#light box Digital Printing

[6slux]

cut the cameras | 2.2k

pairing; onyankopon x BLACK!INFLUENCER!READER

synopsis; you try and fail to record for your channel but a surprise visitor distracts you.

cw! 18+, black!fem!reader, plug!onyankopon, dirty talk, oral (m!receiving), p in v sex, consensual filming, established relationship, unprotected sex, creampie, fiancé!onyankopon, rimming

“welcome back, pixies”, you pause slightly, voice syrupy-sweet, “…to another get ready with me!”, curved acrylics wave at the camera’s lens.

sunday evenings were reserved for you and onyankopon’s date nights. no matter how hectic your schedules get- time was made.

“today i’m jus’ doing a quick light beat. a lil’ something for my man and i’s bowling date”, draped behind you is a lavender-padded backdrop. the plush material lines a corner of your shared bedroom.

opposite of that sits a pink Sony ZV-1, with the motion-tracking tripod to match. the very one you swooned over to onyankopon after watching numerous reviews. that very same Christmas the heavy box sat underneath the tree with a sparkly bow attached.

nerves still manage to swell in the pit of your belly, despite this being your tenth video for your channel. there were only going to be 20,000 eyes on you, after all. while getting dolled-up was second nature, showcasing it to the digital world required transparency.

“as always I’m startin’ with my Mac Studio Radiance Primer. y’all when i tell you this thing acts like a barrier on my skin”, you swear by the white bottle in the palm of your hand.

*squirt*- the milky substance spurts out on your left cheekbone. fingertips then massaging it into the copper freckles that splatter across your skin.

a leopard-print robe clings onto your body’s grooves. this newfound hobby of yours is a therapeutic one. something that helps the time passes when your fiancé is outside.

it’s comical just how soon the golden doorknob spins in your peripheral. the camera merely picks up step two as a shadow overcasts the leftside of the frame.

you don’t bat an eye in the man’s direction. onyankopon was keen on greetings no matter how short the distance. having already made several guest appearances on the channel thus far.

“‘m filmin’, ony,” you whine, lips betraying you as they spread into a soft grin. a deep chuckle rolls off of his pink tongue. thick digits already wrapping around your chin to bring your spacey eyes upwards. a tinge of weed lingers on him. the subtle scent wafting in with his rich, musky cologne.

the look you share makes your brush crumble to your lap. onyankopon’s pupils are filled with adornment each time they find you. after a long day of serving the block he gets to come home to you, who’s barely lifted a french tip. he leads a life of chaos to afford your luxurious one. to assure his baby can simply sit before a camera and look pretty. It’s the soft life you deserve; the least he can provide for someone so selfless.

“i know, ma. jus’ wanted to see if you was straight. to apologize for dipping out before you was up s’all,” he jests with sincerity, despite the amusement of his southern twang. it’s almost enough for you to believe him, yet his hold lingers on your tilted chin.

onyankopon will never get over how much your lash tech loves you. how each wispy strand highlights the shape of your doe eyes.

a nod is returned, not a hair misplaced in your slickback bun as you purse your lips together. the telling gesture causes him to swoop down and plant a kiss with his full ones.

he leaves—with nothing but the sheen from your lip balm with him. straight to the connected en suite onyankopon goes. the sound of water trickles softly a couple seconds later.

communication isn’t needy with you two. he makes his presence known, acknowledges your feelings, and then his sweatpant-clad thighs are out of the frame. soon, you’re peering back at that red dot. it picks up every single thing, except for the makeup look it’s intended to catch.

a soft sigh escapes your disheveled head as you duck underneath the vanity to find a lost brush. distractions gloss over as you apply foundation into the pores of your prepped skin. you speak fluently as your wrist works in the layers of your velvety base. viewers are assured that you’re using your go-to products; Fenty, Mac, and various other brands scattered messily.

somewhere between placing down your dark-cocoa liner and reaching for clear gloss—the bathroom door swings open. not just a creak, but the wood is forcefully pushed against. this causes your neck to snap towards the side of the camera. low and behold heavy steps knock against the acacia floor panels.

onyankopon’s rich skin glistens with wet droplets. his broad stature is bare with the exception of it’s intricate ink. a bushy happy trail leads to the fuzzy towel around his waist. he’s intentional as he makes his way to the spongy mattress. knowing movements pretend as if a gaze isn’t fixated on his flexing back muscles. curse how you melt beneath yourself- ogling at his back as he pays you no mind. at least that’s what your fiancé wants you to believe. teasingly he sorts through a pile of shirts in search for tonight’s contender. simultaneously, your passionate narration dies into a deafening silence.

“thought filmin’ was so damn important, ‘member, baby?”, he speaks deliberate and sarcastic. you can almost hear the smirk stretched across his face.

abruptly a needless reminder bounces off the bedroom wall. yet onyankopon’s shaded back is still turned towards you.

you snarl, “well it’s kinda hard with all the noise in my background”, covered arms now rest against your rising chest. a pregnant pause floods the space right before he’s completely turned and facing you. a lump settles in your throat as the giant paces the room to your side. annoyance has taken over his features, brows now furrowed to crease his nose bridge.

“aye, quit all that whining,” he retorts, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, betraying his playful intent. as if the towel-ridden man wasn’t trying to get you all riled up in your seat. that previous hold on your chin is returned. this time onyankopon’s opposite palm goes to drop his towel. “make me,” your counterattack is the final one that leaves your two-tone lips, eyes flickering between his challenging stare and the impending peril as the towel loosens its grip around his waist.

there’s no time to recount how you’ve gotten here. with the weight of onyankopon’s size drooping his engorged tip in your face. now an eucalyptus soap fills your nostrils, left hand already wrapped around his thick base. up and down—you drag along the ridges of his veins up and down. your torso is already twisted to face him. peach bottom pressing into your soles as you turn towards him-thighs flattening beneath you. the velvet bench to your vanity was now being used as a prop.

teasingly, your lips part an inch apart. just wide enough to press open-mouthed kisses onto the slit of onyankopon’s tip. pre-cum oozes out only to be lapped up by your hungry tongue. “w-what’s all this teasing? you was just big n’ bad a minute ago,” his fist wraps around himself, the other pressed your head closer. a soft shriek escapes before onyankopon clogs the back of your throat. his chiseled hips thrust, giving you no time to prepare yourself. he sets a pace that’s mean and ruthless—it has your saliva foaming around his deep veins like a fountain.

in a teary-eyed blink, your mouth is stuffed full. he’s so relentless as he drags your wetness along his shaft. wet, slick noises erupting as you hollow your cheeks and cup his balls. a familiar spaciness fogs your head as you bob against his shallow thrusts. “right there-fuck, this throat so damn tight...”

he holds you against him, half of his dick disappearing as your muscles convulse around his girth. and you stay there for what feels like forever- a gagging fit forcing onyankopon to lazily pull you off. “ony…need you”, tone now softened by lust, you look up with big, shiny eyes. spit dribbles down your chin as you use a palm to massage the moisture into onyankopon‘s length. his own chest is rising and falling- animating your italicized name that resides over his heart.

beneath your breathless plea is the sight of your robe unraveling on its own. how could ony resist the way your cleavage spills out of the silk. the way your naked thighs stick together from your honey. with a curious grin, he dips down and latches his forearm around your midsection. gently your fiancé picks you up until your heels can wrap around his torso. his hold is strong and protective—bringing you a couple feet away to lay flat on the edge of the mattress.

now, the forgotten camera hones in on onyankopon’s perfect ass while he rids you of the sheer coverup. you’re helpless beneath him as he towers over you, knees to your chest. “nah, don’t do all that cryin’. act like you run shit for ya lil’ fans,” your soft groans earn you an eye roll, his darkened pupils now taking in every inch of glowy skin. all you can do is look up at the spinning ceiling, his tip taps against your fat folds.

“need to feel all of you, bae…please need my husband,” that little nickname of yours. husband—one that reminded the man of what was to come in a couple months. all the blood, sweat, teary nights and fucking money to make your big day special. countless of long meetings and bridal arrangements. cake tastings and floral pickings. all to officially marry the man of your fairytales. the very same one who swore he didn’t believe in marriages. he’d seen the concept as a scam up until he met you. now as whipped as can be; he strictly referred to you as his wife, his heart, his everything.

onyankopon‘s dick sinks into you like the final piece to a tedious puzzle. his head presses into your velvet walls as you mewl against your pursed lips. “like that? you feel that? feel what you do to me?,” one palm’s wingspan spreads behind your knees to keep them pinned. it gives him sight of the way your walls flutter around his thick dick. “jesus, ma. s’only half of it…need you to loosen up for me. i know she greedy as can be,” the stretch burns, your restrained legs weakly defend with a slight twitch. “fuc-k, ony you so deep can’t- can’t take anymo…,” both of your fists grip either sides of the sheet, head thudding back into a pile of freshly washed polos.

it’s like the masochist feeds off of your cries. onyankopon‘s other palm guides him through your wetness. a permanent furrow stays with him as he tries to make sense of the tightness. he’ll never get over how unforgiving your body is—like a wave of amnesia washes over the cunt he’s been buried in countless of times. “there you go, knew you could do it. take it, take it,” he repeats, a hand finding your waist now that your mound presses to his coarse pubes. onyankopon stills for all of several seconds. he snorts as your distorted expression tries to turn to the wrinkled duvet. the way the camera frames the sight of you coming undone off of stillness—silence, is amusing.

“what you pushing me away fo? we’re jus’ getting started, ma”, your nails shove beneath his navel, “we can always turn this shit into onlyfans whenever…,” that’s when it dawns upon you. you’re so fucked out that your fuzzy head shoots up and meets the tiny, red dot. onyankopon takes the epiphany as he’s not doing enough. he suddenly snaps his hips all the way back—leaving you with the trace of fullness. then, he thrusts back in with one, fluid motion. “mmh-ph!”, the wind is gutted from your deflated chest. you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve came, but the puddle beneath your ass grows damper.

“shit…shit’s so…ugh,” the figure above you is soon reduced to incoherent whimpers. onyankopon lazily thumbs your second hole as he tries to keep up with his slowed pace. the way you clench and weep around him is going to be the death of him—he’s certain of it. when your eyes flutter open you’re met with his bobbing adam’s apple. his neck is blindly held back and his strokes are by the grace of God. “goddamn, ma. ‘m nutting, fuck i‘m nutting,” he huffs in twos, feet grounded into the tan rug beneath and knees locked. his base kisses your pussy one last time before you feel that dewy sensation. like a ragdoll your knees drop to the side. onyankopon gets ahold of your waist when he pulls out. a mixture of release seeps to your folds and down the side of the bed.

“hold up, peach. gonna get you cleaned so we can head out,” his raspy voice is drained and raw. for a moment you let him believe you two are stepping foot out of the house. he turns to head to the bathroom, but a grip around his wrist stops him. “again,” your canting blinks betray your eagerness, each one slower than the last. deep laughter erupts from onyankopon‘s inked sternum; only to resume his movement. his footsteps gyrate the entire, humid bedroom. instead of continuing to the bathroom, ony stops at the rolling device. with the click of a button the lens fades and retracts inwards. “i can’t give away all my best shots wit’ my woman”.

[dcafanzine]

May Update

Helllllooooo everyone!  Sun and Moon and the Fanzine crew have been quietly working away here at Glitches and Glitterglue HQ but it’s about time you lovely people had an update! I think Moon is ready for a break after being worked so hard, but Sun will not accept anything less than perfect for you all!

Well, we are well on our way! We’ve now ironed out the last wrinkles with all our production companies and we’re super excited to share the results of our labour! We are just awaiting final proofs for the last changes on a couple of items and to give the green light to produce the goods.

Our next steps will be receiving the goods, boxing up and dispatching in waves! We cannot express how excited are to be so close to the finish line and have these bundles in your hands.

A few of you have been asking about tariffs and what these will be impacting. The tariffs (from our understanding and research) would mostly affect items being imported to the US, the zines and merch coming directly to our shipping team from manufacturers from overseas. We are planning on our US items being shipped to backers from within the US and many of our international items being shipped from the UK, with a few exceptions. This was always our plan to both help split the load for our team and this should also help with tariff issues should there be further problems and fees trickling through the shipping systems.

The honest answer is we’re charting uncertain waters with this but to our current understanding, this shouldn’t impact you but may slightly increase the waiting times for things to arrive with us. Should there be any need for further guidance, we will let you all know via update.

Sneak Peeks! Aren't they amazing?  Some snippets of works you have to look forward to from the talented RAVLIKSBLOG, LYCANKEYY and ELDRITCH-BEETLE!

Annnnd here’s an updated timeline! 

Updated Fazwatch Timeline

What's happening next?  Here's the up to date estimated outline as of May 2025!

There were some small issues that have been resolved with our manufacturers, but after reviewing and finalizing proofs, items are in production!

We expect to begin receiving some items in the next few weeks and into June.  Here is the updated timeline reflecting the delay.

February-March 2025: Funds Received & Items Ordered! We have received the funds from Kickstarter and are in the process of finalizing our order details and sending all of the amazing art to our manufacturers. Proof and Production times can vary, but we will send updates to backers as details are finalized and items go into production.

April-May 2025: Proofs Reviewed, Revised, & Approved. Printing and Manufacturing is underway! Proofs received from manufacturers and our team has reviewed everything for quality and accuracy. This process can go back and forth multiple times. With the final approval of the art, the manufacturers will begin production!

June 2025: We will send out Backer Surveys to confirm everyone's shipping details. We are planning on surveys being sent out in June, but will send an update prior to sending and to remind backers to look for them once they are sent. 

Mid June-July 2025 (estimated): Items arrive and fulfilment begins!  

July-Sept of 2025 (estimated): Packages are Shipped & Digital Rewards are Sent! Once we have confirmed where everything needs to be shipped, we will begin to send out packages in waves. This does mean that everyone's packages will not arrive around the same time, but this in unavoidable with how many of you there are!  It will be during this time we plan to send out the digital rewards.

More detailed information on digital reward fulfilment will be coming in a future update.

These are estimated dates that we’ll be able to further refine as we get farther along in the process. These may change depending on manufacturing, and other factors we have done our best to plan for.

Thank you all for your patience and I’m sure you’ll hear more good news from us soon!

[yourbasicqueerie]

office hours (lilia calderu x reader)

• Summary: You've been distracted lately, and Professor Calderu noticed it. what will happen when she calls you into her office for a little "chat" about your....diversions?

• Notes: Wrote this based on the beautiful @jubshead 's experiences with having a crush on her teacher, go give her some love because she is one of my favorite people ever and a constant joy in my life, the cunnilingus bit is for my honorary grandma pia ( @chiefofmilfs). I don't have a playlist for 5is even tho I have had it sitting on my docs for a good 2 weeks now, but I did listen to a lot of "glory box" by Portishead while cranking at this. thank you to my angel in earth @angeliccss for helping me with the pictures!!!! hope you like it. ALSO PREACH ANKLE BRACELETS BECAUSE LILIA IS A FUKCIGN HIPPEY AND I CANJOT WITH ANYONE MAKING HER A FANCY COOL BROADWAY DIVA LET MY WEEDY CUNTY DUMPSTER DIVING GRANDMA RUN FREE INTO THE SUNSET WITH TWO DIFFERENT PAIRS OF STOLEN SUNGLASSES UNDER HER UNPADDED CROCHET BRALLETE • warnings: smut in this bitch and it’s fucking everywhere, like nasty nasty shit. probably the horse it’s most jerkable thing i’ve ever made so uhhh beware if you don’t want to read straight up filth coming from yours truly

——————————— ^ ————————————

The campus hums with late afternoon energy.

Someone’s blasting jazz from a dorm window three floors up, and the quad smells like cheap weed and cut grass. You dodge a flying frisbee, give a half-hearted wave to your anthropology partner, and keep walking—fast—toward the old humanities building. The one that looks like it’s about to either collapse or be declared a historic landmark.

Professor Calderu’s office is on the third floor. No elevator.

The stairs creak like they’re judging you.

You knock, knuckles tapping lightly on the frosted glass door that reads: Dr. Lilia Calderu, Department of History — Office Hours by Appointment Only

...which, for you, apparently means “4:30 on a Thursday because she said so and you didn’t dare argue.”

“Come in,” calls that unmistakable voice—smoky, precise, somehow both amused and exhausted.

You step in. And, as usual, her office looks like a wizard exploded in it. There are stacks of old books—some with titles in Latin, others just blank leather spines—everywhere. There’s incense curling from a holder shaped like a tiny gargoyle, a velvet throw draped dramatically over a chair she definitely doesn’t let students sit in, and a mug that says Hex the Patriarchy beside a bowl of hard candy you’ve never seen anyone take from.

Professor Lilia Calderu herself sits behind the desk, legs crossed, reading glasses perched low on her nose. She’s wearing a long, flowing blouse with swirling prints in crimson and indigo, sleeves that flutter when she turns a page. Her jewelry clinks softly as she moves—silver rings, chunky bangles, earrings that sparkle even in low light. Her lipstick’s a sharp berry-red, her gray hair is being worn so dramatically that you can't quite place whether it is a crown or a rebellion.

She doesn’t look up. Yet.

You hover awkwardly by the door, resisting the urge to shift your weight like a guilty middle schooler.

“You’re late,” she says.

“It’s 4:31.”

“Which is not 4:30.”

You could argue. You don’t. Finally, she looks up.

And her gaze pins you where you stand. There’s something vaguely feline about the way she watches you. Leisurely. Dissecting. As if she already knows every reason you’re here, but she wants to hear you say it. Badly.

“Well?” she says, folding her hands over your essay—the one she digitally returned last week with comments like “uninspired” and “beneath your abilities.” (Which hurt more than you’d like to admit, especially since she’s usually never so surgical with her praise.)

“I’m here to talk about my grade,” you say, forcing confidence into your voice.

She leans back. “Are you?”

“I—yes?”

Lilia lifts a brow.

“Interesting. Because your paper suggests you either didn’t read the material, or you were too distracted to care.”

That stings. “I read it,” you say defensively. “Twice.”

“Mmm. And yet, here you are.” She gestures lazily to the seat across from her. “Sit. Let’s get to the root of the problem.”

You sit. (Because of course you do.)

She watches you, silent for a beat too long. Then: “You’ve been distracted. In class. In your writing. Even now, you can barely keep still.”

You blink. “I’m just—tired. It’s midterms. Everyone’s tired.”

Lilia tuts. “Somehow, not everyone is turning in work that reads like a half-hearted blog post.”

You bristle. “It wasn’t that bad.” She smirks.

“Darling, if I wanted to be lied to, I’d go to a faculty meeting.”

(And there it is—that sharp, dry wit that makes your stomach flip in the worst/best way.)

Her eyes narrow slightly behind the glasses. “Tell me,” she says slowly, “what is it that’s keeping your mind so… preoccupied?”

She already knows. Of course she does. But she wants to hear you say it. Wants to drag it out of you like a confession.

You shift in your seat. The cushion creaks under you. “I don’t know.” Lilia hums, clearly not buying it. She rises from her chair in one fluid movement, shawl rippling behind her, and steps around the desk—slow, deliberate, dangerous. You don’t breathe.

“You don’t know?” she repeats, almost gently, coming to stand behind you. “That doesn’t sound like the clever little voice that won’t shut up in my class. The one who always has something to say—until now.”

You sit very still. She smells like smoke and sandalwood and something that doesn’t belong to this century.

Her fingers drift lightly over the back of your chair. Not touching you. Yet. “Is it stress?” she asks, low near your ear. “A bad grade? Boy troubles? Girl troubles? Hmm?” You start to speak, but her hand finally does touch—fingertips grazing the back of your neck, feather-light. You shiver. “Oh,” she purrs, and you can hear the smirk in her voice. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

You tense. A heartbeat of silence.

“Say it,” she murmurs. You open your mouth.

“No, wait,” she says, stepping in front of you now, leaning on the desk again, arms crossed so the sleeves of her blouse pull tight across her chest. She looks down at you like she’s grading your soul. “Let me guess. You don’t want to admit it. You’re embarrassed.”

You flush. “I’m not—”

“Please,” she interrupts smoothly. “You stare. You squirm. You bite your lip like you’re in a bad paperback novel. If I made a drinking game out of your distractions, I’d be in rehab.”

You don’t know what to do with your hands. Your voice comes out too quiet. “It’s not my fault.”

Her head tilts. “Oh?”

“You walk into the room and everyone notices. You talk like you already know what people are going to say. You look at me like you see right through me. And—” You stop. Too late.

“And?” she asks, with exquisite cruelty. You bite the inside of your cheek.

Lilia steps closer, between your legs now, and you realize suddenly that she’s barefoot—silver rings on her toes, ankle bracelets that jingle softly. Her hand lifts and gently tilts your chin up. Her voice is a whisper, but sharp enough to cut glass. “And that makes it hard for you to concentrate?”

You nod. Once. Slowly.

“I see.” Her thumb drags over your lower lip. “And here I thought I’d lost my touch.”

You exhale—more like a tremble than a breath.

She doesn’t move. “I should report you,” she says. Not a threat. Just a thought spoken aloud. “You’re a distraction. A danger to decorum. But you know what, darling?” Her voice softens, grows silkier. “I think I like watching you struggle.”

You should be offended. You’re not.

“You come into my class pretending to be clever. But all it takes is a little pressure,” she presses her thumb a bit firmer against your lip, “and look how quickly you fall apart.”

You stare at her. You want to say something scathing. Something flirty. Something to take back an ounce of control. All that comes out is a whisper: “Lilia.”

Her eyes glint like obsidian catching firelight. She leans in, lips barely brushing your ear now, voice a dagger wrapped in velvet. “Do you need me to help you focus, darling?”

READ MORE ON AO3

[baby-you-you]

12-13 year old boy regressor (who has an emotional support stuffed animal)?

12-13 Y/O Boy-re regressor theme !!!

🧸 activities

Coloring books or activitiy books Watching cartoons or kids’ movies (e.g., Pokémon, LEGO Ninjago) Listening to lullabies or kid-friendly music Building with LEGOs or magnetic tiles Playing with action figures Snuggling your comfort stuffie Playing video games (Minecraft, Roblox, Mario Kart) Storytime Drawing or painting with non-toxic supplies Riding a scooter or bike Tag, hide & Seek.

🧸 clothes

Fuzzy jammies Hoodie & Joggers Onesies/footies Character t-shirts (Sonic, Pokémon, Marvel, etc.) Fun-print socks Overalls or comfy shorts with elastic waist Light-up sneakers or wheelies Slippers shaped like animals or characters

🧸 toys

Your comfort plush! Weighted plushies or blankets Fidget toys (pop-its, squishies, tangles) LEGOs or magnetic building kits Toy cars, tracks, or Hot Wheels Action figures (superheroes, ninjas, robots) Nerf blasters (gentle play) RC cars or simple drones Slime/Kinetic sand Craft kits or DIY science sets

🧸 games

Memory games or matching cards Digital story games Roblox Minecraft Puzzle games (Tangrams, jigsaws) UNO Mario Kart pokemon board games

🧸 foods/drinks

Apple slices Mac-n-cheese Dinosaur nuggets Animal crackers Goldfish juice boxes Yoo-hoo Pudding cups Waffles/pancakes Ice cream / popsicles Fun drinks (Blue raspberry slushies, milkshakes, etc)

🧸 nicknames <3

Lil boy baby boy little guy sweetpea little fella cub bubs bubba buddy Dino champ kiddo

[juniperdugong]

Be my first? - Wonwoo

WC: 824 || Genre: Fluff || CW: Some swears, despite the title, there is only a smidgen of suggestiveness || Wonwoo x fem!reader (established relationship)

A/N: This is a quick little thang that could be (very much insinuated to be) a pt.2 to this lovely fic that's gotten so much love

"How do you like it, baby?"

Wonwoo wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you onto his lap. Resting his chin on your shoulder as he watched you in amusement.

"How do I like it? I don't just like it, I fucking love it, Nonu!" You quickly turned around to meet him face to face. The goofy smile adorning your lips makes him sit tall and proud knowing that he's the one who's made you like this.

You pepper his face in light kisses as you fumble with the box. You've long discarded the gift bag at this point and Wonwoo sighs knowing that he's gonna have to pick it up later because you'll inevitably forget to clean your mess. He just enjoys being showered in your physical praise for the moment, pushing all other thoughts to the side.

Finally, you get it open. Your face gleaming with joy as you hold your new treasure. Excitedly you dart between your present and Wonwoo's face, like a puppy asking for permission from its owner to run around the park full speed. He nodded gently and you were off to the races!

The Instax mini evo instant film - a beauty of a modern film camera that you've eyed since its release.

To be honest you weren't as into film and photography as Wonwoo but you always admired the look of some of the older analog film cameras he had. You expressed a slight desire to get into the hobby but only if you could do it digitally... the only thing stopping you? You absolutely hated the way modern cameras looked. Of course, the aesthetic shouldn't matter when it comes to equipment but it mattered to you just enough to not commit to photography, although you'd never admit it.

But with the Instax mini, you could basically say FujiFilm read your mind and came out with the perfect product for you to fulfill your oh-so-selfish desire of looking like someone who knows their way around a camera. All of this of course to impress your handsome nerd of a boyfriend, Jeon Wonwoo.

"Be my first?" He looked at you quizzically before scanning his own body with his eyes, "Baby, we've already-"

"No, you ass. I meant let's take the first picture together..." You hit him on the chest lightly before skimming over the manual for a gist of how everything worked. He gave a small chuckle and a light peck to your cheek, relaxing into your shoulder once again. "Sure, pretty girl. I'd love to be the first."

Once you're sure you've got down the basics you raise the camera above your heads, making sure your angle is perfect. "You better smile very prettily for this, Jeon Wonwoo." you say through gritted teeth as you hold "the perfect poised smile".

"Of course, I won't dissapoint, angel." He tucks your hair behind your ears on the side that he's resting against, puts on his best smile, and reaches up to meet the hand you're using to hold up the camera.

"What are you do-" Before you can get your question out Wonwoo uses his other hand to push your head towards him, catching you in a kiss. His timing is perfect because just as you're about to push him away he snaps the photo.

Immediately he takes the camera from your hands and prints the picture. You stare at him in complete shock at his audacity. "Wonwoo~" You whine as he holds an iron grip on the device you're so desperately trying to get back from him.

"Just a second... and... Got it!" He all but tosses the camera onto your lap as he hastily grabs at the photo once it's printed. The content laugh that comes out of him as he sees the result has you fuming.

"Let me see!" You snatch it from him and cringe at what you see next.

Wonwoo with his perfectly sculpted face, eyes closed gently, leaning in ever so gracefully and meeting you. You who had your eyes wide open in shock and lips pursed out of habit, but they more so resemble duck lips than anything else.

"You should put that in your phone case, baby." With a look of complete and utter dissatisfaction and disgust, you look at your boyfriend, who is thoroughly enjoying your reaction with the biggest smile on his face. You punch his chest, he pretends to be hurt for a second before returning to his state of euphoria.

"Yeah? Since you seem like it so much maybe you should put it in your phonecase." You hold the picture up to his face, a chuckle coming from him as he beholds his masterpiece once more.

"I'm good, I've already got the perfect photo in mine." He flips his phone over and thumbs at the cutout frame of a photo strip, your first kiss. "Plus, it's your first picture with your new camera, cherish it, baby."

A/N: Not proofread!! A little something something because I was in the writing mood~ A question to any fanfic authors who read this, what's your word count per day? Me personally, whether it's a part of a longer fic or not, I average about 1000. This fic was actually written with like an hour and a half. Anyways lovelies, let me know what you think!!!

Please Reblog and Comment (They act as power-ups for me)

Taglist (OPEN): @bemybabiibish @bath1lda @porridgesblog

[imaprettygirl]

A drop of ink, a blot spread across time

(Vintage au)

Plot summary: It was 1950s when pen pals were popular and almost everyone had one! You used to have a handful of them but the camaraderie between you and them faded as you got older. One day, you found a newspaper on your late great-grandpa's shelves in his bedroom. Excitedly, you flipped the papers to get to a specific page and bingo! There was a section for the addresses of people who are looking for a pen-friend much like yourself. After randomly choosing, you sent out your first letter and he replied back! However, you noticed something weird in the photo he sent...

Crds to @drinkthesky for the divider!

Men I deem fit: Alhaitham, Albedo, Imbibitor Lunae/Dan Heng, Dr Ratio, Diluc, Zhongli, Venti, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Sunday.

(Fck alphabetical order, I can't do that sh*t)

The amber glow of the afternoon sun bathed the room as the open windows situated at the opposite of the door allowed sunlight streams to enter the room as its panes quivered in hushed symphony due to the beckoning of the hot air. If you moved closer to the windows, you could see dust particles illuminated by the natural light. Even after the passing of your great-grandfather, the bookish scent of his cologne still lingers in his bedroom along with his possessions which were either coated with a thin layer of dust or covered with a big white cloth.

The wooden floor creaked beneath you as you walked towards his bookshelves in hopes of finding pieces of classical literature and maybe learn a thing or two from it. You delicately traced your index finger through the long vertical rows of books, leaving a trail of dust on the pads of your digit. As you peruse through countless novels only to be unsatisfied until you saw a newspaper at the edge of the shelf, untouched by the dust that plagues the rest.

'How strange...' you thought to yourself as you rubbed your thumb and index finger against the surface of the paper to determine its texture: it was sandy and rough, definitely ancient but the format was similar to the ones your dad reads in the morning so it must be a freshly produced newspaper, albeit printed in a different quality of paper.

Or so you thought...

The newspapers in your hands gave you a glimmer of hope; it was an opportunity to find a pen friend! You used to have a few ones but stopped writing to them either because they used too much colloquial words or they had at least twenty spelling mistakes in each sentence which gave you a migraine whilst trying to make out if your correspondent was writing in a foreign language or not. But this time, maybe you could hit the jackpot and find an actually nice pen-pal. Excitedly, you flipped through the papers and stopped at the specific page which had a list of names along with their addresses under the bold heading:

'Pen-friends! Make new friends around the world!'

Your eyes scanned across the list of names, allowing your intuition to guess the personality of that stranger based on their names alone. But then, a specific name caught your eye- it was uncommon which was the main reason it stood out from the rest of the names which probably were taken from 'Top 10 best names for children of this year'. You took a closer look of the address below that person's name and turned out, both of you lived in the same area! A surge of enthusiasm rippled throughout your body and immediately tucked the newspaper into the inside pocket of your coat.

~~~~~♡~~~~~♡~~~~~♡~~~~~

The curtains of your living room slowly opened as you peeked your head out and pressed your face against the glass. A day had passed after you had sent your very first letter and heck, you even went a mile far by sending a photograph of your two cats to make a memorable first impression. Then- just like you had anticipated- the postman on his bike suddenly came into view and halted his vehicle by your mail-box and placed a letter inside. You clutched the folds of the curtains unable to contain the happiness blossoming inside you. As soon as the postman disappeared out of your eyesight, you rushed outside to take the letter out of the mailbox. The first thing that greeted your eyes was the immaculate handwriting and the scent emitted from the paper.

'How sweet of him...' you thought as you continued reading the letter in your mind. The paragraphs were neatly organized and made of outdated vocabulary that you wouldn't understand had you not taken an interest in classic literature. You could tell this man practiced utmost eloquence just by his letter alone. Overall, he wrote a few things about himself and asked you about your hobbies, what you like and blablabla.

But then, something struck within you concerning with the photograph he sent and notes written behind it:

"The construction of the mall is making my ears bleed. I cannot stand the constant sounds of the drills and other sounds coming from it. I daresay, you must be experiencing the same disturbance as we are only one street apart from each other. Perhaps we should plan to meet up after the mall opens. What do you think of it?"

The more you stared at the photograph and the note, the more confused you became. The picture showed the mall with the same as the one down the street but it was still in construction according to the photo. 'Huh?' A frown stretched across your face. That specific mall had been going on more nearly a century now to the point that the community had been urging the government to shut it down in order to build a more innovative one. Didn't it finish construction like a hundred years ago? But his photo told a whole new different story.

Suspicions rose inside of you as a spiral of questions revolved around your head- you found it difficult to process it. Not missing a beat, you hurried to your room to find that newspaper you took from your late great-grandfather's shelf. You mumbled in frustration when you couldn't find it; you swore you left it either on the desk or on the bed. Finally, you found it under the bed and oh my...

The letter was published a century back in time which meant that...

"T-The man I just sent a letter...was from the past...." The newspaper dropped from your hands. Your letter had ripped its way out of the fabric of time and went into the mailbox of a man who lived in the same area as you but different time period. He was in the past, you were in the future.

Still, a part of you felt curious about the interaction between two people of different dimensions. So you decided to reply back to his letter. What could go wrong...right?

To people who are more knowledgeable in time travel or parallel universes, pls don't attack me, I know what I wrote may or may not make sense for some of you but pls don't mind me 😭😭😭

And also, not proofread because I wrote this around midnight and I'm literally on the verge of dozing off- (Ik I have such healthy sleep cycles and I have to wake up at 6 am yayyy!! Sleep-deprived-students-core😘��🤗)

[yellobb]

This fandom has the best artists in the world I stg. Every time I look at my wall I get so fucking happy ❤️❤️❤️ yall are so talented and wonderful, and I hope all your crops are watered and you’re thriving

Tags/links for each poster under the cut :)

Bentley running over the Metatron - @gleafer

Aziraphale with the bees, Crowley with the birds, and purple demon - @/icanbelouder on Instagram

Gladiator Crowley, 1941 Crowley, snek Crowley, and snek Crowley keychain - @angellilou-art

Crowley surrounded by snakes, Aziraphale surrounded by feathers, girl in field, and I THINK the girl with the hair (I managed to lose it to the shadow realm somehow when I went to look at the back for credit) - @cherriielle

Saturday Celestial Post and A.Z. Fell and Co coupon - @lightsintheskye

Lots of Crowley’s - @doodlenoodleh

Sandman light box - @/decofriki on Instagram

Special shoutout to BXTHstudio and @cesiscribbles for the absolutely precious stickers and bookmarks 🥰 be sure to check them out, too!

[superwholock36]

~ A Little Taste of Heaven ~ (Peter Parker x Fem!Reader) (1/10)

Sorry for any mistakes! I don't have a beta and this is my first story I've ever put out there! ~ ❤️ Any feed back is much appreciated! I hope you all Enjoy!

Also it has been posted to ao3 as I have an account there under Kprincess3697 so it hasn’t been stolen, Love y’all 🥰

warnings : Mature themes/Explicit content/Action-packed violence/Emotional turmoil/Hostage situations/Romance/Angst summery "Spider-Man swings in to save the day, but ends up stealing more than just a moment—he gets caught in something a little more… complicated. 😉"

________________________________________________

🎵🎶Sweetest Pie • Megan Thee Stallion, Dua Lipa 🎶🎵(link to song)

________________________________________________

Moving to Manhattan had felt like stepping into an entirely new existence. Her old life—familiar routines, the safety net of her small circle—was now miles away, stored in memory boxes and cautious goodbyes. This was supposed to be her fresh start, her big break. She had landed a job at the New York Bulletin, after all.

The title alone had made her giddy with anticipation. A major magazine! She had imagined herself diving into editorial meetings, pitching bold ideas, and seeing her byline in glossy print. But reality had been far less glamorous. Instead of crafting stories, she spent her days running coffee orders, delivering memos, and juggling dry cleaning runs for senior staff.

An errand girl. That’s what she had become.

She fought to swallow the growing pit of disappointment every time her phone buzzed with yet another task. This wasn’t what she had dreamed of, but Manhattan wasn’t one for indulging dreams—it was a place where you either climbed or got swept away. And she wasn’t about to let the city win.

Navigating the bustling streets of Manhattan was like stepping into a current of unrelenting energy. Crowds surged past [Name] in every direction, the air thick with the aroma of street food mingled with exhaust fumes. She kept her head low, her messenger bag slung over one shoulder and her phone clutched tightly in her hand. She had just picked up lunch for her editor, the kind of errand that seemed to define her job lately.

She paused at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. The towering digital screens above her flickered, capturing her attention as they cut into their regular loop of advertisements. The unmistakable face of J. Jonah Jameson appeared, scowling and leaning forward in his signature style that made it seem like he was berating the entire city.

“This just in!” his gravelly voice boomed over the speakers, loud enough to drown out even the relentless honking of taxis. “Another so-called heroic escapade by your friendly neighborhood Spider-Menace. Earlier today, the webbed wonder was spotted in a disastrous attempt to thwart a robbery in Queens, leaving chaos in his wake!”

[Name] watched as shaky footage played on the screens, showing Spider-Man swinging between buildings, dodging blasts of some kind of energy weapon. The scene cut back to Jameson, his face practically crimson with indignation. “Let me be clear, folks,” he continued, wagging a finger for emphasis. “Spider-Man isn’t saving this city. He’s putting you in danger—plain and simple!"

The light changed, but [Name] found herself rooted to the spot for a moment longer, watching the broadcast. Around her, New Yorkers barely glanced up, accustomed to Jameson's rants and the endless stream of breaking news. To [Name], though, it was a strange reminder of the world she now lived in—a world where superheroes and supervillains were part of the daily grind.

She shook her head and stepped into the crosswalk, weaving through the sea of pedestrians. Whatever her own challenges were, she figured, at least she wasn’t tangled up in all that. For now, her focus had to stay on making her own way in this city, one step at a time.

===================================

[Name] pushed open the glass doors of the New York Bulletin, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and a warm bag of takeout wafting up from her hands. The front desk clerk barely glanced up as she hurried past, juggling the precarious tray and paper bag while trying to avoid bumping into her colleagues. Her heels clicked against the polished floor, echoing in a way that made her feel small—just another cog in the relentless machine of the magazine world.

She arrived at her boss’s office, setting the coffee and lunch order down on the edge of his sprawling mahogany desk. He didn’t even look up from his computer, offering only a curt “Thanks,” before diving back into whatever important task demanded his attention.

At her desk—a tiny corner carved out in the bullpen—[Name] pulled out her notebook. Her coffee-stained to-do list stared back at her, mocking her ambitions. Gripping her pen, she doodled absentmindedly in the margins, her thoughts drifting to the stories she wanted to tell, the words she was desperate to write. She couldn’t let this be her only reality. There had to be a way to prove herself, to claw her way out of the errands and into the writing she was born to do.

Before [Name] could take another sip of her now-lukewarm coffee, her work phone buzzed. The caller ID flashed her boss’s name—“Mr. Caldwell”—and she reluctantly answered.

“[Name], I need you to handle a few things for me,” Mr. Caldwell’s voice came through, brisk and to the point. “I’ve got an important meeting this afternoon with Diane Hartridge from Hamilton Publishing. Big deal for us. So, here’s what I need: send out those follow-up emails I dictated yesterday, book me a lunch appointment with Hartridge for next Tuesday, and drop off a package at this address.”

She heard the shuffle of papers on his end before he rattled off an address. [Name] scribbled it down on a notepad, recognizing the street as one not far from her own apartment.

“Yes, sir,” she said, forcing a professional tone into her voice. She could already feel the familiar twinge of frustration creeping in. Meetings with publishing executives, conversations about big deals—those were the kinds of things she had dreamed of being involved in. Instead, here she was, taking notes like an intern.

“And once you’ve dropped that off, you can take the rest of the day off,” Caldwell added, as though offering her a generous gift. “Consider it a breather. You’ve earned it.”

[Name] bit back a sigh. “Got it,” she replied, keeping her voice steady. Hanging up, she glanced at the tasks now piling up on her mental to-do list.

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

Back at her desk, she typed furiously, knocking out the follow-up emails with clockwork efficiency. Each one had to be just so—polished, professional, and perfectly aligned with her boss’s expectations. Once she hit send on the last email, she tackled the lunch appointment, navigating the online booking system while fielding interruptions from passing colleagues.

Half an hour later, with her inbox cleared and the reservation confirmed, [Name] leaned back in her chair and allowed herself a fleeting moment of satisfaction. One set of tasks done.

Grabbing her bag and the package from the reception desk, she stepped out into the midday chaos of Manhattan. The familiar surge of people, cars, and noise hit her immediately, but at least the errand would take her near her neighbourhood. She adjusted the strap of her bag, holding the package securely under one arm as she navigated the sidewalks.

Moving in step with the endless tide of Manhattan pedestrians, [Name] felt almost invisible amid the city’s chaotic rhythm. As she turned the corner, a boutique caught her eye, its window display glowing softly under the midday sun. There, on a mannequin, was a dress that immediately drew her in—a soft lavender piece that was sweet and understated. The hem hit mid-thigh, just a few widths away from the knees, with delicate white lace ribbons crisscrossing over the bodice and tied into a playful little bow at the sweetheart neckline. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was undeniably feminine, with just the right touch of charm.

[Name] hesitated for only a moment before stepping into the boutique, the bell above the door chiming softly as she entered. The quiet hum of conversation and the fresh, clean scent that lingered in the air made the shop feel like a little oasis from the noise outside.

“Can I help you find anything?” a cheerful sales assistant asked, her warm smile matching the inviting atmosphere.

“I was actually hoping to try on the lavender dress in the window,” [Name] said, her voice laced with a shy excitement.

“Of course! Let me grab your size,” the assistant replied, quickly disappearing into the back.

A few minutes later, [Name] stood in front of a full-length mirror in the dressing room, smoothing out the soft fabric over her hips. The dress fit perfectly, the lavender colour complimenting her complexion and the crisscrossing lace ribbons adding a playful, feminine flair. She smiled, turning slightly to admire the way it flattered her figure. It was exactly what she needed for the get-together that evening—a simple yet pretty reminder that, even amidst the chaos of her first week, there was still room for moments like this.

“This is the one,” she told herself quietly, nodding with conviction as she stepped back into her own shoes.

Within minutes, she was back out on the street, the boutique’s shopping bag swinging lightly in her hand. The day didn’t seem quite as daunting now. Tonight, she’d celebrate in her new dress, and maybe—just maybe—she’d let herself believe that she belonged here, even if things hadn’t gone exactly as she had planned.

=========================================

The bass thumped through the crowded bar, reverberating under [Name]’s feet as she leaned on the high-top table. The evening had been a lively blur of laughter, drinks, and getting to know her colleagues—Hannah, who worked in layout design, and Megan, one of the junior writers. [Name] was starting to feel like she was finding her footing, a stark contrast to the awkward chaos of her first day.

“Wait, so you actually spilled coffee on him? On Caldwell?” Megan asked, her eyes wide with mock horror as she took a sip of her wine.

“Straight on him,” [Name] said, laughing despite herself. “It was everywhere—his desk, his papers, him. I thought I was going to be fired on the spot, but he just looked at me and said, ‘You’ve got five minutes to get me another latte.’”

“That’s iconic,” Hannah said, grinning. “Honestly, not bad for a first day. Could’ve been worse.”

They all burst into laughter, and Megan raised her glass. “To surviving your first week!” she declared, her enthusiasm infectious.

“To surviving,” Hannah echoed, clinking her glass against theirs.

[Name] couldn’t help but smile as their glasses met with a cheerful ring. She felt a spark of warmth in her chest, the camaraderie lifting her spirits. For the first time in a while, she felt like she belonged—at least, a little.

The moment shifted as a couple of guys approached their table, clearly familiar with Hannah and Megan. The women greeted them with easy smiles, the conversation quickly veering into shared anecdotes and inside jokes that [Name] didn’t quite follow. Not wanting to intrude, she offered to grab another round of drinks for the three of them.

Squeezing through the throng of people, she made her way to the bar. It was packed, but she managed to find a small gap to slide into, catching the bartender’s attention after a few minutes of patient waiting. As she rattled off their order, the music thumped louder, almost drowning out her voice. She shifted her weight, waiting for the drinks, when she felt a presence sidle up beside her.

“Hey there,” a man said, his voice just audible over the blaring music. [Name] turned her head to see him leaning against the bar, his shirt slightly untucked and a confident smirk on his face.

“You here alone?” he asked, his tone casually suggestive.

“No, I’m here with friends,” she replied, keeping her voice polite but firm. She’d dealt with this type before—overconfident, pushy, and oblivious to boundaries. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

“Ah, come on,” he pressed, leaning closer. “I could keep you company.”

“I’m good, thanks,” [Name] said sharply, her grip tightening on the bar as the bartender set the drinks down in front of her. She grabbed them quickly, balancing the glasses carefully in her hands. “Excuse me.”

The man stepped back, raising his hands as though he’d done nothing wrong. “Alright, alright. No need to be like that,” he said with a crooked grin before disappearing into the crowd.

By the time she got back to the table, her heart was steady again, her annoyance at the man already dissipating into the noise and energy of the bar. Hannah and Megan noticed her expression, though, their conversation pausing briefly.

“Everything okay?” Megan asked, setting her drink down.

“Yeah,” [Name] said, sliding the glasses onto the table. “Just some guy at the bar who couldn’t take no for an answer.”

“What a creep,” Hannah muttered, her gaze darting toward the bar. “Stick with us. We’ve got your back.”

Nodding grateful for the solidarity. She sat back down, forcing herself to focus on the laughter and warmth at the table. Encounters like that weren’t new to her, but they were never pleasant. Still, she wasn’t about to let one guy ruin her night.

As the night wore on, the music seemed to pulse through every corner of the bar, and she found herself swept up in the rhythm with Hannah and Megan. The three of them laughed as they danced in a small circle, occasionally bumping into each other as the crowd pressed around them. Hannah threw her arms up with exaggerated flair, spinning in time to the beat, while Megan leaned in to shout over the music, “You’ve got moves, girl! Where’ve you been hiding these?”

She laughed, shaking her head as she tried to keep up. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the pounding of the bass, the heat of the room, and the infectious energy of shared joy. They pulled her into a silly line dance, half stumbling and laughing through it, before dissolving into giggles at their own lack of coordination.

“I needed this,” Megan said, fanning herself dramatically as they paused to catch their breath. “Best idea ever.”

Hannah nodded, her cheeks flushed from both the dancing and her gin and tonic. “Agreed. But I think our admirers might have other ideas.”

The guys from earlier had appeared at the edge of the dance floor, waving them over with playful grins. Hannah shot Megan a look, and the two of them exchanged mischievous smiles before turning back to her.

“We’re gonna head out with them,” Hannah said, placing a light hand on her arm. “You okay getting home?”

She nodded, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”

“Text us when you’re home, okay?” Megan said, pulling her in for a quick hug.

Hannah gave a quick wave as they linked arms with the two guys, disappearing into the crowd. Left alone under the flashing lights of the bar, she lingered for a moment, letting the music wash over her. The night had been fun—chaotic, vibrant, exactly what she needed—but as she glanced at the time on her phone, she decided it was probably time to call it herself.

Grabbing her bag, she slipped out of the bar into the cool embrace of the city night. The vibrant pulse of music and chatter faded as the door swung shut behind her, replaced by the layered hum of Manhattan—the sporadic honk of a cab, muffled voices from passing groups, and the occasional rumble of a subway train beneath her feet.

The air was crisp and carried the faint scent of rain on concrete, grounding her as she started walking. She pulled out her phone, glancing at the map briefly to reorient herself. The bar was in a part of the city she didn’t know too well, and the unfamiliar street names were a little disorienting. Still, she figured she’d find her way soon enough. After all, getting lost was part of the charm of living in Manhattan—wasn’t it?

She took a right, then a left, but the streets didn’t seem to align with where she thought she should be. A few blocks later, she realized she might have gone too far in the wrong direction. The tall buildings seemed to close in slightly, their windows glinting faintly under dim streetlights. Her grip on the strap of her bag tightened as she slowed her steps, scanning for a recognizable landmark.

Then she heard it. Footsteps. Heavy and deliberate. They weren’t her own.

Her heart tightened as she slowed her pace, ears straining against the quiet. She risked a glance over her shoulder but saw nothing—just the stretch of empty sidewalk behind her. A chill pricked at the back of her neck, and she shook her head, trying to dispel the creeping paranoia. It’s nothing, she told herself. Just someone else heading home.

But the sound didn’t fade. It grew louder. Closer.

Her heart raced as she quickened her pace, scanning the empty streets for something familiar. Turning into an alley in a desperate attempt to shortcut her way back, she froze. Ahead, blocking the far end, stood two burly men, their shadows stretched long under the dim, flickering streetlight. They didn’t move, but their stance left no question—they were waiting.

Her breath caught, and she spun around, instinctively stepping back toward the entrance she had come through. But her stomach dropped as she saw him. The man from the bar emerged from the shadows behind her, his hands stuffed casually into his pockets as if he’d been out for a leisurely stroll. His smirk was gone, replaced by something far darker. The gleam in his eyes sent a cold shiver down her spine.

He took a slow step forward, his movements deliberate, the click of his shoes echoing against the walls of the alley. “Looks like you got a little turned around,” he said, his voice low and sinister, the friendliness he had feigned earlier now stripped away. “Don’t worry. We’ll help you find your way.”

[Name]’s chest tightened, and her hand gripped the strap of her bag as her mind raced for an exit. Trapped between the men blocking her path and him closing in behind, she felt the weight of the alley pressing down on her like a vice. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but there was nowhere to go.

The man’s smirk twisted into something even darker as he stepped closer, the dim light catching the cold gleam in his eyes. She instinctively took another step back, her breath quickening, but before she could fully process her next move, he lunged.

The suddenness of it made her heart slam in her chest. She jerked back, her movement instinctual and desperate, only to collide hard with something solid. A startled gasp escaped her as she spun around, realizing too late that she had backed straight into the other two men. Their hands shot out like vices, one grabbing her by the arm, the other seizing her bag and yanking her balance off-center.

“Got her,” one of them muttered, his voice gravelly, the sound of it reverberating in her ears as panic clawed its way up her throat.

She twisted and pulled, trying to wrench herself free, but their grips only tightened. The man from the bar loomed closer now, his steps deliberate and almost lazy, as if he already knew the struggle was futile. He adjusted his sleeves, his calm movements a sinister contrast to the chaos surging through her body.

“You made this way too easy,” he said, his voice dripping with malice....

Before he could make contact, a cheery, almost sing-song voice interrupted. “Yoohoo!”

The man froze, his head snapping to the side as Spider-Man crouched casually on the edge of the building above them, giving an awkward wave. “I think it’s you who made this easy,” he quipped, the web-shooters on his wrists already aimed and primed. With a swift flick, a sticky line of web shot out, pinning the man to the brick wall behind him. His smirk disappeared in an instant, replaced by a look of shocked indignation.

“Hang tight,” Spider-Man said, hopping down into the alley with a graceful flip. He landed between [Name] and the two burly men, who were momentarily too stunned to move. “Alright, fellas. Who’s next?”

The bigger of the two lunged, throwing a wide, meaty punch in Spider-Man’s direction. Without breaking a sweat, Spidey caught the punch mid-swing, his free hand scratching at the back of his head as though this was all mildly inconvenient. “Man, you guys really need to work on your timing. Swing and a miss,” he said, twisting the man’s arm just enough to send him stumbling backward.

Before the other man could make a move, Spider-Man shot out another web, sticking his feet firmly to the ground. The guy flailed awkwardly, looking down at his now-immobile boots as Spider-Man turned to him. “And you,” he said, wagging a finger like a disappointed teacher. “I think you should apologize to the lady. Right now. Loudly. And use your nicest manners.”

He tilted his head toward [Name], who stood frozen in shock, her heart still racing from the encounter. Spider-Man turned back to the first man, webbed securely to the wall, and offered a mockingly thoughtful hum. “What about you, Smirky McCreepy? Anything to say for yourself? Or are you good hanging out there?”

The bigger man sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “Apologize? To her? Screw you, Spider-Man.”

“Yeah,” the other chimed in, struggling against the webbing that pinned his feet to the ground. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

Spider-Man sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “You know, I try to give people a chance. I really do. But you guys just had to go and ruin it.” With a flick of his wrist, another web shot out, sticking the last man to the ground before he could even think about making a move. “There. Now you’re all grounded. Literally.”

He tapped the side of his mask. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you let the NYPD know we’ve got a few bad apples here? Alley off 12th and Main. Oh, and tell them to bring extra cuffs—these guys are a bit... sticky.”

“Message sent,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s calm voice replied in his earpiece.

Spider-Man turned his attention back to [Name], his posture relaxing as he approached her. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, his tone softer now. “I mean, I know this probably wasn’t how you planned your night, but... you’re safe now.”

Spider-Man shifted his weight from foot to foot, scratching the back of his head as if he’d suddenly forgotten how to stand properly. “So, uh,” he started, his voice cracking just slightly. “That was, uh, intense, right? I mean, not that I can’t handle it—I totally can—but, you know, I guess you didn’t sign up for alleyway creeps tonight.”

Her heartbeat was still racing, but his awkwardness was oddly comforting. She nodded, managing a small smile. “No, not exactly.”

“Yeah, figured,” he said, nodding along with her, as if trying to convince himself he wasn’t making things worse. “Uh, you’re not hurt or anything, right? No bumps, bruises, or weird Spidey-induced whiplash?”

“No, I’m fine,” she said, adjusting her bag. “Thanks for, you know… all of that.” She gestured vaguely toward the webbed-up men behind him, their muffled protests starting to quiet.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” he said quickly, his words tumbling over each other. “I mean, seriously, don’t mention it—I kind of like to keep the whole ‘friendly neighbourhood’ thing on the down-low. You know, keep the mystery alive.”

Her smile widened a fraction, and he seemed to relax slightly. “So, uh,” he continued, gesturing toward the street. “Do you, like, know how to get home? Or...?”

She hesitated, glancing around at the unfamiliar streets. “Not really,” she admitted. “This isn’t my usual neighbourhood. I was trying to find my way back to East Harlem.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, his tone brightening. “East Harlem—cool area! Amazing food, great vibes, and, uh, let’s be honest, fewer creeps like these guys.” He gestured toward the webbed-up men behind him. “I can totally get you there! You know, as a bonus for saving the day—or, uh, the night.”

He stepped a little closer, his movements tentative as he caught her uneasy expression. “Hey, uh, you okay? That was… intense,” he said, his voice softening, as if the words were trying to land as gently as possible. “Not that I’m an expert on post-creep alleyway vibes or anything, but you look like you could use an express pass out of here.”

She hesitated, glancing back at the men stuck to the wall. The adrenaline still buzzed through her veins, but the idea of staying here a second longer made her stomach churn. “Yeah,” she said quietly, the word slipping out before she fully realized. “That’d be great.”

His masked head tilted slightly, like he was offering an unseen reassuring smile. “Alright, awesome. So, uh, what’s the plan? Should we do the ‘swinging-through-the-city’ thing? I mean, it’s faster than walking… and less awkward than small talk while we dodge fire hydrants.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard by his casual delivery. “You mean, like... swing? Swing-swing?”

“Yeah!” His voice brightened again as he straightened up, excited by her cautious curiosity. “Trust me, it’s like Uber, but with webs instead of wheels. And also no ratings, please, because I’m still workshopping my moves.”

Her laughter came unexpectedly, cutting through the edge of her fear. “Okay,” she said, brushing her hair out of her face. “Let’s do it.”

“Yes!” His arms shot into the air briefly in triumph before he caught himself. “I mean, cool. Great. Just hold on tight, and, uh, I promise I’ll try not to do any unnecessary flips. You know, unless it looks super cool.”

Carefully, he wrapped an arm around her waist, checking her expression to make sure she was okay with the proximity. When she nodded, he shot a web upward and leapt into the air. The world blurred as they arced high above the city, the rhythmic thwip of his webbing almost hypnotic. Her initial fear dissolved into awe as the view opened up—streetlights stretched below like strings of gold, and the warm summer breeze brushed her face.

“So,” he called over the wind, his tone as conversational as if they were sitting in a café, “East Harlem, huh? You got a favourite taco spot over there, or is it all just about the vibes?”

She laughed, adjusting to the thrill of being weightless. “I just moved here, actually,” she replied. “Still figuring it all out.”

“Perfect timing, then!” he replied, swinging them over a row of townhouses. “If you’re new, you have to try this one little taco truck on 116th. Oh, and there’s this churro cart on the corner of Lex—it’ll change your life. Like, I once ate five in one sitting, and I don’t even have a normal human metabolism.”

Landing briefly on a rooftop, he recalibrated, looking back at her. “Doing okay? I mean, like, no motion sickness or second thoughts?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling despite herself. “This is… kind of amazing.”

“Kind of?” He playfully gasped, launching them back into the air. “Alright, I’m gonna do, like, 12% more flips now. Just wait—it’ll be amazing amazing.”

She laughed again, the sound surprising even her, as the city continued to blur and twinkle below. The weight of the night’s events eased with every swing, her unease replaced by a growing sense of wonder—and a strange feeling of safety with the masked hero who seemed more human than super.

=======================================

With one final swing, Spider-Man landed lightly in an alley behind a quiet row of buildings. He set her down gently, stepping back and pulling at his mask slightly to adjust it. “And here we are—East Harlem. Or, well, technically, this very scenic, definitely-not-sketchy alleyway. But hey, you’re close enough, right?” He let out a nervous laugh, motioning around them with exaggerated enthusiasm.

She laughed softly, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. The rush of swinging through the city still buzzed through her veins, but now that her feet were on solid ground, she could feel a different kind of energy—one she couldn’t quite explain. “That was incredible,” she said, her voice quieter now, steady.

“Yeah?” he replied, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “Cool, cool. Glad you think so. I mean, it’s not every day you get an airborne tour of the city. Well, unless you’re me. I get a lot of those.”

She stepped closer to him, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. The space between them shrank, and his posture stiffened slightly, as though he hadn’t been prepared for the sudden proximity. “Uh,” he said, his voice cracking just a touch, “you, uh, sure you’re okay? No whiplash? Sore neck? Legs still attached?”

Her lips curved into a small, mischievous smile. She didn’t answer, but her gaze held his, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them.

He froze, his mask hiding what was undoubtedly a deer-in-headlights expression. “I mean,” he stammered, gesturing vaguely to the alley, “you’re safe now! Which is—uh—good. Totally good. Safe is good.”

She tilted her head, still not saying anything.

Peter let out a shaky laugh, tugging at the edge of his mask out of nervous habit. He started to take a half-step back, but his body refused to follow through, stuck somewhere between retreat and a kind of hopeful panic.

Then [Name]'s hand touched his cheek, her fingers light even against the textured fabric of his suit. His breath hitched. “Can I kiss you?” she whispered, her voice so soft he wondered if maybe his mind had made it up. His eyes widened behind the mask, and he blinked a few too many times. “Uh—y-yeah, yeah, totally. I mean... yes,” he stammered, tripping over the words.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against the fabric of his mask, teasingly soft against his covered cheek. Peter froze, his breath catching as the expressive eyes of his mask widened in surprise. For a moment, he was all nerves and stammering thoughts, the usual Peter Parker chaos.

But then, in a move that felt bold even for him, he reached up and tugged the mask just high enough to reveal his jaw, his cheek, and the curve of his lips. His heart pounded as he looked at her, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe… try that again?”

[Name] leaned in, her lips brushing softly against the bare skin of his cheek. It was quick, almost fleeting, but enough to send a jolt through Peter. His breath hitched audibly, and the eyes of his mask contracted again, wide and expressive.

She hesitated for a moment, watching him, testing the waters. Then, with a small, playful smile, she leaned in again, placing a gentle peck on his other cheek.

Peter’s lips parted slightly, his jaw tensing as if he were trying to process what was happening. His gloved hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure of what to do.

“Uh…” he started, his voice cracking just a little. “I—uh—this is… nice.”

Name] leaned in again, her lips brushing the corner of his, feather-light. A soft sigh escaped her, warm against his skin. Peter’s breath hitched, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it.

The eyes of his mask contracted slightly, a flicker of surprise and something else—something braver. Slowly, he turned to face her fully, his gaze locking with hers for a heartbeat that felt like forever.

When she leaned in again, her lips found the corner of his once more, lingering just a moment longer. And then, as if drawn by an invisible thread, they both closed the gap. Her lips met his in a proper kiss, soft and unhurried, and Peter melted into it, his gloved hand hovering awkwardly near her shoulder before finally resting there, grounding him in the moment.

What started off as a light peck suddenly turned into a clash of tongues and teeth. He took a step forward, closing the last of the distance between them. Red-gloved hands wrapped around her—one at the waist, just above her lower back, and the other finding purchase at the base of her neck, pulling her deeper into the kiss. She lightly brushed her index and middle finger against his partially exposed cheek before placing the rest of her hand against his covered neck.

With a firm yet gentle touch, he guides her until she is pressed fully against the wall of her apartment complex. His lower hand shifts from her back to the wall, providing stability. She lets out a breathy moan, her head thrown back, and he takes the chance to lavish wet kisses and licks on her exposed neck.

Peter started prepping kisses along her shoulder and up her neck close to her ear. "Fuck~" he panted out, under the mask his pupils were blown out with the lust coursing through his veins. Looking at her, with her head thrown back, lips parted, and hair all dishevelled, did things to him. His heightened senses caught the quickening of her pulse, the heat rising to her cheeks, every subtle reaction she couldn't hide. He shouldn't—but hearing that single word shattered his restraint. "More~" She whispered, her breath hitching as she brought her face back to his, their lips colliding in a relentless cascade of kisses. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers interlocking at the nape of his neck.

She gasped aloud as she felt him lift her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing. Peter took the opportunity to push his tongue into her mouth when he pressed her further into the wall, his weight pinned her in place as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Matching his intensity, her tongue danced with his in a heated battle for dominance. Her nails skimmed down the back of his mask, a deliberate and teasing motion.

It was as if she had become an entirely different person, a vixen. She was filled with wanton lust for man whose face she had never seen, he had an uncanny ability to captivate her completely. All she could feel was the undeniable heat and pulsing from between her thighs and she needed a release, and soon!

"I… I need more~" She whispered breathlessly, her eyes locking onto what little she could see of his face. His shoulders and chest rose and fell with each panting breath, mirroring her own unsteady rhythm. Her hips began to move involuntary against his own grinding down against a very noticeable bulge, what surprised her was his very own hips pushing up to meet her own thrust down. With each meeting of their hips, her summer dress inched up ever so slightly. "Oh... fuck....Just like that" They both panted aloud, in unison.

Peter couldn't take his eyes off (name) the way she gasped at the delicious friction, the way her hips would push harder into his. Enough was enough he decided to take control of her hips, and set a harsher rhythm. Letting one hand slip from her hips, he brought his index finger to his mouth, teeth grazing the glove's edge as he tugged it loose, letting it fall to the ground between them. As his hand came free, he seized her chin, drawing her into a fiercer, more demanding kiss.

Releasing her grip from the back of Peter's neck, she cupped his face, her fingers grazing beneath the mask that still concealed his nose, eyes, and the rest of his features. For a fleeting, heart-stopping moment, fear gripped him like a vice. His fingers trembled as he released her chin, lurching forward to snatch her wrists. He pressed them between their chests with a desperate urgency, his breath caught in his throat. "No," he growled, his voice dipping low and steady. "The mask stays on." Each word carried quiet authority, leaving no room for argument. "Don't make me web your hands to the wall, because trust me, once that stuff's on, it's not coming off anytime soon." he quipped, his tone low but teasing, the corners of his mouth threatening a sly smile. "Kinky," she breathed with a soft laugh, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Before she could dwell any further on the idea of Spiderman's unexpected kinkiness, he shifted the hand gripping her wrists. The ungloved hand descended toward her panties, its movement deliberate and steady. A breath away from where she truly and utterly needed it most. "Please," she pleaded, her voice trembling with desperation. Peter chuckled, his cheeky smile widening as he leaned closer. 'Say it again,' he murmured, his tone dropped an octave, rich and teasing, as he leaned in, stopping just a breath away from her ear. Panting heavily, her flushed face turned toward him, she managed to gasp, her voice cracking under the weight of her plea, "Please, touch me."

And just like that, the pad of his index finger brushed against her clothed clit, a touch so light it was barely there. And yet, she felt it all the same—electric, unmistakable, A need so overwhelming, it forced another gasp from her lips. "Fuck! You’re not going to break me," she gasped, her breath hitching, the words desperate.

For a fraction of a second Peter grinned mischievously and pressed the pad of his finger further into her covered clit. His head dropped onto her shoulder, a deep, guttural groan escaping him as though he could no longer hold it back - at how damp her lace panties were. He'd made his mind up and surrendered to his baser desires, he deliberately began to coax her clothed core into submission with slow, deliberate strokes. His fingers danced across her sensitive skin in lazy circles, gradually increasing the pressure until she was writhing beneath his touch.

As he continued to tease her with his fingers, the slow, deliberate strokes ignited a fire within her, a flame that grew in intensity with each passing moment. The lazy circles he drew on her skin seemed to awaken a deep-seated hunger, a craving that threatened to consume her. Her body began to writhe and twist, her hips arching into his touch as she sought to increase the pressure, to deepen the sensation.

The fabric of her clothing, once a barrier, now seemed to enhance the experience, the gentle friction of the material against her skin adding an extra layer of sensitivity to the mix. His fingers, deft and skilled, coaxed and cajoled, drawing out a response from her that was both involuntary and irresistible. The pressure he applied, gradual and insistent, pushed her closer to the edge, until she was gasping, her breath coming in short, sharp pants.

Strokes grew more insistent, the pressure increasing, she felt herself being drawn into a vortex of sensation, a whirlpool of pleasure that threatened to pull her under. Her legs, once still, now began to tremble, the muscles tensing and relaxing in time with the strokes, as if urging Peter on, begging him to continue. The air around them seemed to vibrate with tension, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric, the gentle gasps of breath, and the pounding of their hearts, all combining to create a sense of anticipation, a sense of expectation, that seemed to build and build, until it was almost unbearable.

"Oh God," [Name] whispered, her voice trembling with need. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"Just a little longer," Peter replied, his voice low and husky. "I just… I don’t want this moment to end. You’re—you’re so beautiful."

And then, just as she thought she couldn't take it anymore, Peter's fingers changed rhythm, his touch becoming more urgent, more demanding. But instead of pushing her over the edge, he suddenly pulled his fingers away, leaving her feeling empty and bereft.

She let out a cry of disappointment, but Peter just smiled, his masked eyes narrowing intensity. He brought his fingers to his lips, tasting the sweet nectar that coated them. His eyes closed in rapture as he savoured the flavour, and she could see the realization dawn on him.

Untangled her legs from around his waist, he dropped to his knees, but in a swift and agile motion, he got her right leg over his shoulder on the way down. The movement was so smooth, so fluid, that [Name] barely had time to process what was happening before she found herself in a new and intimate position.

Peter's face was now buried in her pussy, his tongue licking out to taste her as he supported her weight on his shoulder. She felt his hot breath on her, his lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to drive her wild. Her leg was draped over his shoulder, her foot dangling in the air as he knelt before her, worshiping her with his mouth.

But as he delved deeper, his desire for her became more frenzied. With a swift and savage motion, he ripped her panties down the middle, the fabric tearing apart with a soft rip. [Name] felt a jolt of shock and excitement as the cool air hit her exposed skin, but before she could even process what was happening,

Peter's tongue was back, licking and sucking and probing with even greater intensity. As he continued to devour her, his fingers began to explore, gently probing her entrance before slipping inside. He started with one finger, his index finger, which he slowly inserted into her, feeling her inner walls clench around him. She was tight, but he was patient, taking his time to stretch her out, to prepare her for what was to come.

He began to add more fingers, his middle finger joining his index finger, and then his ring finger, slowly stretching her out until all three fingers were inside her. His fingers curled inside, hitting the spongy tissue that caused her to see stars. She could feel it—an overpowering surge building within, each wave cresting higher, stronger, relentless in its climb toward an inevitable breaking point. And he was her release—this masked hero who currently had her right leg thrown over his shoulder going for gold between her legs.

As he continued to finger her, moving his fingers in and out, in a slow, tantalizing rhythm. His fingers danced inside her, stroking her inner walls, building her pleasure, and driving her wild. With each stroke, he felt her getting closer, her muscles tensing, her breath catching, and he knew that she was on the edge, ready to tumble over into ecstasy.

(Name) couldn’t remember if he’d surfaced for air—he was a starving man, lost in an unrelenting desert, and she, the first drink of water, burned across his senses, igniting something raw and untamed within him. "I could die here, and I wouldn’t even care. This—this is everything" he groaned, his voice thick with passion, His masked eyes narrowed, the expressive lenses contracting as they locked onto hers. His focus was solely on her, and he could see the pleasure and desire reflected back at him, fuelling his own passion and driving him to take her higher.

She broke eye contact, her gaze faltering as she caught sight of her glistening juices clinging to his chin and lips, a sight both distracting and impossible to ignore... Because, damn, was that hot. All she wanted was to run her hands over his head, but that infuriating mask was in the way. "Don't stop," she begged, her head falling back against the rough brick wall, the cold surface grounding her as the moment consumed her entirely. Huffing a quick chuckle, he was back in an instant, his movements swift and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

And just like that, the brutal onslaught slammed into her, unyielding and merciless, tearing through her with a force that left no escape, no reprieve, only raw, consuming need. God, could this man eat! His tongue swept over her clit in endless, tantalizing licks—a raw display of pure indulgence. His fingers were unyielding as they bullied her G-spot, retreating only to plunge the trio of digits back in with relentless precision, leaving her wondering if she could endure the exquisite torture for much longer.

(Name) could feel the intense, building pressure, a crescendo of sensation that threatened to overwhelm her, and she knew that if he continued, she wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer, the anticipation and frustration coalescing into a desperate, aching need that begged for just one more touch, one more twirl of his tongue, to send her tumbling over the edge. And just like that, the taut thread of her control snapped, releasing a torrent of pent-up pleasure as her body surrendered to the overwhelming sensation, the dam breaking in a rush of ecstasy that left her shattered,

Peter felt her hand clasp the back of his mask as her back arched, a breathy "Oh~ Oh~, I'm," Her head was flung back, the tendons in her neck straining as her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth agape in a soundless scream, the only sign of her ecstasy a faint, keening gasp that escaped her parted lips. She had no need to announce her climax, for he could sense it in the way her core clamped down around his hand, the right one trembling violently over his shoulder as her body convulsed, and the sudden, silky rush of her cum on his tongue, a primal, instinctual knowledge that sparked a corresponding surge of pride within him.

Coming down from her high, gasps and shallow breaths spilling from her parted lips, she felt an overwhelming urge to tug away the mask of the man kneeling before her. She wanted to see him—not as the faceless figure in the suit, but as the person beneath.

Peter’s Spider-Sense tingled, and his reflexes kicked in. He felt it—the subtle tightening of her hand at the back of his head, the faint tug that followed. Adrenaline surged through him, and his left hand instinctively moved, smacking softly against the wrist of her right hand.

A splat echoed, and her right hand froze in place—she couldn’t move it. Did he? No… he had! He’d done exactly what he’d warned about, webbing her hand firmly to the wall. Lowering her leg from his shoulder, he wiped his chin and lips with his uncovered hand - succumbing to the irresistible urge to lick his fingers.

Despite having just been nestled between her thighs, his fingers still slick with the remnants of her climax, Peter couldn't resist the urge to bring them to his lips, and as he sucked the fingers that had just been inside her, he let out a low, throaty groan, the sound vibrating through the air as he savoured the taste of her, his eyes closing in rapture as he indulged in her flavour. "I told you—the mask stays on."

She wanted to be angry, but she couldn’t—not after the performance. The low, husky tone of his voice, the gentle rumble of his words, and the unmistakable bulge in his pants, all combined to send a pulse of heat straight back to her core, reigniting the embers of her desire and making her feel like she was being pulled under again.

She struggled to pull her wrist free from the webbing that bound her to the wall. "The more you struggle, the tighter it’ll hold you to the wall," he said, his tongue flicking out to brush against his bottom lip. "What?" she gasped, her chest heaving, her breasts straining against the sweetheart neckline as she looked at him bewildered. Noticing the way the eyes of his mask narrowed, his head dipping slightly downward, and the faint, almost hesitant curve of an awkward smile on his lips. "Up here," she called out to him, all traces of nervousness and embarrassment tossed to the wind as she pointed to her eyes.

His head snapped toward her, only to dart away just as quickly. In an instant, he stood at his full height as F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice slipped into his ear, calm but urgent: 'There’s a robbery happening right now at Artisan and Carat in Midtown Manhattan—seven heavily armed suspects, three hostages.' He bent down, retrieving his discarded glove with practiced ease, as F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice chimed in once more, her tone still measured but tinged with urgency. 'If you leave now, estimated arrival is approximately ten minutes. Casualty risk remains low, but it’s increasing,' she informed him crisply. As she spoke, a video feed patched through to his mask’s holographic interface, displaying live footage of the robbers inside the store. His jaw tightened as he took in the scene—the heavily armed suspects pacing, their movements erratic, and the hostages cowering in fear.

She wondered what had caused the sudden shift in his demeanor. One moment, he had been looking at her with that awkward, almost endearing smile, and the next, he was tense and poised, as if ready to spring into action. Her thoughts were interrupted as he reached for the glove on the ground, sliding it back onto his hand with a practiced efficiency. The motion only added to the growing sense that something unseen was pulling him away, his focus no longer on her but on some urgent, invisible call.

He glanced at her, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features as he struggled with the decision. The need to tell her what was happening warred with the urgency to act, to save the hostages before it was too late.

She watched as he adjusted the mask, the transformation so swift it left her breathless. In an instant, he was Spider-Man again—an untouchable figure, every trace of vulnerability buried beneath the red-and-blue façade. Yet, she knew something had shifted. She didn’t need to hear the words to feel the weight of them; the urgency radiating from him was undeniable. Whatever had happened, it was pulling him away.

Peter hesitated, torn by the fear that the woman he'd shared such an intimate moment with might think he had used her. Yet, as F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice punctuated the seconds with time estimates and escalating risks, he knew he had no choice but to act.

Backing into the alley, Peter’s voice came in a rush, tumbling over itself. "The web’s gonna dissolve! Like, really soon! Stop struggling, you’re only gonna make it worse!" The words left his mouth so quickly, they almost blurred together.

Without waiting for a response—or even checking if she listened—he shot a webline and launched himself forward. The pull of the swing was immediate, his grip tightening as he zipped up and away. The city blurred beneath him, a streak of light and sound.

“Peter,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. snapped in his earpiece, her tone clipped. “You’re three blocks off course. Redirect immediately.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” he shouted back, adjusting his trajectory mid-swing. His breath was quick, his heart racing as the sharp whistle of wind roared in his ears.

Behind him, her faint voice reached him for just a moment—a fleeting sound he couldn’t make out before the city swallowed it whole. It lingered in his mind, though, even as F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s next instruction pierced the chaos.

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

She watched as he backed into the alley, the weight of his words hitting her like a blow. "The web’s gonna dissolve! Like, really soon! Stop struggling, you’re only gonna make it worse!" he called out, his voice sharp and hurried. Panic welled up inside her as she saw the decision he'd already made.

Before she could stop him, he sprang into action, launching himself forward. His web shot out, anchoring to a building, and in a heartbeat, he was gone—soaring through the night sky, the city swallowing him up. Desperation clawed at her throat, and she shouted after him, her voice breaking, "Wait! Don’t leave me like this!"

The cold reality hit her like a wave—she was trapped. Lace panties ripped and discarded pinned to the wall of the alley behind her apartment complex, she struggled against the sticky web, but it held firm. Her eyes darted to her purse, lying just out of reach on the ground. Panic crept in as she thought of everything inside—her phone, her keys—everything she needed to free herself or call for help.

She forced herself to take a deep breath, steadying the panic that threatened to consume her. The sticky web anchored her firmly to the wall, leaving her helpless but determined to keep calm. Her gaze landed on her purse, lying just out of reach, and a flicker of frustration crept in.

"Spider-Man," she murmured softly, almost to herself, her voice tinged more with disbelief than anger. A faint ache settled in her chest—not from the web, but from the realization that he had left her here, pinned and powerless, without so much as a second glance. She shifted her weight, trying to slide down the wall, but the web’s grip made even that a struggle, her pinned hand rendering the effort awkward and futile.

The sting of his absence was sharper than the situation itself. Only moments ago, they'd shared something so raw, so vulnerable, and yet he'd left her here, tangled in this mess without a word of explanation. Did it mean nothing to him? The thought gnawed at her, a hollow ache twisting in her chest. She had trusted him, let him in—and now, she was abandoned and alone.

The weight of it settled over her, sharp and unrelenting. She blinked back the tears threatening to spill, her chest stinging as the reality sank in. She’d been the one to kiss him first, to close the distance between them—but she had thought it meant something more. The way he had taken off, leaving her pinned and alone, stung in a way she hadn’t expected.

Her shoulders trembled slightly as she steadied her breathing, forcing herself to push the hurt aside. Once she was free, that would be it. Spider-Man could swing off into the night for all she cared. She wouldn’t think about him again—not his voice, not his touch, not the way he’d made her feel, if only for a moment.

He didn’t deserve it.

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

Well... If you got this far then I guess you've finished the first part, and all I want to say is "What did you think?" 😊😳

sorry for any mistakes!

XOXO

[marveltrumpshate]

Want to participate in Marvel Trumps Hate, but don't know what to offer? Think outside the box!

Stumped on what to offer because you don't write fic or draw? Marvel Trumps Hate welcomes a huge variety of fanworks and fan labor (see our sign-up post), so there are different ways you can contribute. You'll be amazed by the breadth of skills, talents, knowledge, and types of creative expression found in fandom!

Here's a smorgasbord of offers that we've either had before or seen people discuss as possibilities for MTH 2024 or future years to help inspire you. What you can offer is not restricted to the list below; these are just examples to get you brainstorming about what you can auction off because trust us, even if you think you might not have something to offer, you probably do!

ART (VISUAL/ILLUSTRATIVE)

Drawings/illustrations

Single-page and multi-page comics

Pixel art

Paintings (oil, acrylic, gouache, watercolor)

Mixed-media artwork on canvas

Ink-on-bristol art

Embroidery on canvas

Pour paint/spin art

Rotoscopes

Digital coloring books

AUDIOVISUAL WORKS

Fan music or filk inspired by characters, ships, or fics

Podfics

Videos (fic trailers, themed edits, vids set to songs)

Animations (making original art/animation or turning existing art into animation)

BETA SERVICES

Editing

Cheer reading

Soundboarding/planning/development work

Fact-checking

Culture-picking

Sensitivity reading

Knowledge about specific topics or experiences (e.g., identities, lifestyles, professions, interests, fields of study)

Research

CRAFTS & MERCH

Candles

Lip balms

Soaps

Stained glass/suncatcher

Scented beanbag-style sachets

Candy/chocolate/baked goods/jellies/sweets

Fic/character/ship/theme boxes (like book boxes)

Pins, magnets, patches, charms, standees, key chains, ring holders, calendars, stickers, bookmarks, temporary tattoos

Sculptures and clay figures

Ceramic mugs and other ceramic items

Apparel/wearable accessories (shirts, jackets, scarves, gloves/mittens, hats, face masks, regular masks, cowls, pajamas/onesies)

Backpacks, tote bags, itabags with custom window shapes, leather dice bags, wallets, pouches/pencil cases

Plushie animal or Tsum Tsum versions of Marvel characters

Dolls (crochet, needle felt, matte board, hand-sewn)

Embroidery hoops/wall art and cross stitch pieces

Jewelry (diamond painting, macrame, metal, crochet, wire, beads)

Woodwork/wood burning (cheese board, box/chest, USB stick, coasters, photo frame, alphabet blocks)

Glasswork

Custom Funko Pops

Paper cut light boxes

Pillow cases, quilted pillows, baby blankets, dishcloth/washcloths, potholders

Handmade leather journals

Linoleum stamps

Dog/cat/pet toys

Artbooks, paper doll books, and coloring books

Hand-dyed yarn skeins

Custom tea blends

DIGITAL (GRAPHIC DESIGN)

Gifsets

Graphics/edits

Mood boards

Photo manips

Fic covers/posters/banners

Icons and headers

Webweaving

Tumblr or website layouts

Digital calendars

Wallpapers

Custom Discord emojis

FAN LABOR & TRANSLATION

Typesetting

Bookbinding

Recipes based on characters, ships, or themes

Names, tags, and summaries for fics

Audio/sound editing and/or soundscaping for podfics

Book cover design and printing

Art/comic/fic translation

Website/game/AO3 skin coding

Fic rec lists

Fic playlists/fanmixes

Knitting/crochet patterns

Art coaching

Help with launching and organizing fan events

WRITING

Fic

Poetry

Meta posts

Social media AUs

Physical letters written by characters to the reader or between two characters

Remixes of your fic or an existing fic with the author's permission

Whether you can do something on this list or something else altogether (we're sure there are a lot of other things that you can do that we haven't thought about or seen before), we hope you'll consider signing up before the deadline: September 28, 11:59 PM ET.

[maskrosfe]

I really enjoy your comics! What is your process like?

Thank you! That brings me joy #^_^# My process might differ depending on what materials I've picked for the project (will I draw digitally or traditionally? will I use ink, watercolors, pencil? etc) but it always starts with a drafting stage.

Using my latest comic as an example, I "write" or storyboard the comic by drawing small thumbnails. In this example I've done so traditionally in my sketchbook, but I make them digitally sometimes too.

After I'm done with thumbnailing the entire comic I usually touch-up each page for a second draft. At this stage I decide exact measurements to work with, and guidelines. For this comic I wanted to ink them on midori paper, but the midori paper I had wasn't A4 size, so I had to measure it to make sure my dimensions would be correct.

The next stage varies the most, as it entails how I wish to line and color my comic. I do really like to ink tradtionally, and for this I usually take the second draft (that I tend to make digitally) and print it out. I could then either use a lighting box to draw the final lines on another paper, or print the draft in really light blue. Printing the draft in light blue will allow me to line with black on the same paper, and easily remove the light blue lines after editing the brightness after scanning. oh yeah, and then if I've worked on it traditionally i scan it back in again of course! ^__^ I hope this answers your question somewhat anon! (and thank you again for enjoying my work!)

[aycief]

a print of the sonozaki sisters i did for Legacy of Tackle last year ! the red border isnt present in the actual print bc it was just meant to mark the bleed-line while i worked but i became attached to it as Part of the piece. the sonozakis are still some of my fav kr villains, and i absolutely Loved working on this print !! leftover sales are currently open, be sure to check it out here (link) !

[ID: a digital illustration of Sonozaki Saeko and Wakana from Kamen Rider W with heavy red lighting. Wakana is strung up by her wrists and neck with bright red strings, pulling at some of them with one hand and reaching behind her for the ones tied to her neck with the other. Ryuubee's hand gently caresses her cheek. she is glaring up at Saeko, who is yelling and gripping the strings tied to her sister's neck. Saeko's gripping hand is restrained at the wrist by Kazu, while Isaka's hand reaches under her sheer shawl to hold her upper arm. Ryuubee's hand, coming down from above, squeezes around her neck. the men are all only visible as arms coming in from out of frame. they are against a black background and haloed by solid white circles. a bright red border boxes in the whole image. /END ID]

[goddesspharo]

three sentence fic: phoenix/hangman, dragons' den au

[hit me up with an AU prompt!]

100% had to google what Dragons' Den was and then because I have never watched a single episode of Shark Tank either, I went with the version that would appeal to me.

"We are five minutes to air! Where are Seresin and Trace?" Beau Simpson shouts through the channel, the walkie-talkie static pausing just long enough to let his voice blast into Bob's ear even though he turned the volume down to the lowest setting. "On it, boss!" Bob flashes an apologetic smile at the woman who is about to present her business proposal to break into the wellness sphere with New Age salt crystals in powder form. Bob would rather continue assuring Callie Bassett that even though marketing them in little baggies totally doesn't bring to mind cocaine connotations, it might be worthwhile to put them in a commemorative box so she can upsell to the Goops of the world. Bob's been on the job for a month but his favorite is talking to the entrepreneurs before they go out there to present their ideas to the sharks. He likes getting one last glimpse of their unfettered excitement before Bradshaw pokes holes into their unrealistic timelines for success or Mitchell points out fifteen different products that already exist that serve the same purpose or Seresin straight up tells them that they've wasted four years not paying attention to their expensive Ivy League business classes because this new protein powder will not revolutionize the gym-tan-laundry market, prompting Trace to snicker, "As one of the founding frat bros of said market, Jake would know." But Beau is constantly shouting at Bob that lying to the people who come on the show about how smart they are is not his job. Bob's not really sure what his job is, but one day, he's  going to tell Beau that he didn't leave the family cattle ranch in Montana to wrangle the talent in LA either. However, Bob's got car payments to make and a B.A. in Film and Television from UCLA that is worth even less than the cardstock his diploma was printed on so today is not that day. Instead, Bob zooms down the hallway opening empty dressing room doors and dodging PAs carrying cardboard trays with half-caf lattes. Finding no sign of Jake and Natasha, Bob peeks his head into the break room and asks, "Hey Mick, have you seen—" Mickey glances up from the fan-made Star Wars trailer he's watching on his phone to ask with a smirk, "Ever wonder why production has a film room when we shoot on digital, Bob?" But Bob doesn't have time to wonder because he's already running down the hall and taking the stairs two at a time to the film room. His knuckles give a cursory rap on the door, but his right hand is already turning the knob before the sound has a chance to settle. In retrospect, he doesn't know what he thought would be happening in a film room without film, but he did not expect the light from the hallway to catch Jake Seresin's bare ass the moment he opened the door. "Oh my God." "Close the door!" Natasha shouts and, in a moment that he's sure will continue to mortify him when he is on his deathbed, Bob closes the door behind him so that now it's the three of them in a film closet meant for one and he's the only one who the networks wouldn't fine for indecency. "Uh, Beau wants you back on set," Bob declares stupidly instead of leaving the room. He realizes a moment too late that even though he's trying to be respectful by staring at Natasha's ankles, it looks like Bob is staring at the heels of her Jimmy Choos digging into Jake's toned ass while he's got her pressed against the wall.  "Thanks, Bob," Jake says cheerfully like they're having a conversation over the craft services table. "We'll be out in two." "Right," Bob stammers. "Good. Great." And then he's scrambling for the door knob and launching himself back into the hallway where everyone is at least wearing pants. He tries to tell himself that it could've gone a lot worse – surely, an example of how will come to him one day – but as he's closing the door, Bob hears Natasha snap, "Promises, promises. I told you not to start something that you can't finish, Seresin." "When have you ever not finished, Trace?" Jake chuckles before the rest of what he says is muffled against her lips and the door closing behind Bob.

[cyonfir]

I realized I can just post whatever so here's a poster for Cosmo Sheldrake I did this semester as one of my finals <3

My Process:

I first did my lineart in my absolutely legal version of Adobe Illustrator. I then printed it out in blocks and used a makeshift light box to create the physical version seen in the second photo!

I took a photo of my physical version and edited it to make it clearer. I don't have a scanner big enough so I had to improvise. I then colored the poster digitally using Procreate on my Ipad.

I'm very proud of how it came out.

[sonicenvy]

She's DONE!!!!! After far too many moons I finally finished this embroidery project.

This is biggest project I've done to date and I learned a LOT! How I got here:

Found a photo of a paper kite butterfly that I liked, downloaded it and pumped up the contrast for ease of tracing.

Printed out my reference photo, taped it to my light box and traced it in pencil

Color blocked in colored pencil

Scanned drawing into computer and digitally touched up in photoshop

Printed drawing out onto sulky washable fabri solvy and adhered to stretched fabric in hoop

So. Much. Stitching.

Wash remaining fabri-solvy out with warm water

Stretch wet fabric onto hoop and wrap in towels to dry over night

Cleaned up edges by closing them behind the hoop with a long running stitch.

This was almost all just long and short stitches with single strands of thread (though there were also some stem stitches (? It's been a long, long, time since I did that stitched so I can't be 100% certain) involved in outlining some things, and a few areas that I initially started with more strands before decided it looked bad and nixing that.)

I had never done much with long and short and satin stitches before because I sucked at them, so this was a huge challenge project for me. I also had never done gradients before. Fortunately several people on this fine sub offered some helpful tips on the gradients, the long and short stitches and the satin stitches when I asked!

I learned a lot as I went through this project and you can really trace that throughout because I definitely noticed that my stitching got better from wing to wing. I started in the top right wing and went around clockwise until I was finished. A big thing that I learned along the way that made things a lot better was how important the direction of the stitches actually is and how in this kind of project having most of them facing in (vaguely) the same direction looks better.

Several things that I learned in the course of this project:

This fabric that I used for this project sucks and I should never use it for another project ever again lmao

Matching your needle size both to the number of strands you're doing and the tolerance of your fabric makes a huge difference. I started this project with an embroidery needle that was way too big for the fabric that I was using and that punched pretty big holes in it that it did not like. Since I was doing single strand I eventually ended up switching to a regular, very fine sewing needle.

Make sure that all of the threads that you pick are ones that are still in production and that you know what their number codes are. I only barely managed to avoid running out of the one thread that I picked that wasn't a standard DMC color that I could rebuy.

Write down what the colors are that you are using for the project so that future you knows that stuff. I made a little table in a numbers document with this info. The R426 and R420 were threads that I purchased at a charity shop as a part of a bulk bin of flosses. As far as I could tell the company that made these threads no longer exists and they were probably from the 1970s.

Having a hoop with a Phillips head adjustable tension screw is a game changer because you can key in a LOT more tension which is awesome for bulky piles and piles of long and short and satin stitches. I liked using that hoop (dark colored one) so much for stitching that I actually remounted this project in a less nice hoop after it was done lol!

The adhesive in fabri solvy fails after a certain amount of time + repeated re-stretchings. Tack down edges with light stitching in the future?

Having a thimble to help push thread through particularly thick locations is a godsend. Thank you to my mom for giving me her granny's pretty thimbles; they rock.

Making your edges outside the hoop longer and more even is better for tucking it in the back at the end with a running stitch. There were some very uneven and awkward bits that made that difficult.

[giveafike]

The Stories We Keep - B.T.S

TLDR: Trip down memory lane with the Sheltons. This is part 10/12 of Azzie's Advent Calendar 2024!

Word count + info: 1.8k + dialogue.

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! No warnings : )

Azzie Notes ✚: finally into the double digits! Once again short one but cute one, we're literally diving straight into it today!

————————————————————————

The evening unfolded in quiet anticipation. Outside, a light breeze swept gently against the windows, painting a serene backdrop to the warmth inside the house. The scent of hot cocoa lingered in the air, mingling with the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights.

Lisa stepped in from the rain, shaking droplets off her jacket as she kicked off her shoes. In her hands was a neatly wrapped package, the result of her quick trip to the photo store.

“Guess what I’ve got!” Lisa’s voice rang out, bright and excited.

Ben was sprawled across the couch, one arm behind his head as Halo dozed contentedly at his side. He looked up, already smirking. “Don’t tell me, don't tell me...is it dinner?”

Lisa shot him a look. “It’s the prints from last night, smartpants. And they came out perfect.”

Ben sat up a little straighter, glancing toward the staircase where footsteps could be heard. “Well, that’s one way to get everyone excited here.”

Emma emerged, her hair tied back, wearing a hoodie she’d practically lived in all week. “Prints?” she asked, her face lighting up.

Lisa nodded. “All from the digital camera, the candids, everything. Wait, where's Bryan?”

At the mention of his name, Bryan’s voice carried from upstairs. “ 'm up here. Lis! Y'all might want to sit down for this.”

Ben groaned, his shoulders slumping theatrically. “Oh no. Don’t tell me it's time for-”

“Oh yes!” Bryan thrilled, descending the stairs a moment later with a wide grin and a large frayed, leather box tucked under his arm. The box was iconic in its own right, its slightly worn exterior bearing years of wear and memories. Brass accents gleamed faintly in the light, and when Bryan placed it on the coffee table, it landed with a satisfying thud.

Emma beamed. “The box! It’s about time.”

You tilted your head curiously as you moved closer to the couch. “What’s the box?”

Ben sighed, but there was a fondness in the sound. “It’s our whole history, basically. Like, all of our lives are documented in these albums. Every goofy Christmas outfit, every bad haircut, every single moment Mom thought was ‘so precious’, it’s all in there. Every year before Christmas we just reel in the years, looking back at the year and before that too." He paused, the smile on his face melting into a fondness as his expression deepened into something more pensive. "I used to find it corny but over the last few years since college and tour, it's nice to go back and see how everything's changed so quickly. Plus seeing Dad's glory days on court are always fun.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Ben would act like he couldn't care less about it, but he's the first one to get emotional over it every year.”

“Lies,” Ben shot back, smiling, shaking his head. “Absolute lies.”

Bryan laughed as he sat down, flipping open the lid of the box. “All right y'all, let’s get started.”

Inside were stacks of photo albums, each meticulously labelled with dates and themes, Lisa's and Bryan's meticulous work evident. The first one Bryan pulled out was marked 1999. Its burgundy leather cover gleamed under the soft light, and Lisa let out a soft laugh as Bryan opened it.

“This,” Bryan announced, holding up the first photo, “is where it all began.”

The picture was of a radiant, young Lisa in her wedding dress, caught mid-laugh. Her hair framed her face, and her eyes sparkled with joy. Bryan stood beside her in a suit, his grin as wide as the day was long. The following pages held more treasures: Lisa caught in the middle of moving, her tossing her bouquet, Bryan dancing awkwardly with his groomsmen, candid shots of their parents, family members that were unfamiliar to you and a photo of the two of them sneaking a kiss under a canopy of lights.

“You had so much hair back then, Dad” Emma teased, squinting at Bryan’s younger self.

“And you had so little hair when you were born,” Bryan quipped back. “Life has a way of evening things out.”

The group laughed, and the album was passed around, fingers pointing out people alongside small anecdotes and funny moments remembered. Each photo felt like stepping into a memory.

Ben held up a small, pocket-sized, well-loved hardback album of Lisa's junior years playing tennis and Bryan's professional career, photographed at key moments; Wimbledon, triumphant moments frozen in time at the US Open, the French Open, the Australian Open and various other ATP tournaments. Photos of him holding trophies and caught mid-celebration between points. Each image was electric with history, capturing the sweat and grit that had built their legacy. Ben’s fingers lingered on the pages, his eyes glassy with emotion. It wasn’t just their story, it was the foundation for his own journey, a roadmap he was still following, determined to upkeep.

As Lisa pulled out the 2000 album, filled with siblings, cousins and friends of the parents photos of parties, house gatherings, barbeques and celebrations filled out the pages. You smiled and laughed at a few as you heard the backstories and read the somewhat cheeky notes scrawled throughout the pages beside the grainy pictures.

"Lisa! You've got to find me a cocktail dress like that, my goodness, look at you!" you oohed, giggling while the elder lady shook her head, smiling, a small blush creeping up.

"Mhm, I was so glad I had put a ring on her before she showed off that dress..."

"Dad!" Emma and Ben both shuddered and groaned, leaving Lisa and Bryan smiling and softly laughing.

From there, Bryan pulled out the next album, marked 2001, and the next, 2002. These pages chronicled the arrival of Emma and Ben, both wide-eyed and endlessly curious. Lisa had taken the time to jot little notes in the margins for these too, notes like Emma’s first smile! or Ben discovers spaghetti, I think he's found a new favourite food!

Emma pointed to a picture of herself, sitting on a vanity table with makeup smeared across her face. “Why did you guys let me do this?”

“Because it was hilarious,” Bryan replied.

“And messy, that was my favourite lipstick, missy,” Lisa added with a mock scold.

You smiled softly alongside the jokes and quips, not wanting to interrupt as you flicked through the pages tenderly, precariously, admiring the aged photos and notes, gliding over the faces. A picture of toddler Ben with his cousins and Bryan playing soccer, several chaotic photos of Ben and Emma soaked while holding a water hose and a bucket of water balloons, tennis tournaments with the game results and set notes added in by Bryan; so many warm memories in this house that was basking in memories, in love and joy.

As you progressed through, you found a photo of young Ben with his tongue out while a young Emma leaned on him, both wearing University of Florida t-shirts. Another photo of Ben signing his first contract while the next page had Emma's first college tennis tournament. The notes scrawled on the side made Lisa's pride undeniable and palpable, tangible, even if she mightn't be there for every match or moment.

You couldn't help but feel yourself getting choked up as you got just a small glimpse of your boyfriend's life, being able to be here, to be present and so welcomed not only into the present but into their past as well. And as for the future? Well, you could only hope and wish that you could hold just as much tenderness that Bryan and Lisa had held.

They moved on to the Christmas album, a thick book overflowing with festive cheer. Each page told the story of holidays past: small, modest trees in the early years, ornaments hand-painted by tiny fingers, and later, larger gatherings with extended family. The photos grew fuller with cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. There were snapshots of backyard football games, and warm Floridian afternoons playing impromptu tennis matches that always ended in laughter.

“God remember this one!” Bryan exclaimed, holding up a photo of the kids in matching red pyjamas. Their grins revealed matching gaps where front teeth had been. Both were holding up a gingerbread house slightly lopsided and dripping with frosting, overloaded with several types of candy and sweets.

Emma squinted at the corner, where Lisa had written, Emma finally lost her last baby tooth this Christmas. “I remember this one! I was so mad Ben’s fell out first.”

“Because I’ll beat you at everything,” Ben teased.

Emma jabbed him in the ribs, earning a laugh from everyone. Lisa began sorting through the newest prints, sliding them into blank slots in the Christmas album, while Emma busied herself grabbing Polaroids and following suit.

You found yourself lingering over a different album, still stuck on one labelled Ben, 2002–2005. Its pages were filled with a tiny version of him, all curly hair, big teeth and chubby cheeks. One photo showed him toddling across the backyard in overalls, gripping a toy tennis racket. Another featured him fast asleep in a pile of presents, a stuffed animal tucked under his arm.

“You were so cute,” you murmured, jutting out your bottom lip a bit as you held up a page with him caught mid-fall trying to ride a tiny bike.

Ben leaned over, peeking at the photo. “Still am, aren’t I?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “Sure, if you say so.”

But there was something heartwarming about seeing these moments captured forever. The same grin you’d come to know so well was there in every picture, just smaller and slightly messier. The same spark in his eyes, the same playful energy, it was all there.

“You’re gonna get emotional,” Emma teased, catching you wiping at your eyes.

“Am not,” you said, though your voice wavered. “It’s just… this is incredible. You’ve documented so much.”

“That’s the point,” Bryan said, his tone soft. “So when you look back, you can see just how much love has gone into this family.”

Lisa leaned over to squeeze your hand. “And you’re part of it now.”

The comment made your cheeks warm, but before you could respond, Ben nudged you gently. “Told you it’s a lot to take in, I'm just glad it's you, not me this time. Get used to doin' this every year.”

You laughed lightly, brushing it off. “I’m just saying… you were an adorable kid.”

“Still am...your words not mine” he repeated, winking.

By the time the albums had been flipped through and the photos from this year found their places, the evening had settled into a comfortable lull. Bryan carefully closed the Christmas album, now updated with memories from 2024, and placed it back in the box. Halo had migrated to a spot by the tree, curled up near the lights, and Emma was already scrolling through her phone, likely plotting how to repost some of the photos for her story.

Ben, however, stayed beside you, his arm draped casually across the back of the couch. He reached out, flipping back to the page of himself as a toddler in overalls.

“You really think I was that cute, huh?” he asked, glancing at you with a crooked grin.

You nudged him. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

Lisa’s voice carried from the kitchen, where she’d gone to fetch a refill of her cocoa. “Are you two coming to the kitchen for dinner, or are you just gonna keep looking at old photos all night?”

Ben glanced at you, his grin softening into something warmer. “What do you think? Still need time to catch up on all this?”

“I think we’ve got plenty of time for both,” you replied, smiling back.

And as the evening stretched on, filled with laughter and quiet moments of reflection, you felt deeply grateful to be part of something so grounded in love.

[15writingducks]

The Manor Who's Maids Are Ghost C3

Ao3 Link

By the end of the day, Uzi was exhausted and annoyed to bits.

All that happened was ‘How to do this, how to do that, here are the rules, oh don’t mind that we have guests!’ it all got on Uzi’s nerves. I died and the punishment was working in a human manor just like how N, V, and J did? With them too? What the heck?! 

And the rules… of course there were rules, like ‘No foul language, Always make the guest happy, be attentive, talk properly, strive for effectiveness, etc, etc.’ ugh. At least I get to go back to my room, but in the morning I have to meet up with the rest of the staff in the commons room, wherever the hell that is. Uzi walked to her room in a slouched position, then mid-way through she fixed her posture. Another thing I have to watch out for, yay.

When Uzi arrived at her door, she opened it and closed it without the angsty teen way of over exaggeration. Uzi walked in, and flopped onto her bed.

She picked her head up, shuffled over to the pillows, and forcefully shoved her head in them to quietly scream. Why?! What did I do to deserve this?! Someone knocked on her door.

Uzi grumbled to the drone outside. “Who’s there? What do you want?”

“Um, thought you might like something?” It was the golden boy himself. Uzi slightly panicked, but got up to open the door. When Uzi opened the door she saw N and his doofy looking smile. He was holding something behind his back.

“Uh, hi N…” Uzi nervously spoke. What the heck do I do? N doesn't remember me! N just smiled as he moved his hands away from his back, presenting a small gift box to Uzi.

“This is for you! Most have a hard time adjusting, so I thought you might like a gift!” N was ecstatic, but Uzi was trying to keep a straight face, she didn’t want to cry right in front of N. He’s N… But not the N I know, not the one that saved me, not the one that helped me, not the one to be my friend when no one else would… “Uh, thanks. Really.” she gave a weak smile as she grabbed the box.

It was a nice crimson red with gold snowflakes printed on it. She lifted the lid up and peered inside. Inside was a darkish blue bat with the inside of its ears and the membrane of the wings a darker blue. It had very light blue eyes, to the point they just looked white, embroidered on. It was winking.

“Th-Thank you N… but, how did you know I liked bats?” Uzi just looked at the plushy. She grabbed the bat out of the box and put the lid back on. “Oh, would you like the box back?”

“Just had a feeling! And yeah, not often I can grab a box before J throws them away, if they aren’t broken or damaged too much…” His happiness slightly faded to embarrassment and sheepishness. “Oh and there's some PJs for you in the lower drawer of your dresser!”

Uzi handed the box back, a soft smile formed on her face. “Again, Thanks… That means a lot to me…” N lightened back up, smiling bright.

“Oh, I should probably go now, J might be mad if she thinks I’m slacking off! See you round!” N waved Uzi goodbye and ran with little jumps.

Uzi’s soft smile faded to one of pain. He’s gone… We…  l o s t … 

Uzi slowly trudged inside, unknown if her door did or didn’t close, and laid back down on her bed. She gazed at the wood that was held up by the 4 posts on her canopy bed. There were soft cream colored curtains that went with the dark wood and gold ribbons that tied it back. It’d be fun to put stars up there, the glowing kind. Uzi reached her right hand up to it, then grasped the air. Tears slowly fell from her digital eyes, yet no noise could be heard.

The door opened slightly, a red eye watched for a second before leaving, leaving the door almost closed. Uzi stayed still, not even aware someone peered inside her room.

Uzi clenched her jaw and brought her hands to her chest as she rolled onto her side, back facing the door.

Her breathing quickened, with an occasional hic. Why? Was this Cyn’s sick idea of a punishment? Try to stop her, and you get forced into the work of a servant? Is there any way out of this hell? Who else is here? Why is Doll here? Did she wipe their memories? Is she going to slowly wiPE MINE UNTIL I’M JUST A HUSK FOR HER TO USE?! WILL THEY EVER BE THE SAME?! WI-ll, will I still be me? Uzi stared off to the wall, curling up on herself, tears more frequent.

The solver symbol flickered over her eye, causing her to panic. She immediately got up and spotted the door letting a line of light into her room. She quickly closed the door and then shuffled quickly over to the dresser.

The dresser was a 4 drawer one, 2 small ones on top, and 2 bigger ones stacked below those. Uzi opened the one closer to the floor to find some forgetful grey tee-shirts and shorts. Th-this will probably be fine to sleep in.

Uzi grabbed a pair and quickly changed into it, haphazardly tossing the previous outfit on top of the dresser. She then turned the lights off, but turned the lamp on her bedside table on, not wanting to sleep yet. I don’t want to panic too much, but if i get too stressed out i at least don’t want a uniform ruined because of my wings.

Uzi looked around her room. It was sparse. The bed was queen sized and placed in the middle of the room, only the headrest touching the wall. There was a bedside table with a nice lamp right by it. The door was almost in the corner, but offset by a foot. On the back of the door was a mirror. Directly behind that on the other wall was the dresser that was in the corner. Next corner over had a desk, it was rotated in a different way, where your back would face the dresser. 

Uzi walked back to her bed, and crawled under the covers. They were silky smooth, the pillows supported her head just right. Uzi then found the little bat that she had left and grabbed it. Uzi quickly dozed off, sleepiness winning the battle.