “If you did, you’ll know if I was truly stealing something, I wouldn't have stuck around to be found.” 

The feline chuckled when you finally pulled away, regaining your senses. “And you’ve said it yourself, bebé,” he continued, grabbing your chin roughly and pulling you back toward him, making you yelp. “Robbing jewelry stores gets boring after a while. I crave the fun—the thrill—you give me that, arañita.” His voice was low, almost a purr, his scarlet eyes roaming you like prey.

You found yourself speechless at his admission. Wetting your lips and swallowing to cleanse your dry throat, the gears in your head started to spin. 

‘This can't be what I think it is… right!?’  

You gulped, forcing yourself to maintain a stern gaze behind your mask and not allow fear nor his grip on your chin to deter you. “So…this was a trap? And I fell for it?” 

“Like prey wandering into the jaws of the beast.” Miguel clarified with a snicker. 

As you feared, your suspicions proved true. Your eyes widened behind your lenses, preparing to fire a web to blind him, but he was faster.

A startled yelp escaped you as his massive hands seized your wrists, slamming you against the alley wall. “Too slow, muñeca,” he rasped darkly, pinning your arms above your head. Without hesitation, he trailed his nose along your sensitive throat, inhaling your scent.

“Fuck, you’re something else, Spiderwoman. Really something.”

You gasped when his hand slid lower, delivering a sudden, shameless squeeze to your rear. Your body jolted in his grip, heat flooding your face at the intensity of his touch.

His large hand lingered, gripping you firmly, sending a shiver down your spine. He hummed in satisfaction, leaning closer, his chest trapping you against the cold brick wall of the jewelry store. He inhaled deeply, savoring your scent like a patron indulging in the scent of freshly baked bread.

Miguel’s body boxed you in against the cold brick wall of the jewelry store, his solid chest pressing firmly against your form, the stark contrast enough to make your knees weak.

“Even though… y-you may have tricked me, the cops are still on their way,” you spat, finally finding your voice. Your eyes narrowed in defiance as they locked onto his.

Miguel's wandering hand stilled, his face lifting from your neck to meet your gaze.

The corner of his lips curved into a wicked smirk, a soft snicker escaping him. “Arañita, are you high under that mask? Drunk?” he teased, tugging tauntingly at the edge of your face covering.

You jerked your head away from his hand, determined to keep your identity hidden, though his words left you utterly confused. “N-no, I’m not—”

“Then tell me why it didn’t register in that cute, little head of yours that when I said this was a trap... it was a trap.” He chuckled, and your heart plummeted.

Miguel’s gloved palm slid over the taut fabric of your suit, his touch sending a jolt through your body. “So no, no cops will be coming to save you, Cariño,” he affirmed, his sharp eyes locking onto yours, glowing with amusement.

Your mind struggled to make sense of it. ‘Even the cops were a trap!? But I always listen to the police scanner... how could it be fake? This can’t be true.’ You panicked, shaking your head.

“B-But the police officers, I-I heard them,” you stammered. “T-they sounded real.” You tried to ignore the way your body burned with unwanted ecstasy at his sensual touches, how a treacherous part of you craved more.

The cat villain hummed in amusement. “Oh, they did sound real, didn’t they? But you’re not the only one with exceptional technology, baby.” He teased, tapping a claw against one of your mask’s lenses. The sudden gesture made you jump in his arms.

Your breathing quickened, fear flooding your mind as the pieces finally fell into place.

The unscathed shop. The evident signs of his presence. His ‘sloppy’ escape. His sudden appearance. Every detail screamed trap, and you had walked right into it.

Like an idiot, you’d served yourself up to the cat on a silver platter. You’d never felt so foolish.

“Why did you do this!? W-what do you want from me!?” you shouted, thrashing beneath him, desperately trying to free your arms from his vice-like grip. But it was useless—he was too strong.

“Relax, cálmate, little Spider,” Black Cat murmured soothingly, his voice a low purr meant to lull you into submission. “I just wanted a little time with you. You’re a hard woman to find, after all. A guy has to get creative.” His gloved hand slid to your hip, squeezing it firmly under his fingers.

You bit your lip, trying to swallow your irritation—and the betraying sounds of pleasure threatening to escape.

You couldn’t let him think you were enjoying this.

Even though you were.

“O-Okay… you have my time and my attention. Now, what do you want?” you asked through gritted teeth, your hands clenched into fists where they were pinned above your head.

“Now?” the cat echoed, his piercing scarlet eyes locking onto yours. “Now, you give me what I want, Cariño.” His tone was low, commanding, as though you’d stolen something precious, and he was here to claim it back.

Your face twisted in confusion, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I… I don’t know what you want.”

A deep growl rumbled from his chest, vibrating through you. “Hmm, but you do,” he said, his voice dark and heavy with meaning. “And I’ll get it out of you, one way or another.” His jaw tightened, and his grip on your wrists became more unyielding, a glint of satisfaction flashing in his eyes as you winced.

Your heart pounded erratically, torn between fear and an unsettling arousal. You didn’t know what he was after, couldn’t even fathom where to begin unraveling his intentions.

“Nngh… I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miguel. Truly,” you admitted breathlessly, the thought of escape slipping further and further from your mind.

Because as much as you wanted to break free, there was a part of you—one you desperately wanted to ignore—that didn’t want to leave him at all.

Miguel’s predatory gaze roamed over your masked face, his white, furred ears twitching slightly atop his head. “I didn’t think I’d need to spell it out for you, Arañita,” he murmured, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.

Before you could process his words, his free hand cupped your chin, forcing you to meet his burning gaze. He pulled you closer, his grip firm but not harsh, his presence overwhelming.

“Spiderwoman,” he purred, his voice dripping with intent, “I want you.”

The cat confessed with a toothy grin, chuckling as your shock was evident, even through the mask. “What can I say? A cat gets bored playing with the same toys,” he groaned, his voice heavy with a mix of weariness and desire.

Burying his face in your neck, he nuzzled the sensitive skin of your throat, a low purr rumbling in his chest as he inhaled your scent again. “Rob enough stores, steal too many jewels, and money starts to lose its value—its reason,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

“I need more—something challenging, something new. Something no one else would think to acquire—or to claim.” His admission was laced with raw hunger, and the low timbre of his voice drew an involuntary moan from your lips. Mortified, you squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper, “but I don’t want you in return, Miguel.”

“Lies, muñeca,” Black Cat snarled, his sharp canines nipping at your throat through your suit, the pressure just enough to draw a startled whimper from you.

He pulled back to meet your eyes, his expression dark with frustration and unrestrained longing. “All you do is lie—to me, to yourself, to every citizen in New York,” he growled, his voice tinged with both scorn and sympathy. “I pity you, Spiderwoman.”

His gloved finger traced your lips through the mask, your breath hitching at the intimacy of the gesture.

Black Cat smirked, his confidence unwavering as he released your wrists and cupped your face with both hands. His palms were surprisingly gentle, cradling your head like you were a precious prize he’d won.

“Come on, bebé,” he coaxed, his lips curling into a sly grin. “Let go with me. Let’s have some fun.”

His scarlet eyes raked over your form, lingering on every curve and detail of your suit, which clung to you like a perfectly wrapped gift. His lip caught between his teeth, his expression one of deliberate, unapologetic desire.

You breathed heavily, the air beneath your mask growing thin. The choice before you felt impossible, the weight of the decision pressing heavily on your chest. This wasn’t simple. Whatever you decided now would be life-changing—one wrong move, and everything could crumble.

Turning your head, you tried to deny him once more, no matter how difficult it was. “N-no. I can't.”

“But you can,” Black Cat purred, his voice smooth and tempting. “And what a delight you’d be when you finally let go, little Spider.” His hands traced along your body, every movement deliberate, as he whispered his words of temptation into your ear.

“Just imagine it for a moment,” he enticed, his breath warm against your skin. “Just you and me, with no distractions, no outsiders to stop us.” His white tail thumped softly against the pavement, a steady rhythm that seemed to soothe your racing thoughts.

You swallowed hard, your hands instinctively gripping his bulging forearms—something, anything, to ground you. You opened your mouth to protest again, but Miguel halted you with a low chuckle.

“It’ll simply be me and the pretty lady under the mask,” he said, his voice low and intoxicating. “Together, experiencing the passions that normal humans feel. Except we’ll be the upgrades.” He smirked, his fingers intertwined with yours, and pinning them to the wall once more.

His large hands engulfed yours, and Miguel’s lips began to wander. He kissed along your jaw and throat, his touch coaxing the response he desired from you.

Soft moans escaped your lips, your gloved hands squeezing his in return. Your body leaned into his, betraying the denial in your mind.

No matter how much you wanted to resist, you couldn’t.

You’d fantasized about this—about Black Cat, about Miguel doing this to you—so many times. You wanted to feel his hands on you, his mouth, his claws, and sharp teeth against your skin.

You longed for everything about him, craving him as you craved air in your lungs. Yet, deep down, a part of you wondered: would giving in, just this once, ruin you completely?

Would this moment—this indulgence—strip you of your worth as a hero? Would it make you unworthy to protect the citizens who relied on you day after day?

Could one moment of weakness destroy everything you had worked for?

But Miguel’s words echoed in your mind, replaying over and over like a broken record.

“It’ll simply be me and the pretty lady under the mask... together, experiencing the natural passions that normal humans feel.”

You might be a mutant, a being gifted with the powers of a spider, but at your core, you were human.

Humans make mistakes. Humans desire things—even things that are deemed wrong.

And if humans can be forgiven for their mistakes, then maybe this one indulgence, this one moment of weakness, could be seen for what it truly was:

A human making a mistake…

An evident moan, meant for Miguel’s ears, escaped you, his responding groan enough to soak your suit. “O-okay…” you agreed, giving his large hands another squeeze with your own.

You watched Miguel’s white, pointy ears perk up and his red eyes snap to yours. The surprise on his face was fleeting, replaced quickly by a fanged grin.

“Ahí está mi pequeña araña traviesa,” Miguel mewled, not wasting a moment before slipping a hand from yours, seeking to remove your mask.

Your hand hastily covered his, halting his movement. Meeting his gaze, you looked pleadingly at him, never before feeling so vulnerable before a villain. “Promise me that this stays between us.” You said, trying to hide the desperation in your voice.

“Of course, bebè—”

“I’m serious, Miguel O’Hara,” you sternly said, gripping his wrist with both of your hands. The size difference was evident as his one, larger arm made your two hands look miniature.

For once, the usually playful and seductive feline mirrored your stoicism. He gave your hands a squeeze as they rested on his forearm. “Whatever happens here stays between us, Cariño,” he replied sincerely, stroking your jaw with his thumb. A sigh escaped him, his eyes hardening at the wavering trust in your voice. “I swear it…

On my deceased daughter.”

Your eyes widened briefly at his words. You knew Miguel’s past well, having read his files more than was probably healthy.

Gabriella O’Hara, Black Cat's only daughter, had passed away from an illness—an illness that could have been prevented had Miguel had the means to afford the necessary treatments at the time.

His files spoke of their father-daughter bond being something impermeable, unlike anything else. It was clear that Gabriella’s tragic passing had pushed him down a dark road, a life of crime fueled by the desire to find joy in the misery of others, in hopes of brightening his own life, however briefly.

Your heart tugged at the thought of such devastation shaping the man before you.

Sneaking a hand up, you cupped his jaw, the tingles that coursed through your body at the contact enough to power a lighthouse. “I… trust you, Miguel,” you whispered, seeing the pain in his red orbs, despite his efforts to conceal it.

With your other hand, your gloved fingers slowly moved to the edge of your mask. Hesitating, you watched the cat villain’s expression shift from stern to anticipation as you removed the head covering of your hero suit, revealing your face—and, with it, your identity.

Tugging the loose fabric free, you felt your hair fall down and the cold breeze gently stroke your face, almost as if it were welcoming you with a kind gesture.

Now fully visible, you felt a surge of nervousness. Swallowing to ease the tightness in your throat, you met the cat villain’s gaze, trying to keep your embarrassment in check.

Miguel’s crimson eyes roamed over your face and body, glancing once, twice, even thrice, as if this moment were a dream that might vanish if he blinked. He hummed, letting out a low whistle of approval. “I knew I had taste, but damn, aren’t you a sight, arañita.” He complimented, brushing a stray hair behind your ear.

Black Cat examined you once more, his hidden fascination with you still rattling him. He flicked his tongue along his fangs, his gaze growing ravenous, hungry…

You blushed at his words, trying to maintain a steady expression, but with the absence of your mask, you’d never felt so exposed. “I cannot say the same,” you replied, your voice faltering. “I wouldn’t think my taste would be…” You averted your gaze from him, regretting voicing your inner thoughts about being a hero and feeling drawn to a villain like him.

At your flustered reaction, Black Cat chuckled, cupping your chin to gently turn your face back to him. “Don’t be ashamed, arañita. Everyone has their guilty pleasures.” He purred, pressing your body further into the wall and slipping a hand along your stomach, lower, to tease your clothed pelvis. “Pleasures I can surely satisfy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, distracted by his touches and enticing words, your usual sense of strategic thinking lost in the haze. You’d always planned your next move, carefully considering every possibility, but right now, logic was the last thing on your mind.

His teasing touches along your inner thighs only fueled your desire, leaving you frantically nodding, pleading for more. “P-Please,” you stammered, the desperation in your voice undeniable, no longer hiding it.

A sultry smirk spread across Miguel’s lips, clearly delighted with your response. He cradled your face in his large, gloved palm, pulling you a hair’s breadth away from his lips.

“Hmm… Now, how could I deny such a sweet thing like you, arañita?”

The cat villain purred, his scarlet eyes gleaming with anticipation and desire for what he had in store for his little spider.

Through dazed eyes, you could only stare at the horizon—the same horizon that had entranced you only hours ago, touching your heart like never before.

With trembling limbs and a foggy mind, you wondered if the horizon would have returned your gaze, even for a moment, if it had known what you'd do later…

Would the starry night have glimmered brightly for you if it had known the slurred words you'd speak and the unashamed pleasure you'd feel shortly after?

Would the darkened sky still radiate in its purple and blue hues, like brushstrokes on a canvas, if it had known the lewd thoughts now plaguing your mind?

Worst of all, would the moon have graced you with its beautiful presence tonight if it had known how you would allow such a man—a villain—to take you in ways you never thought possible, all under its watchful gaze?

One would never know the answers, but you hoped it would have…

A broken whine escaped your lips as the cat’s thick cock touched the blissful spot inside of your pussy. Your back arched on the ledge. Unable to remember when the two of you had climbed onto the rooftop of a building adjacent to the jeweler’s shop and alley, to finally soothe the burning itch that had resonated in both of you for far too long."

The cat’s massive body, a frame of honeyed muscles and tantalizing scars were stripped bare, laid atop your chest, fucking you over the roof's ledge. His body engulfed your nude one in its musculature whilst his hands gripped you tightly—holding you close between each and every rut of his hips. 

“Sì, sì… fuck. So tight for me, muñeca.” He purred, sinking his sharp canines into the soft skin of your neck, biting and sucking dark spots onto your skin before lapping at the tender spot.

You yelped, nails clawing into his burly back. Your legs tightened around his waist as your vision crossed for the fourth time since he'd begun fucking you like he was in heat. 

“M-Miguel!” You moaned loudly when his merciless mouth lowered to mark your collarbone and breasts, his thrusting never ceasing. 

A dark chuckle escaped the large feline at your loud moans, his tongue tracing patterns along the skin of your breasts. “Might want to keep it down, amor, wouldn't want to draw attention.” He snickered breathlessly against your skin, his drooling cock continuing its slow grind in and out your sensitive walls.

The thought of a possible neighboring apartment, full of residents, hearing your wails and cries of pleasure made your face burn in shame. 

‘Gosh, how humiliating would it be if I were found like this—their hero, willingly being taken by Black Cat, a villain, right before their eyes?’

The thought made your heart skip a beat before they were instantly shattered when Miguel's cock slipped out of you, leaving you gasping for air. 

Your eyes snapped up to him, his body towering over you as the usual cunning smirk played upon his lips. “Thinking again, arañita?” he asked, tracing his bare talons, free from his gloves, along your jaw.

Your eyes fluttered at his touch, feeling an intense heat that even the chilling breeze brushing against your skin couldn't quell.

Shaking your head in his palm, you replied breathlessly, “I—I can’t help it.” You panted, biting your lip, while his tempting touch never ceased.

The cat hummed, resuming his descent, his sharp claws trailing along your throat, over your collarbones, and toward your chest. “That’s a shame, Spiderwoman. It seems you want me to fuck you senseless—help you forget all your little problems,” the villain uttered with a snicker, his sharp eyes locking onto yours. “You’re quite the naughty one.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, and you hastily denied him. “N-no, it’s not like that—” you tried to say, but your words were cut off as the cat pulled you to your feet, turning you to face the horizon and the towering buildings before you.

His hardened chest pressed against the expanse of your back, aligning perfectly with you. Miguel’s arm wrapped around your waist, his hand stroking your thighs and stomach. “You aren’t a naughty one as you claim, Miss Spider, but let me know if this sounds familiar,” he said huskily into your ear, his rumbling tone vibrating through his chest

A soft whine escaped you when he cupped a breast, rolling the stiff nub underneath his thumb. “You fight tirelessly every day, defending this… wretched city from potential dangers, bad guys, and such,” he muttered. “It sounds… exhausting, hmm?” The feline inquired, his touch blinding, and the reasoning behind his words rattling you further.

“Y-yes… it is,” you could only muster, whimpering when both of his massive, calloused hands grasped your breasts, squeezing them like stress balls under his palms. He purred, swiping his tongue along the shell of your ear, enjoying how you shuddered.

“And how does my Spiderwoman handle her stress?” Black Cat hummed, your cheeks burning at such a question. You gulped, opening your mouth to speak and answer, but no sound was produced—too embarrassed to respond.

Miguel��s fingers pinched your perky nipples, humming in satisfaction when you mewled in pleasure. “No answer, I see? I’ll guess then,” he said. Despite being behind you, you could tell he was smirking.

“After returning home and… shimmying yourself out of that sexy suit,” he said, giving your breasts a smack that made you gasp. His hands returned to engulf them tightly once more. “You’ll probably shower, have a meal, watch a little television before curling up in bed. Alone, I hope…” He trailed off, the wish he voiced carrying a hint of warning.

However, he sighed, releasing your chest and allowing you to breathe again. “But when the lights turn off, and your room becomes dark, that’s when your stress becomes prominent, doesn’t it, bebè?” The cat asked, brushing your hair aside to expose your throat, already marked with growing hickeys from his previous bites.

A shaky exhale escaped you as his sharp nails ran along your neck, tracing your pulse point. You hesitated, unwilling to answer him.

Miguel nodded slowly, taking your silence as a response. “That’s a shame, arañita,” the feline murmured with a tsk, brushing his rough palms down your arms, goosebumps rising on your skin.

“When you’re alone, you begin to desire, Spiderwoman. Is that your deep secret?” Black Cat asked, your heart pounding so loudly against your chest that you were certain he could hear it.

“But simply desire? That couldn’t be. Humans desire—we desire,” the feline snickered, gripping your waist, his lips brushing against your ear. “What dark secret does my little Spider have?” he chuckled darkly.

“I think we both know what that is.”

Your entire body tensed, unable to believe how accurate he was. You bit your lip, his white tail coiling around your leg, coaxing you into replying—confirming his suspicions.

You turned your head away, unwilling to voice such a thing—not that. Agreeing was one thing, but speaking aloud your darkest secrets was too much.

Miguel laughed, gripping your chin to pull you back toward him, wanting you to hear his words clearly.

“You began to desire me, arañita. That’s your dark secret.”

Your heart dropped at his knowledge of your hidden truth. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing to hide under his stern gaze, neither wanting to agree nor disagree with him.

A growl rumbled from the male as his hand slithered up to grasp your throat, gripping it just softly enough to intimidate. He tugged you harshly back against him, his chest pressing against your backside like a thorn. “You still lie, arañita. Even after everything, you continue to lie,” he snarled into your ear, feeling his cock throb against the curve of your rear - heavy, thick, and very, very hard. 

You shook your head, denying his claims of deceit, earning a tight squeeze on your throat that stopped your breathing for a moment. Despite the fear his action provoked, ecstasy coursed through your veins as your eyes rolled, beyond your control.

“M-Miguel—”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, Spiderwoman,” he silenced you with a dark purr, running his other hand along your thighs. “You want me to work for your admission—your acceptance.” The cat cackled into your ear.

“Well, challenge accepted…”

With a gasp, you were pushed forward, collapsing across the ledge, your hands pressing against the concrete, your rear thrusted upward. Confused, you looked over your shoulder to find red eyes—full of determination and lust—staring back.

Miguel’s large palms gripped your hips, his throat rumbling with a snarl. “I'm going to fuck you until I hear what I want from you, Spiderwoman.” He replied and before you could speak, his girthy shaft was plunged inside of you again, filling you up in an instance. 

Your eyes squeezed shut in bliss and agony, fingers gripping the edge of the ledge tightly. The cat didn't hesitate to begin thrusting into you, his hips slamming into your rear in deafening slaps that could be compared to thunderclaps. 

“Mierda, you are mine, Spiderwoman. You may hesitate and deny it all you want, but this fucking pussy is telling me all that I need.” He spat breathlessly, leaning over to grasp your chin roughly. “Now I just need your lips to speak the same.” He growled, turning your head to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, not seeking your comfort and continuing to pound into your sloppy cunt. 

Miguel sought to draw out his desired words from your mouth and break your resolve with his cock, willing to do so until you both were sore and burnt out if need be. 

Your mind felt hazy, slowly becoming drunk on the feeling of his fat member rearranging your insides. The rough kiss left you further dazed as you tighten your grip on the ledge, feeling it crack under your enhanced strength. 

Black Cat huffed, pulling away to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging you back. The feline's tip touched deeper inside you, his brutal pace, never slowing. 

You whimpered, euphoric tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. “Say it, bebè. Say you want me—fuck,” he began to babble, his white furry tail tightening around your leg, keeping you rooted in place.

Your back arched into a bow, seeking more of his shaft. The need for him was growing more intense by the minute, your mind becoming filled with Miguel and his girthy cock.

You moaned and mewled in his grip, but no longer could you deny that this very moment was one of your fantasies turned into reality.

Black Cat read your life to you as if he had lived it, every detail so accurate it was a little unsettling.

After your work as Spiderwoman, you returned home and settled for the night, thoughts of him creeping into your mind.

His white mane, furry tail, red eyes, sharp fangs, towering height, scars, muscles, spiked choker, fur jacket, and all-black-and-white attire filled your head in the seclusion of your bedroom.

You tossed and turned, tormented by his tempting yet forbidden features—things you couldn’t have, things you shouldn’t have.

But each night you found your hands roaming your body, touching yourself and imagining it was him. Using toys with the thought of his cock being what drove your movements, even going as far to moan his name upon release, knowing every orgasm you made that night was for him and him alone.

Black Cat was your guilty pleasure—a taboo fantasy that only took form inside the safety of your mind and bedroom. But now, standing before you, experiencing everything you had ever wanted, you found yourself uttering the words the feline villain had long sought from you.

“I—I want you… Miguel.”

You confessed aloud, your chest heaving from the intense pleasure and the mix of difficulty and relief in finally revealing your deep, dark secret

You felt Miguel’s arm tighten around your waist, a curse following with purrs of approval and ecstasy escaping him at your admission. “Hmm… there you go, Miss Spider. It feels good accepting your fate, giving in to your desires, doesn’t it?” he hummed, untangling his fingers from your hair to place his other hand on your waist. “I’m pleased, Spiderwoman, but I don’t trust it. Not yet.” The cat practically hissed, his claws digging enticingly into the soft skin of your hips, marking you with his talons.

His thrusts halted as he trailed open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, up your neck and to your ear, tugging at the lobe with his teeth. “I want you to prove it to me.” The villain instructed, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

A soft smack upon your rear made you jump that only left the feline chuckling. “I want you to show me your eagerness, arañita, and if I must spell it out.” He mockingly replied, his cock still inside you but completely still due to his lack of motion.

“Move your hips.” The cat directed, taking the flesh of your hips into his palms and tugging you forward and back along his shaft. It wasn't long that your whimpers began to fill the night sky again.

Understanding what he was asking of you, you began to take control. You wanted the cat villain to know how you truly felt about him, despite how shameful your feelings were.

You began to rock back onto his fat cock, slowing your movements to relish in every vein and ridge of his shaft as it traveled in and out of your sensitive walls.

The cat cursed, giving your ass another smack. “Fuck—yes, that's my good girl.”He praised, his moans only encouraged you and filled you more with confidence. 

Slurred confessions began to spill from your mouth like a leaky faucet, your pace quickening whilst your high rose simultaneously. “Y-yes... I’ve wanted you... M-Miguel, f-for a while now.”You admitted with a moan, eyes fluttering at how he twitched inside of you with your every word. 

"I-I’m sorry it took... so long," you gasped, your chest heaving."I was... afraid." You paused, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before continuing, your voice shaky. "But now... I know..." Another deep inhale, your body trembling with the intensity. "My desire for you... is more than my fear." You stammered between mewls, your ass colliding with his hips with a loud slap each time. 

The Black Cat growled, aroused further. Wrapping a forearm around your throat and gripping your waist, he pulled you to his chest, breathing into your ear. “Tell me more, spiderwoman. What else did you seek from me?” He inquired, his voice more slurred and raspy than before as he took control once more, pounding his shaft into you.

The bulgy muscle of his arm was pressed just right into your throat, engulfing you in his sweaty scent and musk that only made you drip puddles along his rapid shaft. “I-I wanted your touch…” you gasped, struggling to get the words out as your body trembled. “Y-your mark... from your fangs... and your…” You paused to catch your breath, heart racing, the weight of your confession sinking in… “A-and your c-cock!” You wailed out, feeling a harsh burn in the pit of your stomach beginning to grow. 

Black Cat hummed, holding you to him, practically gluing your backside to his chest. His dick pounded into you, his shaft drenched in your combined juices. “I knew you were my… naughty, naughty girl.” He snickered breathlessly, his tail tightening around your calf. 

“Ay Coño.” The curse escaped him. “Going to claim you, arañita. Going to fill this pretty pussy up, and you are going to enjoy it, sí?” The cat villain promised, his voice airy

You frantically nodded, moaning loudly as the pleasurable tears you tried to hold back began to stream down your cheeks. “P-please, please, please,” you chanted upon reaching your limit.

At your pleas, the feline rested his chest flat against your back, covering his large hands with yours to rest upon the concrete ledge before you. His movements became more purposeful and precise for the last time, slamming into you at an angle that touched that spot inside you repeatedly. 

Your eyes rolled into your skull, fingers squeezing his so harshly you'd believe his digits would snap any moment. 

With a final thrust, you released. Seeing white, you were overwhelmed by a wave of tingles and euphoric bliss, the feeling of your juices trickling down your hot skin going unnoticed.

Your tightness led Miguel to follow you over the edge. A guttural groan erupted from the Latino villain, his load filling up your inners and leaving you warm and full.

A peaceful silence settled upon the rooftop, broken only by your panting breaths and the occasional honking of cars down below.

Breathing heavily, the feline wrapped an arm around your midsection, stroking your stomach and nuzzling your hair. “Spiderwoman, you do not disappoint,” he chuckled breathlessly, inhaling the scent of your shampoo and enjoying the feeling of you in his arms.

The cat villain purred in contentment, the wind rustling his white mane and kissing the tips of his furry ears. “I never thought I'd find thrill in something else that didn’t leave my pockets filled with riches,” he confessed with a laugh, lapping his tongue along your neck to clean up the sweat there.

“So, let’s not make this our only playtime, hmm? I don’t believe I can simply leave here today, knowing how good you feel and unable to experience it again,” he admitted, resting his chin on your shoulder. His tail swished, and a purr rumbled from his throat when he was around you.

“So, what do you say? Want to have more fun with me—” Miguel’s words halted as he noticed the sleeping hero in his arms. The villain chuckled, not believing how long he’d rambled on, only to discover that he had been speaking to himself the whole time.

“A question for another time, then,” he trailed off with a sigh, pressing a kiss to your throat.

“Goodnight, arañita. Dream of me, would you?”

You groaned in annoyance at the beaming sun shining onto your closed eyelids. You shifted, feeling a blanket covering your body, which you didn’t hesitate to tug closer to your form.

Lying between a state of consciousness and unconsciousness, the recollections of last night began to fill your mind, causing your eyes to snap open.

“Miguel?” you called out, looking around to find yourself tangled in a series of comfy blankets, the rooftop empty except for you.

Your heart tugged at the feline’s disappearance.

Heaving a sigh, you drew back the sheets to find your Spiderwoman attire adorning your body. You couldn’t help but smile, aware that you had been nude before sleep claimed you, leaving the idea that Black Cat was the one who clothed you.

You stood, hastily tugging on your mask and beginning to roll up the blankets. “But why did you leave without saying goodbye?” you muttered glumly when you noticed a small, robotic white-and-black cat fall onto the floor from the bundle of sheets you held.

“One of Miguel’s kittens!?” you gasped, crouching down to pick up the small gadget that resembled the cunning feline.

You’d seen the robotic kitten many times before, knowing them best as tools for many of Miguel’s tasks, from spying to delivering messages. The little gadget was impressive tech, typical of the feline.

Pressing the red orb of the little cat’s eye and finally pulling its white tail, it began to speak aloud its recorded message:

“Good morning, Little Spider. Hope you slept well with the amount of drooling you did on my chest. I would have loved to stick around and bless your eyes with a sexy sight in the morning, but I had urgent business that needed taking care of. I assure you, arañita, we’ll meet again. Very soon.

Also, be sure to return the blankets—someone in a nearby laundromat just might be missing them.

Until then, keep your bed empty for me. I plan on filling it soon, Spiderwoman.”

The message concluded, and the robotic kitten fell silent, Miguel’s voice fading as quickly as it had spoken.

You wistfully smiled, running a finger along the miniature, cunning feline’s white mane, wishing it was the real Black Cat’s.

“I already miss the furry idiot,” you breathed, tucking the robot into the strap on your waist before deciding it was time to take your leave.

Picking up the bundle of blankets that Black Cat would say he “borrowed,” you shot a webline to a neighboring building, swinging through the morning air toward, hopefully, the location of a laundromat that had recently experienced a thievery.

However, as you traveled, your mind was filled with thoughts of the cat and how uncertain your future would be now that such an occurrence had happened.

But you found yourself, not regretting a thing.

People make mistakes, some repeating the same ones over and over again, and yes, you were a hero—a mutant with powers far beyond, but you would always be…

Human…

A human that wouldn’t mind making mistakes here and there, especially if that mistake was a walking cat mutant with red eyes, a white tail, and a signature black fur coat.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed The Cat and His Spider! As always, it was a pleasure writing Miguel as a sly, cat villain. Goodness, he was literally so scrumptious!! 😍😍

This marks the finale of the Vicetober 2024 event, which I created with my older sister, @powerful-niya. Apologies once again for it spilling over into the new year—personal life and education got in the way for both of us, making it difficult to write. But I’m happy we were still able to complete this event for our wonderful fans! Love you guys so much! 🖤🤍🖤🤍

Following Vicetober 2024, I'll be returning to my normal works. This includes asks, my kink series Entangled Desires, oneshots, and continuing stories like Tangled in His Webs, Lapdog, and many more—so be on the lookout! 😏

Also, I now have an AO3 account where I'll be posting new stories and transferring existing ones from Tumblr.

If you're interested, feel free to check it out here >> 🤓🤓

Once again, thank you so much to everyone who was excited about this event and enjoyed my posts. I truly appreciate it!

Make sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow if you enjoy events like this—perhaps I'll do another? We'll never know, lol. 🤷🏾‍♀️ If you'd like to submit a request for Entangled Desires or share an idea in general, just message or send an ask! Don’t be nervous—your idea could be amazing! I hope you have a wonderful day—stay safe! 🖤🤍

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