#spine software | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

enhaflixer · 3 months ago

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campus crush!sunghoon x f!reader

stats class. keep ur glasses on when u fuck me. statistical analysis with ur tongue. thats abt it. sunghoon word porn ngl ENHA HARD HOURS (kinda) 18+ MDNI

You're late. Again.

The digital clock on your phone reads 3:10 PM as you sprint across campus, your backpack bouncing against your spine with each step. Statistics seminar started ten minutes ago, and Professor Clarke has definitely noticed your absence by now. Not that it's unusual—you've made it a habit to burst through those doors at exactly ten minutes past, a whirlwind of apologies and bright smiles.

"Sorry, sorry!" you announce as you push open the computer lab door, slightly out of breath.

Twenty pairs of eyes swivel toward you, but Professor Clarke doesn't even look up from his laptop at the front of the room.

"How kind of you to join us," he says dryly. "We were just assigning semester project partners."

You flash him your most charming smile as you slide into an empty seat. "Perfect timing then."

A few people laugh. You've mastered the art of diffusing tension with humor, of making your tardiness seem like a quirky character trait rather than a genuine inability to manage time. It's gotten you this far in university.

"As I was saying," Professor Clarke continues, "this statistical analysis project will count for forty percent of your grade. You and your assigned partner will select a dataset, develop a hypothesis, and use STATA to analyze your findings." He gestures to the complex statistical software displayed on the projector screen—the same software that has been giving you nightmares since week one.

You glance around the room, hoping you'll be paired with Olivia or Zara—friends who wouldn't mind carrying the team if necessary. But when Professor Clarke reads off, "Sunghoon Park and..." followed by your name, your heart does something unexpected.

It skips.

You've noticed him before—it's hard not to. He always sits in the same spot three rows from the front, always arrives fifteen minutes early, always has his notebook open at the exact moment class begins.

What you haven't fully appreciated until now, as you turn to locate him in the room, is just how devastatingly handsome he is. His dark eyes find yours immediately behind stylish wire-rimmed glasses that give him an irresistible intellectual appeal. One corner of his perfectly shaped mouth lifts in the smallest acknowledgment, and a strand of black hair falls across his forehead when he nods at you. The combination of his reserved demeanor and model-worthy looks creates an effect that makes your stomach flip. He's the definition of a hot nerd—the kind that makes you temporarily forget about statistical analysis altogether and wonder what he'd look like with those glasses slightly askew, his usually perfect hair disheveled.

After partnering announcements finish, Professor Clarke instructs everyone to move next to their assigned partners to discuss project ideas.

You gather your things and make your way to Sunghoon's station, dropping into the chair beside him with dramatic flair.

"Fair warning," you say brightly, "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with this software. Like, none. Zero. Statistical analysis to me is deciding which café has the shortest queue."

You expect a sigh or a look of disappointment—it's what most serious students do when they realize they've been paired with you. Instead, Sunghoon's expression softens.

"It's okay," he says quietly, his voice carrying just a hint of an accent. "I'm... not an expert either."

"But you always look so focused during class," you say, gesturing to his immaculate notes.

He shrugs, the movement slight and controlled. "I write everything down. Doesn't mean I understand it all."

When he opens the STATA program and navigates through a few screens with apparent ease, you lean closer.

"Okay, so you're being modest. You definitely know more than I do."

"Barely," he admits, and you catch the faintest hint of a smile—not the polite one from before, but something genuine that makes you want to see it again. "I just know how to make it look like I know what I'm doing."

"That's an important life skill," you laugh, pulling your chair closer to see his screen better. "So what kind of data are we analyzing? Please say something fun like ice cream consumption versus happiness levels."

Sunghoon doesn't laugh, but his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. "Actually," he says, "we can choose almost anything that interests us."

You bump his shoulder lightly with yours. "See? We're going to be great partners. I bring the wild ideas, you bring the common sense."

"Is that what they call it?" he asks, and there's a hint of playfulness in his voice that catches you off guard.

"What would you call it?" you challenge.

He considers for a moment, adjusting his glasses with a single finger pushed against the bridge. The gesture shouldn't be as attractive as it is. "Survival instinct."

You laugh, genuinely surprised. "So I'm dangerous?"

"No," he says, turning slightly to face you better. "Statistical software is dangerous. You're..." he pauses, seeming to search for the right word, "unpredictable."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as one." The quiet confidence in his voice sends a small thrill through you.

Professor Clarke clears his throat at the front of the room. "I expect project proposals by the end of next week. Choose your dataset carefully—it will determine the scope of your entire project."

You glance at the clock. Only fifteen minutes of class remain.

"So, partner," you say, lowering your voice as Professor Clarke continues, "when should we meet to figure this out? I promise I'll try not to be ten minutes late."

Sunghoon's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Would you actually show up if I said 8 AM at the library?"

"Now you're just testing me," you whisper back.

"Coffee shop after class on Thursday?" he suggests instead, his voice equally quiet. "The one behind the science building?"

"Beans & Books? You've got good taste." You nod approvingly. "I practically live there between classes."

"I know," he says, then immediately looks as if he wishes he could take it back.

"You know?" You raise an eyebrow, intrigued and slightly pleased.

A faint color appears high on his cheekbones. "I've seen you there. You always order something different and then type furiously on your laptop."

The fact that he's noticed you before, observed your habits even, gives you a little flutter of satisfaction. "And what do you order, Sunghoon Park? Let me guess—plain black coffee, no sugar."

His eyebrows lift slightly. "Close. Earl Grey tea."

"Of course," you nod sagely. "Sophisticated."

When class ends, you gather your things slowly, suddenly reluctant to leave. Sunghoon stands, slinging his messenger bag across his chest in one smooth motion.

"Thursday, then," he says, as if confirming an important business meeting.

"It's a date," you reply with deliberate casualness, watching his reaction.

His expression remains mostly neutral, but you don't miss the quick blink, the slight pause before he nods. "For statistics," he clarifies, but the slight upturn of his lips betrays him.

"For statistics," you agree solemnly, though you're already wondering what other subjects you might explore together.

The coffee shop meeting goes surprisingly well. What you expected to be an hour of awkward dataset discussions turns into three hours of conversation that meanders far beyond statistics. Sunghoon, it turns out, has layers beneath his reserved exterior—he plays piano, reads philosophy for fun, and has a dry sense of humor that catches you off guard and makes you laugh harder than you have in weeks.

By the end of the evening, you've not only selected your dataset (coffee consumption versus academic performance—your suggestion, which he surprisingly agreed to), but you've also learned that his stammer appears when he's either nervous or passionate about a topic. You find both instances equally endearing.

When Friday's class rolls around, something shifts. You arrive only five minutes late (progress), and the space beside Sunghoon, which is usually empty, now seems to be waiting for you. You slide into the seat and he glances up from his notebook, the corner of his mouth lifting in that subtle way that's becoming familiar.

"You're almost on time," he says quietly, amusement in his eyes.

"Don't get used to it," you reply, but there's no bite to your words.

Throughout the class, your awareness of him is heightened—the way his brow furrows when he's concentrating, how his fingers tap thoughtfully against the desk when Professor Clarke asks a difficult question, the scent of his cologne when he leans closer to point something out on your screen.

After class, you find yourself hesitating as you pack up your things, watching as he meticulously organizes his notes.

"So," you begin, aiming for casual, "I was thinking... we should probably meet again this weekend to work on the project." You pause. "My roommate's gone for the weekend. We could use my dorm? Fewer distractions than the coffee shop."

Sunghoon looks up, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nods. "That would be... efficient."

You laugh at his choice of words. "Very statistical of you."

"I meant—" he starts, a hint of that stammer appearing.

"I know what you meant," you interrupt, grinning. "Saturday at four?"

He nods, adjusting his glasses. "I'll bring the data analysis. You bring the coffee."

"Deal."

Saturday arrives, and for the first time in your university career, you spend thirty minutes tidying your room before a study session. You tell yourself it's just basic courtesy, not because you care what Sunghoon thinks of your living space.

At precisely four o'clock, there's a knock at your door. Punctual as always.

You open it to find Sunghoon standing there in jeans and a simple button-down shirt, his laptop bag slung across his body. He's swapped his usual wire-frames for slightly thicker black glasses that somehow make him look even more attractive—scholarly but with an edge.

"You're making me look bad with this punctuality thing," you say by way of greeting, stepping aside to let him in.

"Sorry?" he offers, clearly unsure if he's actually done something wrong.

You laugh. "I'm joking. Come in."

Your dorm room is standard—bed, desk, small seating area with a loveseat and coffee table—but you've made it yours with art on the walls and plants on every available surface. Sunghoon takes it all in with curious eyes.

"I like your space," he says, and it sounds genuine.

"Thanks. Where should we set up? Desk or coffee table?"

"Either is fine," he says, that formal politeness still present even after your hours in the coffee shop.

You end up at the coffee table, sitting side by side on the loveseat, laptops open. For an hour, you actually make progress on the project. Sunghoon explains correlations in a way that finally makes sense, and you discover you have a talent for visualizing data in creative ways that makes his eyes light up with approval.

But as the afternoon wears on, the small space means your shoulders keep brushing, your knees occasionally touch, and each point of contact feels increasingly deliberate. When you reach for your coffee at the same moment he reaches for his tea, your hands collide, and neither of you pulls away immediately.

"Sorry," you both say at once, and then laugh.

"Great minds," you add, but you're distracted by how his eyes look behind those glasses, warm and focused entirely on you.

At some point, you shift positions, both of you turning toward each other to discuss a particularly complicated aspect of your analysis. Your knees are definitely touching now, and the loveseat suddenly seems much smaller than it did an hour ago.

"So if we compare these variables..." he's saying, but you're watching his mouth form the words more than listening to their meaning.

"Hmm?" you say, forcing your attention back to the screen.

He turns to look at you fully, and you realize how close your faces are. "You're not listening," he says, but there's no accusation in his voice.

"I'm distracted," you admit.

"By statistics?"

"By you."

The words hang in the air between you. Sunghoon blinks, his expression shifting from confusion to something more intense. He swallows visibly, and you watch the movement in his throat.

"I'm... distracting?" he asks, his voice lower than before.

"Extremely." Your eyes lock on his glasses, the way they frame his dark eyes, how they complete his devastatingly attractive intellectual look. "Especially with these on."

His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. "The glasses?"

"God, yes," you breathe, moving closer. "You have no idea how fucking hot you look in them."

A flush spreads across his cheeks, but there's a new confidence in the way he holds your gaze. Without warning, he pulls you forward into a kiss that has nothing of his usual restraint. His laptop slides forgotten to the coffee table as you shift closer, and then somehow you're straddling his lap, your hands on either side of his face as you deepen the kiss.

When you break apart to breathe, his glasses are slightly askew. You straighten them gently, then run your fingers through his usually immaculate hair, deliberately messing it up while keeping the glasses perfectly in place.

"You're so sexy," you murmur against his mouth. "I've been thinking about this since the first day we were paired up."

His hands find your hips, holding you firmly against him. "I find that... statistically improbable," he manages, but his breathing is as uneven as yours.

"I'll show you improbable," you whisper, grinding down deliberately. His glasses fog slightly from the heat between you, and the sight sends a thrill through your body. "So fucking hot," you repeat, unable to stop yourself.

His hands slide beneath your shirt, exploring with a surprising boldness that makes you gasp. "We should—" he starts, breathing heavily.

“Yes,” you agree, already pulling him up from the loveseat, walking backwards toward your bed while keeping his mouth on yours. “The project can definitely wait.”

You fall back onto the mattress, pulling him down with you, careful not to knock his glasses off as he hovers above you. They’ve fogged again from the heat between your bodies, and something about that sight—this controlled, precise man coming undone while still looking every bit the hot intellectual—pushes you past any remaining hesitation.

“Leave them on,” you insist when he reaches to remove his glasses. “Please.”

His lips curve into a smile that’s nothing like his usual restrained expressions—this one is knowing, almost wicked. “If that’s what you want,” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to your neck.

“It’s definitely what I want,” you gasp as his teeth graze your skin. “Along with… everything else.”

There’s a playful air to each touch, a slow building of tension as you both start to peel away layers. You tug at the hem of his shirt first, sliding it up inch by tantalizing inch until he lifts his arms to help you pull it off. He returns the favor by slipping a hand under your blouse, fingertips teasing over your ribs. Every time he tries to hasten the pace, you grin and slow him down, dragging the fabric just a bit more before letting it fall away, leaving him momentarily breathless. The sound he makes—caught somewhere between a groan and a laugh—sends a thrill through you.

Time seems to blur as clothing is discarded piece by piece, inhibitions falling away with each new revelation of skin. The afternoon sunlight filters through your curtains, casting everything in a warm glow.

At some point, you find yourself above him, both of you completely bare except for his glasses, which have somehow remained perfectly in place despite everything. You pause for a moment, taking in the sight of him beneath you—all lean muscle and flushed skin, those wire-rimmed glasses still perched on his nose, slightly fogged from the heat between your bodies.

“You’re staring,” he whispers, a vulnerability in his voice despite the intimate position.

“Can you blame me?” You lean down, placing a gentle kiss on his lips, then another, and another, each one growing more insistent. “God, look at you.”

His hands find your hips, steadying you as you continue to kiss him, his glasses occasionally bumping against your face in a way that only heightens your desire. There's something impossibly erotic about him being completely naked except for those glasses—the contrast between his exposed body and that one remnant of his studious, put-together appearance.

"You're so fucking sexy," you breathe against his mouth. "How does anyone focus in that statistics class with you sitting there looking like this?"

He laughs softly, the sound vibrating against your lips. "I could ask you the same question."

Your kisses become more urgent, your bodies moving together with increasing need. The heat between you builds with each touch, each whispered encouragement. Sunghoon's usually careful movements grow bolder, more instinctive, as your hands explore each other's bodies. His glasses, still perfectly perched on his nose, begin to fog at the edges first—just a light mist that catches the dim light of your room. But as your passion intensifies, as your breathing grows more ragged and synchronized, the lenses cloud completely.

When you pull back to look at him, you can't help but laugh softly at the sight—this brilliantly composed man now completely blinded by the evidence of your shared desire, those glasses that make him look so irresistibly intellectual now rendered useless by the heat radiating between your bodies. To your surprise, he laughs too—not the polite chuckle you've heard in class or the soft amusement from your coffee shop conversations, but a genuine, uninhibited sound that seems to come from somewhere deep inside him. It's rich and warm and completely unguarded.

"I can't see a thing," he admits, his voice husky with desire and amusement. His hands find your face despite his temporary blindness, thumbs tracing your cheekbones with unexpected precision. "But I don't need to see to know exactly where you are."

"Is that so?" you challenge, your breath catching as his fingers trail down your neck, across your collarbone, mapping you with deliberate attention.

"I've been studying you," he murmurs, his touch making you shiver despite the heat between you. "Memorizing. Analyzing patterns." His hands continue their exploration, finding every sensitive spot with remarkable accuracy. "It's very... statistical."

You laugh against his mouth. "Only you could make statistics sound sexy."

Through the fogged lenses, you can just barely make out how his eyes darken at your words. "I have other statistical terms I could demonstrate," he offers, surprising you again with his boldness. His accent becomes slightly more pronounced when he's like this—another detail you've grown to cherish.

"Show me," you whisper, and he does—his hands and mouth conducting a thorough analysis of cause and effect, of stimuli and response, until you're clutching at his shoulders and gasping his name. All while those fogged-up glasses remain perfectly in place, the final vestige of his composed exterior while everything else between you unravels into glorious chaos.

You’re already bare beneath him, skin flushed from teasing and anticipation, but the only thing still clinging to his body—those damn glasses—make it so much worse. Or better. Definitely better.

Sunghoon hovers over you, gaze dark behind the lenses, lips swollen and slightly parted as he takes in the sight of you. You should be embarrassed at how wanton you must look, legs spread for him, body already trembling, but he’s the one who looks wrecked. His composure is gone, shattered somewhere between the desperate kisses and the way you dragged your nails down his back.

His lips quirk. “Still want me to leave them on?”

“Don’t even think about taking them off.”

His smile turns wicked, and then he’s moving—kissing, sucking, trailing his mouth down your body with purpose. His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you wider, and then he’s right there—close enough that you can feel the ghost of his breath against you, the heat of it making your stomach clench.

He doesn’t start slow. No teasing, no light flicks of his tongue just to test the waters. Sunghoon eats you like he’s been starving for this, like he’s been waiting for the moment he could taste you, drown in you. His tongue is hot and relentless, curling against you just right, pressing where you need him most, sending shockwaves through every nerve in your body.

But what really undoes you is the feeling of his glasses pressing against your inner thighs, the cold metal contrasting with the heat of his mouth. Every time he moves, every time he adjusts his angle, the frames shift against your skin—slightly rough, slightly smooth, a reminder of exactly who is between your legs and how absolutely ruined he’s making you.

You fist the sheets, hips jerking up into his mouth, but he pins you down effortlessly, a strong arm wrapped around your thigh to keep you exactly where he wants you. He groans when you tug at his hair, the vibrations shooting through you, making you gasp his name.

“Fuck, Sunghoon—”

His response is a low hum against your clit, and your whole body shakes. You feel the damp heat of his breath, the slick slide of his tongue, but more than anything, you feel the weight of those goddamn glasses as they drag along your skin, fogging up even more, smudging against your inner thigh every time he moves deeper, harder, sloppier.

The sheer filth of it makes you clench around nothing.

Sunghoon notices, because of course he does—because he’s been studying you this whole time, memorizing what makes you gasp, what makes your thighs tremble around his head. And he’s smug about it, too, because when he pulls back just enough to glance up at you, lips glistening, glasses just barely slipping down his nose, he smirks.

“You like that, don’t you?” His voice is raspy, breathless, wrecked.

You don’t even try to deny it. “Yes—God, yes, don’t stop.”

Sunghoon’s smirk deepens, and he doesn’t make you beg for it. He dives right back in, tongue flicking, sucking, his grip on your thighs tightening as you lose yourself completely. The drag of his glasses, the precise way he adjusts his angle to push you higher, the way he groans into you like he’s getting off on this just as much as you are—it’s too much.

The coil in your stomach snaps hard, pleasure crashing over you so intensely that you barely realize you’re pulling at his hair, moaning his name like a prayer, like you might fall apart completely if he stops.

Sunghoon doesn’t stop. Not right away. He works you through the aftershocks, his tongue slow, methodical, lazy in a way that makes you shudder from overstimulation. Only when your body twitches beneath him does he finally pull away, chin glistening, glasses fucking ruined.

You’re still gasping when he crawls back up your body, hovering over you, his mouth right there, his glasses so close you can see the way they’re fogged-up and smudged with sweat.

When you finally collapse beside each other, spent and satisfied, his glasses are askew once more. You reach over to straighten them, and he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm.

"So," you say, when you've caught your breath, "should we tell Professor Clarke we've found an interesting correlation to study?"

Sunghoon laughs, the sound free and unrestrained in a way you hadn't heard before today. "I don't think this is what he had in mind for the assignment."

"His loss," you murmur, snuggling closer. "I'd say our statistical analysis was very... thorough."

"We should probably actually work on the project at some point," he says, but makes no move to get up.

"Tomorrow," you promise, running a finger along his jawline. "I think we need to collect more data first."

His eyebrow raises above the rim of his glasses. "For the sake of academic integrity?"

"Absolutely," you agree solemnly, before dissolving into laughter.

The statistics of probability have never been so compelling.

Over the next few weeks, your statistics class takes on an entirely new dimension. What was once your least favorite part of the week has become the highlight—not because you've suddenly developed a passion for data analysis, but because of the subtle dance that unfolds between you and Sunghoon twice a week in that computer lab.

The Monday after your "study session," you arrive to class five minutes early—a personal record. Sunghoon is already there, of course, and the moment he sees you, his ears turn slightly pink. When you slide into the seat next to him, now officially your spot, he gives you a small smile that feels like a secret.

"You're early," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

"I had motivation," you reply, letting your knee brush against his under the desk.

His eyes flicker to your lips for a fraction of a second before returning to his notebook. "I hope it wasn't just for... statistical analysis."

"Depends on how you define statistics," you whisper just as Professor Clarke calls the class to order.

Throughout the lecture, you're acutely aware of every movement Sunghoon makes—how he adjusts his glasses when he's thinking, the precise way he takes notes, the occasional glance he throws your way when he thinks you're not looking. Halfway through class, you deliberately drop your pen between you. When you both reach for it, your fingers touch, and he doesn't pull away. Instead, he hooks his pinky finger over yours for just a moment before handing you the pen. The small gesture sends a flutter through your chest.

After class, you walk together to the coffee shop without needing to discuss it. Somehow, it's already become your routine.

"How's the dataset compilation going?" he asks as you find a small table in the corner.

"That's what you want to talk about right now? Really?" You raise an eyebrow.

A faint smile plays at his lips. "We do have a project due in three weeks."

"Always so responsible," you sigh dramatically, but there's fondness in your voice. "It's going fine. I've got the coffee consumption survey data from about fifty students so far."

He nods approvingly. "That's a decent sample size for our purposes."

When your drinks arrive—his Earl Grey and your excessively complicated latte—you notice something different about him. He's still quiet, still thoughtful, but there's a new ease to his movements, a softness around his eyes when he looks at you.

"What?" he asks, catching you studying him.

"Nothing," you say, then reconsider. "Actually, not nothing. You seem... different."

He takes a sip of his tea, considering. "I feel different," he admits after a moment. "With you."

The simple sincerity of his words catches you off guard. For all your flirtatious confidence, his straightforward honesty disarms you completely.

"Good different?" you ask, suddenly feeling shy.

"Very good different," he confirms, and beneath the table, his foot rests against yours. Not by accident.

By the third week, you've fallen into patterns that blend the academic with the intimate. Your Tuesday and Thursday afternoons are devoted to actual project work—usually in the library where the public setting keeps you reasonably focused.

Your Saturday “study sessions” in your dorm room are significantly less productive in the statistical sense, though you joke that you’re certainly collecting plenty of data on other variables.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes every time you say it, but you know he loves it—loves how eager, how shameless you are when it comes to him. Because every time you spread your legs for him, every time you drag him into another compromising position, he never tells you no.

Case Study #1: The Textbooks

It starts with an innocent enough setup—Sunghoon sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against your bed, flipping through a statistics textbook while you sit across from him, pretending to study. But it’s boring. He looks too good in his glasses, sleeves rolled up, the slightest furrow in his brow as he concentrates. And before you even realize you’re moving, you’re crawling into his lap, straddling him right there on top of the book.

He barely has time to exhale your name before you sink down onto him, making both of you groan.

The hardcover digs into your knees, the pages creasing beneath you, but you couldn’t care less. Sunghoon is buried inside you, stretching you open, warm and deep and perfect, and the only data you’re analyzing is how his breath stutters when you roll your hips just right.

“Fuck, you’re unreal—” he pants, hands gripping your waist, watching you through the slightly fogged lenses of his glasses as you use him, ride him slow, grind on him like you want to ruin him.

You do. You want to wreck him just as much as he’s wrecking you. The friction, the delicious drag, the way his hands squeeze your hips to urge you to go faster, harder—it all shreds your self-control.

By the time you both come undone, gasping and clinging to each other, the textbook beneath you is thoroughly creased, sticky, ruined. Neither of you even bother looking at it.

Case Study #2: The Desk Chair

Another Saturday, another useless attempt at studying.

Sunghoon’s seated at your desk this time, one leg lazily spread, hand bracing his forehead as he tries to focus. But you’re kneeling between his legs, and the moment you reach for his zipper, his entire body tenses.

“You’re insatiable.”

“And?” You tug his pants down just enough to free him, palming his length, watching him harden in your hand as his breathing turns shallow.

He leans back, exhaling sharply when your lips part and you take him deep. His hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as you swirl your tongue around him, tease him, make him fall apart.

His glasses slip down his nose as he watches you, half-lidded and dazed, jaw slack as you take him deeper, sucking, hollowing your cheeks, making obscene little noises that drive him insane.

He trembles when he finally spills down your throat, groaning your name, head thrown back against the chair.

And the moment he catches his breath, he drags you into his lap, flips you onto the desk, and fucks you stupid.

Case Study #3: Against the Window

Another week. Another “study session.” Another location.

This time, you find yourself pressed against the glass of your dorm window, palms splayed, breath fogging the pane as Sunghoon pounds into you from behind.

The curtains are open.

You don’t know if anyone can see—if someone walking by on the street below can look up and spot your bare body, the lewd way you’re bent over, Sunghoon’s hands gripping your hips as he drives into you with punishing force.

But you don’t care.

All you care about is the way he grunts into your ear, his glasses slightly askew, one hand slipping down to rub your clit, making you jerk and gasp his name as pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave.

“Keep your eyes open,” he growls, voice thick with lust, dragging his lips along your shoulder. “Look outside. Look at what a mess you are.”

Case Study #4: The Shower

It’s late, and you should be asleep. But instead, you’re pressed up against the tiled wall of your tiny dorm shower, water scalding hot, steam curling around you as Sunghoon lifts you up, holds you against him, and fucks you slow, deep.

His glasses are gone, finally.

They’d fogged up the moment he stepped into the shower, and the second you’d made a joke about it, he’d taken them off and set them on the sink. But you don’t miss them too much—not when his mouth is on your throat, sucking bruises into your wet skin, not when his fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you in place as he rolls his hips into you with exquisite precision.

You come twice before you finally stumble out of the shower, exhausted, dripping, completely spent.

And the moment you walk back into your dorm room, still naked, Sunghoon picks up his glasses, slides them back on, and gives you a look that tells you he’s nowhere near finished with you.

Case Study #5: The Floor (Again, Because You Can’t Stop)

At this point, you don’t even make it to the bed.

You’re both desperate, panting, **clawing at each other like you can’t stand the idea of being apart for another second.**The moment Sunghoon pushes you onto the floor, you’re already wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him down, gasping when he fills you in one smooth thrust.

It’s fast, dirty, messy.

He grits out your name, one hand bracing beside your head, the other gripping your thigh, holding you open as he slams into you, pace brutal, relentless. The carpet burns on your back will be worth it.

He loses his glasses at some point, but you don’t even notice—you’re too busy coming apart beneath him, clawing at his back, moaning his name like you’ll never get enough of him.

Maybe you won’t.

Because the second you catch your breath, still tangled up in him, you’re already thinking about where you’ll fuck next.

What surprises you most is how much you enjoy both versions of your time together. The project, which should be tedious, becomes engaging through Sunghoon's perspective. He has a way of finding patterns in chaos that makes even the driest data seem fascinating. And through your influence, he's learning to approach problems more creatively, to see beyond the rigid frameworks he's always relied on.

"What if we visualize it this way instead?" you suggest one Tuesday, sketching a completely unorthodox chart on the margin of his meticulously organized notes.

His initial reaction is skepticism—you can see it in the slight furrow of his brow—but he considers it longer than he would have three weeks ago.

"It's unconventional," he says finally.

"But?"

"But it might actually work better for presenting the correlation," he concedes, and the smile you give him is so bright it makes the student at the next table look over.

In class, Professor Clarke notices the change in both of you. Your questions become more insightful, Sunghoon's responses more animated. When you present your initial findings mid-semester, the professor actually seems impressed by your unusual approach to visualization.

"An interesting methodology," he comments, adjusting his own glasses in a way that reminds you of Sunghoon. "Unorthodox, but effective."

You beam at Sunghoon, who ducks his head slightly but can't hide his pleased expression.

After class, he catches your hand as you're packing up—a gesture he would never have initiated before.

"We make a good team," he says quietly.

"The best," you agree, squeezing his fingers before reluctantly letting go. Public displays still make him slightly uncomfortable, and you respect his boundaries.

It's during a rainy Friday evening in your dorm room, six weeks into your relationship (though neither of you has officially labeled it as such), that something shifts again.

You're sprawled on your bed with your laptop, Sunghoon sitting at your desk reviewing your latest statistical findings, his glasses reflecting the blue light of the screen. Classical music plays softly from his phone—another new development. He's been gradually introducing you to his favorite composers, and you've found you actually enjoy the background music while working.

"Your scatterplot is missing a data point," he says, turning to look at you.

"Mmm, probably deleted it accidentally," you reply, not looking up from your position. "Is it important?"

"All data points are important," he says, but there's amusement in his voice rather than criticism.

You roll onto your back, laptop balanced on your stomach. "That sounds like something that would be on a statistics department t-shirt. 'All data points matter.'"

He laughs—a sound that's become less rare but no less thrilling to hear. "I'd wear it."

"Of course you would," you tease. "With your glasses and a pocket protector."

He makes a face at you. "I don't own a pocket protector."

"Yet," you add with a grin.

He shakes his head, turning back to the screen, but you catch the smile he tries to hide. After a moment, he speaks again without looking at you.

"My parents want to meet you."

You sit up so quickly your laptop nearly slides off your stomach. "What?"

Now he turns, his expression a mixture of nervousness and something softer. "I mentioned you during our weekly call. Multiple times, apparently. My mother... noticed."

"You talk about me to your parents?" You can't keep the pleased surprise from your voice.

He adjusts his glasses, a gesture you now recognize as his tell when he's feeling vulnerable. "It seems I do."

"What do you tell them?" You set your laptop aside, giving him your full attention.

"That you're brilliant in ways I'm not. That you see solutions I miss." He pauses. "That you make statistics class the best part of my week."

Your heart does that skipping thing it did the first day Professor Clarke paired you together, only stronger now.

"Sunghoon Park," you say softly, "are you saying I'm statistically significant to you?"

His expression turns serious, though his eyes remain gentle. "With a p-value approaching zero," he replies, and though it's phrased as a joke, his tone makes it clear it's anything but.

In statistics, a p-value approaching zero indicates an extremely high likelihood that an observed effect is real and not due to chance. It's the closest thing to certainty that statistics allows.

You cross the room to where he sits, gently taking his face between your hands. His glasses are slightly smudged, and you resist the urge to clean them, focusing instead on the eyes behind them.

"So," you say, "when do I meet these parents who raised such a statistically significant nerd?"

He laughs, pulling you into his lap in a move that would have seemed impossibly bold from him just weeks ago. "They're visiting next weekend. Dinner on Saturday?"

"I'm there," you promise, sealing it with a kiss.

The day of your semester project presentation arrives with an unexpected lack of anxiety. You're prepared—more prepared than you've been for any academic presentation in your life. Partly because the subject has actually become interesting to you, but mostly because working on it meant spending hours with Sunghoon.

You stand beside him at the front of the class, watching him explain your methodology with a confidence that wasn't there at the beginning of the semester. His voice is still quiet, still measured, but there's a strength behind it now, an assurance that comes from truly understanding his material. When he gestures to your creative visualization on the screen, there's a hint of pride in his voice that makes your chest warm.

When it's your turn to present, you catch him watching you with undisguised admiration. You explain the correlations you found between different types of coffee consumption and various academic performance metrics, throwing in jokes that make the class laugh and complex statistical terms that make Professor Clarke nod approvingly.

"And in conclusion," you finish, "we found that while caffeine consumption generally correlates with improved academic performance up to a point, the type of environment in which the coffee is consumed may be an equally significant factor."

"Furthermore," Sunghoon adds, stepping forward to stand beside you, shoulder to shoulder, "we discovered that the companionship variable—whether students studied alone or with others—showed the strongest positive correlation with both satisfaction and performance outcomes."

His eyes meet yours for a brief moment, and you know he's not just talking about the data anymore.

When Professor Clarke gives your presentation an A and commends your "complementary analytical approaches," you resist the urge to high-five Sunghoon in front of everyone. Instead, you wait until you're outside the building, then throw your arms around him in celebration.

To your surprise, he lifts you slightly off the ground in his enthusiasm, spinning once before setting you down, his face flushed with excitement and mild embarrassment at his own uncharacteristic display.

"We did it," he says, adjusting his glasses which were knocked askew by your hug.

"Was there ever any doubt?" you reply, reaching up to straighten them properly. "We're statistically significant, remember?"

His smile softens, and right there on the path outside the statistics building, with students streaming past on their way to other classes, he kisses you without hesitation or self-consciousness.

"What was that for?" you ask when he pulls away, delighted but surprised by the public display.

"I've been collecting data," he says, his eyes crinkling behind those glasses you've grown to love, "and I've formed a hypothesis."

"Oh?" You raise an eyebrow. "And what hypothesis is that, Mr. Park?"

He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as you begin walking toward the coffee shop that's become your place.

"That I'm in love with you," he says simply. "And unlike most statistical conclusions, I'm one hundred percent certain."

You stop walking, turning to face him fully. "That's a bold statistical claim. Absolute certainty is rare in your field."

"I have compelling evidence," he counters, and the confidence in his voice, so different from the hesitant student you met months ago, makes your heart race.

"I might need to review your data," you tease, though your voice catches slightly.

"Extensive observation over time," he begins, stepping closer. "Consistent results across multiple variables. Reproducible effects." His voice drops lower. "Significant positive impact on all quality-of-life metrics."

"Very scientific," you murmur, your hands finding their way to his chest.

"I thought so," he agrees, his eyes serious despite the playful exchange. "So my conclusion stands."

You rise on your tiptoes, pressing your forehead to his. "Well, as someone who's conducted a parallel study, I can confirm your findings. The evidence suggests I'm in love with you too."

His smile, rare and full, lights up his entire face. "Independently verified results. The best kind."

“Should we celebrate this breakthrough with coffee?” you suggest, already knowing his answer.

“I was thinking maybe we skip the coffee today,” he says, surprising you again. “I have other hypotheses I’d like to test.”

“Professor Clarke would be shocked at your dedication to statistical research,” you laugh, letting him lead you in the direction of your dorm instead of the coffee shop.

“Some variables,” he says with newfound confidence, “are worth studying in depth.”

You lean in close, pressing your lips right against the shell of his ear, and whisper the kind of filth that would make even the most shameless person blush.

“Then why don’t you pin me down the second we walk through that door, shove your face between my legs, and eat me so fucking good I forget my own name? And when I can’t take anymore, you’ll flip me over and fuck me like you’re trying to imprint yourself inside me—deep, rough, until I’m crying and drooling on the sheets, too dumb to do anything but take it.”

Sunghoon stops breathing.

You feel the exact moment your words hit him—his entire body locks up, his grip on your wrist tightens, his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear his teeth grind.

His glasses fog immediately.

A strangled noise escapes him, something between a curse and a choked groan, and then he’s moving.

Not just moving—dragging you, fast, purposeful, like a man on a mission.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, voice wrecked, dangerous, and it sends a thrill straight through you.

By the time you reach your dorm, he’s already reaching for the door handle, barely keeping himself together, and the second it clicks shut behind you—

You know he’s about to make good on every single word you just whispered.

That, by any metric, was statistically significant indeed.

TL: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @naurwayyyyy @bloomiize @zzhengyu @annybah @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4 @starniras @wonuziex

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torchturtle · 2 years ago

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Looking up how to resize bones in spine, and luckily realized I wouldn't get the answers I'm looking for before hitting search.

#I'm using the spine software #please I'm not trying to do some crazy experiment

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dorywhynot · 6 days ago

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"XVI (The Tower)" 8x16", Watercolor. 2025

On view now at Vakarie Gallery, for "Arcana: Painting the Fates," a Tarot themed group show

Original Artwork available for purchase

Prints

The Tower is a notoriously negative card, but the more I learn about tarot the less I believe in starkly positive or negative meanings. The Tower symbolizes challenges, difficult ones, like....the kind of challenges that leave you back at square one. But challenges in my mind mean change. Getting knocked down means you have to do something different when you try again, whether that is putting more care and effort into the techniques used before, or trying something new entirely.

Some of you know by now that I've been having an issue with my spine/sacrum for a few years now - while I'm able to carry out my days normally-ish now it has left me with chronic pain that I'm still hoping will heal. It's affected the way I work, the way I relax, the type of exercise that I can do...Pretty much everything part of a routine that I worked hard to build has had to be altered in some way. It's a journey I'm still on and frustrated by. I'm not fully convinced that the diagnosis I received is the entirety of the issue. I also think a part of it isn't a diagnosis thing at all, I'm just getting older.

The spine is the center. It connects the brain to the body, and serves as the conduit for every message between them. It's the foundation for our anatomical hardware and software.

So, is this a personal piece?....Who's to say.

Full painting process documentation of this piece is included in this month's Artist's Notebook PDF, over on patreon.

#thetower #tarot #tarotcard #xvi #towercard #arcana #valkariegallery #anatomy #skeleton #watercolor #painting #aquarelle #illustration #the tower #major arcana

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wanders-in-wonderland · 5 months ago

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Technical Mastermind

Note: This is a fun little dual-POV story I put together, honestly mostly just self-indulgent fluff and a sprinkle of spice but hope y'all enjoy!

I look up from my computer when I hear a knock at my office door. My coworker pokes her head in and smiles at me, “Hey! The new tech guy’s first day is today, come meet him!” Her voice drops to a theatrical whisper, “He’s cute too!”

I let out a soft laugh and glance down at my screen for a second. “I’ll be right out, just gonna finish up this email.” She nods and gives me a wink before disappearing from my doorway.

I follow her out a few moments later, following the sound of excited chattering to the break room. All my coworkers are gathered there, along with a man who I presume to be the new tech guy. Who is indeed cute.

I walk up and introduce myself with a smile. “Hey! I’m part of the analytics team, it’s really nice to meet you!”

He smiles back at me and for a second I’m stunned by the dimples and warmth in his face. He is very cute. “It’s nice to meet you too. I’m here for all your tech needs if anything comes up,” his voice is smooth and it sends a shiver down my spine that I try to repress. Now is not the time to get the hots for my brand-new coworker.

He sticks his hand out for me to shake and I slide mine into it. His fingers grip mine firmly, the warmth in his hand making me want to melt into him.

I let out a soft laugh, “Sorry, my hands are always freezing, my office is so cold for some reason.” He chuckles and lets my hand go, “No need to apologize." I catch a whiff of his cologne and it makes me melt a little more, he smells delectable.

Before I can respond, I hear someone call his name and we both turn to see our manager come over, asking for his help with a software integration. I smile at them both, “Well, that’s my cue, I’ll let you get to doing your job. It was lovely to meet you.” I step away and give a little wave before I walk over to the espresso machine to make myself an afternoon pick-me-up.

My coworker sidles up next to me, “I told you he’s cute!” I laugh and glance back over at the new tech guy, taking in his tall, fit form, the cross of his arms making his biceps bulge while he nods along to whatever our manager was saying.

“And you were not wrong,” I say back to her, grabbing my finished coffee and adding cream and sugar.

She leans in with a devious look on her face, “You guys would make a really cute couple.” I almost choke on my sip of coffee and I shoot her a playful glare. “I literally just met the man! I don’t know anything about him. AND we work together.”

She shrugs, “None of those things sound like deal breakers.” I let out a laugh and glance back at him. We would make a cute couple but I am not about to open that can of worms, especially not with a guy I met five minutes ago who made no indication of being interested in me.

I spend the next few minutes chatting with my coworker before heading back to my office to finish up my work. I feel eyes tracking me as I reach the door of the break room and I turn to see the new guy looking at me. Our eyes meet and he flashes me another smile, dimples on full display. I smile back and slip out of the room, walking back to my office with a little extra pep in my step.

—

Today, I met the woman I’m going to marry. She doesn’t know it yet but that’s okay, she’ll learn soon enough. My first day on the job could not have gone better. I was meeting all of my coworkers when she walked in, wearing that gorgeous skirt showing off her sexy legs and a pink blouse that made her creamy skin look so delicious.

I saw the way she shivered at the sound of my voice, the way her eyes glazed over a little when our hands touched. She’s perfect and her body wants mine and soon her mind will too. I couldn’t get her out of my head, not even when my new boss was talking me through some new software update the firm is undergoing. Lucky for me, I’m damn good at my job and could do it with just a fraction of my attention.

I kept most of my gaze on her while she giggled with her coworker, the sound of her laugh making me determined to be the one to make her make that noise next time. She caught me staring right as she was leaving but the smile she sent my way and the glow on her face was all I needed to be sure that she wanted me just as much as I wanted her.

By the end of the workday, I’d already pulled every single file about her from the company database. After that it was easy enough to hack into the company’s security cameras to get me access to the feed of her office so I could keep eyes on her during the day. It was even easier to hack into her accounts to see her emails, calendars, and everything else my girl had on her work computer.

By the time I got home, I’d already come up with a plan to get access to her personal computer and phone. In the next few days, I’ll pay her home a visit while she’s in the office to set up my own cameras and make a copy of her keys. She’s mine and I plan on taking very good care of her.

—

The next morning, I step into my office and log onto my computer only for the entire thing to crash. “What the fuck?” I groan softly, this has never happened before and the timing is terrible because I’m supposed to be on a meeting in 30 minutes. I grumble with annoyance before I trudge out of my office, hoping to find the new tech guy and praying that he’s here this morning and knows how to fix my stupid computer.

His office door is open and I see him sat in front of his computer, typing away. I linger for a moment outside his door, the yummy scent of his cologne wafting out of his office towards me. I knock softly against his door frame and flash him a sheepish smile when he looks up. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

He flashes those dimples at me again and shakes his head. “Not at all, what can I do for you?” I bite my lip and sigh before responding.

“I think I broke my computer.”

He stares at me. Oh my god, he thinks I’m an idiot.

“I mean, I don’t know, I logged in and then it crashed and now it’s on the blue screen of death and I have a meeting in 30 minutes and I can’t access anything.” I blurt out my words and want to dissolve into a puddle because now the hot tech guy definitely thinks I’m incompetent.

“Let me see if I can fix it,” he says, not missing a beat and he stands from behind his desk. Fuck, he’s so tall, I could climb him like a tree. I give myself a mental slap and smile brightly at him, praying my face isn’t beet red.

He gestures to the door and we walk out together. “Thank you so much, I’m sorry for being a bother, I promise I’m usually not this technologically inept.”

He laughs very gracefully at my bumbling, “You’re not a bother at all. Plus, this is what the company pays me for, so thank you for keeping me employed.” I giggle at that. So he’s hot and funny.

We enter my office and I let him sit at my desk to tinker with the computer. I stand behind him, discreetly taking in deep breaths of his smell while staring blankly at the screen as he opens some kind of code sequence and enters a bunch of letters and numbers before giving a contemplative hum.

“Good news is I know what’s wrong. Bad news is it’s gonna take a bit for me to fix it up. But, I can remote access into your account from my computer and you can take your meeting in my office so you don’t run behind.” He turns to look at me.

“Oh my god, yes, that would be perfect. Thank you so so much!” Thank you tech gods for gracing me with this savior of a man. I beam at him and he shows me his pretty dimples again.

“Here, let’s get you set up on my computer first and I’ll come back to deal with yours.”

20 minutes later, I’m sat in his very comfy chair, breathing in more of his yummy scent, in his very nice and warm office that is far better than my freezing one, logging onto my meeting from his computer.

—

She’s so fucking adorable when she needs help. I could barely contain my excitement this morning while I waited for her to come into the office and inevitably find me to solve her newly manifested computer problem. And I made her laugh, the sound spilling from her lips so sweetly.

Now, I’m in her office while she’s preoccupied for at least another hour in that meeting. My girl is so trusting too because she left her phone, her personal laptop, and her purse all in her office without a second thought. This is too easy.

It takes me no time at all to plant a bug into her phone that mirrors it onto my own and a similar tweak of her laptop’s code gives me remote access whenever I want. I slip into her purse and grab her keys, stepping out of the office to go down the street to the hardware store to make a quick copy of her house key and her car key. I make one last stop at her car, sliding a tracker under the hood before heading back into the office.

A glance at her calendar tells me she’s still got 30 minutes left in her meeting. I easily delete the bug I’d planted in her work computer to create this glitch in the first place and restore it to its functioning form before leaving her office, putting everything back in its place.

I stop by the break room and make two cups of coffee. One black for me and another with cream and sugar, exactly the way I’d watch her make it yesterday afternoon. I slip into my office quietly, smiling at her when her eyes meet mine. I slide the cup of coffee to her and her eyes widen and she mouths a thank you at me.

I smile and shake my head before slipping back out of my office to let her finish her meeting. My chest feels warm when I step out. It feels really fucking good to take care of my girl, and I hope she sees how good of a provider I would be for her. How she’d never want for anything ever again and I can’t wait to make her mine.

—

I’m giddy for the rest of my meeting after he’d dropped off a cup of coffee for me, made exactly how I like it. This man is the stuff of dreams, I swear. My meeting wraps up and I finish off my caffeine before I get up to look for him.

He’s in my office, back facing the doorway, tinkering with the thermostat on the wall. I knock softly and he spins around to look at me, holding a screwdriver as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You mentioned your office being cold. I think I fixed it,” he flashes me a smile. My mouth forms an O as I stare at him in amazement. If we weren’t coworkers and literally met yesterday, I would totally get down on my knees and suck his cock right here, right now. Where has this man been all my life?

“I- thank you so much, you didn’t have to do that at all. And thank you for the coffee, it was perfect, and for letting me use your office, and for fixing my computer,” I’m rambling now but I can’t stop. Seeing his dimples again makes me finally stop talking and I give him a shy smile.

“No problem at all, everything’s all sorted. Your computer is all set and it shouldn’t give you an problems anymore.” His words almost make me sad, maybe I should figure out how to fuck up my stuff again just so he can come and fix it for me.

“Thank you again, really. You’re a life saver.”

“Of course, let me know if you need anything, you know where to find me.” He tips an imaginary hat at me and I giggle as he walks out. Yum, my office now smells a little bit like him.

I spend the rest of my day half-heartedly focusing on work while my thoughts keep drifting back to that dimpled hunk of a man who seems so perfect.

—

I spend the rest of my day sorting through all the new information I’ve gathered on my girl and doing just enough work to make it seem like I’m a model employee. Her phone gives me an unfiltered glimpse into her life and I’ve discovered enough about her to know with certainty that she is fucking perfect.

I also find that she spent several minutes last night googling me and stalking my few social media profiles. It makes me smile to know that my girl is interested in me too. I’m looking through her other apps when I see a text come in. It’s from one of our coworkers, asking if she’s going out for the weekly office happy hour tonight. She responds quickly with an affirmative. And then she sends a follow-up message: “I’m gonna invite the tech guy too!”

Our coworker agrees and my chest feels warm again, clearly, my girl is thinking about me too.

I hear her footsteps come down the hall to my office and I quickly click out of my incriminating files before she knocks on my office door and pokes her head in.

“Hi, do you want to come out for drinks with the rest of the office tonight? It’s just a causal, weekly happy hour, no pressure!” Her eyes are alight with hope and excitement and it makes me want to grab her and kiss her. I restrain myself and instead send her a smile and agree. Her whole face lights up and I have to grip the armrest of my chair to keep myself in place. She says she’ll send me the details and walks off, her perfect ass swaying as she retreats down the hall.

—

I’m bouncing on my heels a little as I stand with a few other coworkers at the bar down the street from the office. My gaze keeps lingering on the door, trying to get a glimpse of the man I’m waiting for. Someone next to me makes a joke about something and I laugh with the rest of the group, too distracted to contribute anything of substance.

Suddenly, I feel a warm hand against my back and I smell his cologne. I turn around to face him and smile. His hand leaves my back and I want to complain but hold it in. He smiles at me and greets the rest of the group.

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” he says. Someone makes a request for beers and everyone else calls out their agreements. I don’t bother to say that I’d prefer something else, I’ll just grab something later after this round.

He steps away and comes back a few minutes later with our drinks, placing a pitcher of beer on the table with empty glasses. Then, he comes back again with a different drink in his hand. “This one’s for you,” he says, handing it to me.

I stare at him in shock. How did he know I don’t drink beer? And how could he possibly know my favorite drink is an espresso martini?

He smiles at me, “I asked them to make it decaf so it doesn’t keep you up.”

I think I swoon. I know for a fact my panties are drenched right now. “I- Thank you so much, how did you know?”

He flashes me that fucking smile again and my pussy clenches. “I’ve seen how much coffee you drink, so I took a wild guess.”

I beam at him and take a sip, letting out a happy sigh at how good it tastes. I get distracted by a coworker asking me a question and my attention gets pulled into an animated conversation.

—

She’s so pretty like this, face flushed from the alcohol and laughter. I’m standing close to her but not close enough. I want to sling my arm around her shoulders and pull her towards me so she can lean on me. I want to trail my fingers up and down her back and draw absentminded circles over her skin while we talk. There’s so much I want to fucking do but I can’t yet, I have to wait.

I’m caught in some conversation with a few guys from the office about a new client the firm is taking on. I check my watch and decide I’ve spent enough time here and I’d much rather head home and do some more research on my girl.

“I’m gonna call it a night, I’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” I say, giving a wave to the rest of the group. I see her perk up at my words, “I’m gonna head out too! See you guys tomorrow!”

I knew she’d take her leave when I brought it up. My girl’s got an early morning workout class tomorrow. I know that from her calendar and because it is the perfect time for me to slip into her home and install my cameras.

We walk towards the exit together and head back towards the office.

“Did you drive today?” I ask, already know the answer is no because it’s Thursday and she always takes the train just in case she goes to happy hour and drinks. Because my girl is responsible. She shakes her head, “No, I took the train but I think I’ll just grab an Uber home.”

I shake my head, “Let me drive you home, I didn’t drink tonight anyway.”

“No, I can’t ask you to do that! I’m sure you have things to do!” She says, looking at me with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Not at all, it’s no problem, let me take you home. Where do you live?” As if I really need her to answer that, I already know her address.

“I feel like you’re always doing favors for me and we’ve only just met,” she laughs and gives me her address. “Thank you so much,” she says, glancing up at me shyly.

I smile, “It’s not a problem.”

I’m a perfect gentleman when I drive her home, our conversation never lulling during the ride. The drink she’s had tonight has made her extra liberal with her laughter and I love it. I drop her off at her place and bid her goodnight.

—

The next morning, I track her location as she goes to her workout class, leaving her apartment empty. It’s so easy for me to slip into her apartment using my copy of her key.

I take my time, looking through her belongings, seeing the decoration of the space, noting what her pantry staples are, what her favorite brands of skincare are. And of course, I go poking around in her bedside table where I find a plethora of different sex toys my horny girl has. The thought of using any one of them on her makes my dick strain in my pants and I almost get sidetracked before I remember my purpose for being here today.

I hook up several tiny cameras, concealing them around her apartment so that, to an untrained eye, nothing would seem out of place. The cameras give me live video and audio feed and I take a moment to double check that the connection is secure before I take one last glimpse around her apartment and take my leave.

I get back to my car parked a few blocks down and pull up the live feed on my phone just in time to see her come home from her workout class. The clarity of the cameras is exquisite, capturing every angle of her. I groan as I watch her strip out of her workout outfit, her perfect perky tits spilling out of her sports bra and her tight ass on display.

I slide lower into my seat, my gaze fixed on her as she steps into the shower. I can’t stop myself from sliding a hand into my pants, palming my cock, the friction making me hiss. She soaps up her body teasingly, putting on a show almost like she knows I’m watching.

Fuck, she’s perfect. I groan as I stroke my cock with intention, the pent up desire burning through my veins. I want to be there with her in that shower, I want to run my fingers through her hair, to rub soap up and down her body, tease her and make her feel so fucking good.

I don’t last very long, it’s almost a little embarrassing how fast I cum, watching her shower. I clean myself off and head to the office, where I spend every single moment daydreaming about her gorgeous body and trying not to rush into her office and ravish her against her desk.

—

It’s the evening now, and I’m watching her settle in for bed, the several different cameras giving me every possible angle of her gorgeous form as she crawls into bed. I watch her grab her phone as she snuggles down into her covers and I pull up my mirrored copy of her device to see what she’s looking at.

It starts with cat videos and random TikToks and then I watch as she switches to a different app. Tumblr. My eyebrows raise when I see what she types into the search bar: rape fantasy. I watch her scroll through pictures, videos, text posts, watching as she starts to get hot and bothered. It looks like my pretty girl has a dark side.

I watch as she kicks the covers off her body and she slides a hand down into her pajama bottoms. I see her bit her lip as her hand starts to move beneath her clothes. She’s reading something absolutely filthy and the cameras in her room are picking up on her soft whimpers as she plays with herself.

Fuck, I fumble with my belt and undo my pants enough to pull my rock hard cock out. I let out a low groan as I fist the base of my cock, my breath harsh as dark tendrils of pleasure rush through my body. I keep an eye on the cameras, watching as she writhes on the bed, her pretty moans and cries going straight to my head as the pleasure builds inside of me.

I hear her whines pick up and I know she’s close to cumming. And then, I hear it over the camera. She whimpers out a name. My name. It’s enough to send me over the edge and I curse as I cum all over my hand, my vision going white for a moment before it clears just in time for me to see her ride out the waves of her own orgasm, still whimpering my fucking name.

My breathing is harsh as I sit back in my chair, watching as she comes down from her high and puts her phone away to curl up and drift off to sleep. I groan as I bask in the warm pleasure. I’m going to make all her little fantasies come to life and she’s going to keep moaning my name like my fucking slut.

—

I’ve waited long enough and I can’t wait any longer. Every single fucking day, I see her pretty smile and hear her intoxicating laugh at the office and every night, I stroke my cock to the sound of her whimpers while she plays with her dripping little pussy. I know she’s perfect for me. I know she wants me because every time I see her, I see her pupils dilate and her eyes glaze over when I stand too close.

It’s time for me to make her mine. I wait for her to go to bed after she rubs her sensitive little clit and cum all over her fingers. I’m going to give her the best orgasm of her life tonight and she’s never going to have to rely on herself to make that pretty pussy feel good because I’ll do it for her gladly.

I slip into her apartment when I know she’s asleep and I creep into her room. She’s so fucking pretty, laid on her bed, wearing those shorts that show off her ass and a tank top that barely covers her tits. I’m going to fuck her and make her mine.

I strip out of my clothes and slide into the bed with her. I pin her underneath my body and use one hand to hold both her wrists above her head and another to cover her mouth. I watch as she jerks awake, her eyes wide with fear as she whines into my hand.

“Shh, shh, it’s me, don’t be scared, darling. I’ve got you,” I purr into her ear and grind myself against her body, my hard cock pressing against her softness. I watch as her wide eyes take me in and I see that fear slowly transition into arousal. I laugh and dip my head and lick her jawline and kiss her neck.

She whimpers into my hand again. “Such a good girl for me, you’ve been teasing me at work, flaunting your pretty little body, looking at me with your fuck me eyes, did you think I wouldn’t do anything about it?” I growl into her ear.

I kiss her jaw softly, “I’m going to let your hands go but be a good girl for me and keep them above your head.” I slide my hand down her body and I pull the neckline of her top down so her pretty tits bounce free.

She’s such an obedient girl as she keeps her hands still for me. I keep my hand over her mouth and lean down to capture a straining nipple in my mouth while my free hand goes to pinch at the other. I hear her muffled moan behind my hand and I groan in response. “Fuck, you taste so good.

I let her nipple go and trail my hand down her body, pulling her shorts and panties down to reveal her dripping cunt. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet, all for me, isn’t that right?”

I loosen my hand so she can speak and she whimpers and nods. That’s not good enough, I land a hard slap against her cunt and she lets out a short scream. “Answer me, are you wet for me, darling?”

“Yes! Yes! I’m so fucking wet for you, please!” Her voice is breathless and I reward her with a soft stroke of her hard clit that makes her whine.

I slide a finger inside of her warmth and she arches her back. “Oh fuck, please, that feels so good.” She sounds so fucking good like this.

I pull out my finger and smirk at her when I hear her whimper is desperation. I reach up and press my finger, wet with her pussy, against her mouth. “Open up,” I purr and watch as she obeys to take my finger into her mouth.

“Good girl,” I murmur, sliding a second finger into her mouth and pushing in deep, the sound of her choked gag making my cock stiffen even more. “That’s it, take it like a good girl.”

I use my other hand to rub at her clit while I make her choke on my fingers. “You like this, don’t you? You like gagging on my fingers like a fucking whore, huh? You like me rubbing your clit like this? Are you going to cum?” I growl, feeling her pussy clench and her little clit pulse at my words.

Her mouth is too preoccupied to speak but I can tell by the way she’s writhing that she’s close because it’s the same way her body shakes every time she cums while I watch on the camera. I keep up the attention on her clit and press my fingers to the back of her throat. I feel her shatter in my hands, her cry of pleasure muffled by my fingers and her pretty pussy falling apart for me as she cums.

I let her ride out her pleasure before I pull my fingers out of her mouth and capture her mouth in a bruising kiss. When I pull away, she’s whining and begging, “Please, please, fuck me, please, I want your cock.”

I laugh, “Such a cum drunk little slut, huh? I give you one orgasm and now you’re begging for my cock? Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Her blown out pupils meet mine and I know that in that moment, I’m hers forever. I would do anything and everything for her and right now, I’m going to fuck her until she breaks around my cock.

I lean down and kiss her harshly, lining my cock up with her weeping cunt. “Scream for me,” I groan as I slam my cock home inside of her. She does exactly what I tell her to do, she screams. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, darling,” I set a punishing pace with my hips, every single thrust slamming her into the bed.

Her pussy grips me like a vice and I can feel every shudder and shiver of her body as she gives in to the pleasure. I brace one hand against the bed and the other goes to wrap around her throat, choking her just enough to make her lightheaded.

Her cries echo in the space around us, every single sob leaving her lips urging me on. Her face is flushed as her body gives in to the pleasure I’m forcing onto her. I watch as her eyes flutter closed and her pussy starts to milk me rhythmically and I know she’s close. She lets out a broken whine and I speed up my hips, every thrust rubbing against her pulsing walls.

“Come on, cum for me, pretty girl. That’s it, feel good for me, FUCK!” I feel her cum around me, the shuddering of her cunt pushing me over the edge as she screams my name. I groan as I bury my face into her neck, panting harshly as I try to regain control of my body. I pull myself off of her, the slide of my cock out of her tight cunt making both of us gasp, and I collapse next to her on the bed.

She rolls over and presses herself against me, looking up at me with her pretty eyes.

—

“You know you could’ve just asked me out, I would’ve said yes,” I tease, running a hand up and down his chest.

He laughs as he wraps an arm around me and pulls me close, “I know but this way is more fun, don’t you agree?” I smile and nod.

I snuggle into his arms, “I wanna watch the video of this.” I feel his entire body go rigid. “What?” He asks, his voice hesitant and tinged with disbelief.

I giggle, “You know, the footage from all the cameras you installed in here.”

I didn’t think he could be more still but he does. “What are you talking about?” His voice is low and panicked.

I look up at his face and giggle at his dumbfounded expression. “What, you think I didn’t know you came in here and put cameras everywhere?” I lean up and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be embarrassed, I think it’s fucking hot,” I say.

He blinks at me. “How- how did you know?”

I bury my nose into his chest and take a deep breath. “Your cologne. I knew as soon as I came back from my workout class that morning that you’d been in my apartment. And it’s not hard to notice all the cameras, you’re slick but not that slick.” I tease him gently.

He lets out a breath and gives me a low chuckle. “Fuck, you’re too smart for your own good,” he laughs. I giggle, “I also know you planted that bug on my computer that day. And you mirrored my phone.”

He shakes his head and laughs disbelievingly. “How did you figure those out? You can’t smell cologne through a phone, can you?”

I smile, “No but I can reverse engineer your code.” He blinks back at me. “I double-majored in computer science in college, I know my stuff,” I beam at him.

He presses his lips against my forehead. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

I shake my head.

“Fuck, you are absolutely fucking perfect for me. I love you, my little mastermind.”

I giggle, “I love you too, tech guy.”

#nsft concept #dark fantasy #rap3 fantasy #cnc stalking #stalker kink #stalker yandere #stalker bf #stalking fantasy #obsessive love

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erinaeris · 1 year ago

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Laios Touden and the Responsibility of Power

First off, let me gush just a bit about how fucking STRONK this man is. Olympic weightlifters are dying of sheer envy and lust over this man. He is a FUCKING POWERHOUSE.

My favorite panels ever, and judging by the cropping of the second photo, Tumblr agrees.

AHEM, where was I?

Ah yes. He's not just strong and incredibly hot, my man is literally an invasive species in this dungeon. He knows every single weak spot of every monster Thistle tried to throw at him and when he finds it he just fucking RAMS HIMSELF AT THEM AND TAKES THEM DOWN.

And when he's a dwarf HE LITERALLY BENDS STEEL.

"Beat Namari at arm wrestling"? My boy, she wouldn't let you anywhere near because you'd FUCKING BREAK HER HER HAND ALONG WITH THE TABLE. (It's such a fucking shame we didn't see Senshi at least raising an (perfectly plucked except it just grows that way naturally) eyebrow in the background when he sees this. Alas, he was too distracted by his hair.)

But I mentioned responsibility, didn't I? Strength is power in the dungeon, and we all knows what comes with great power. And Laios is, in fact, very responsible with that power!

(Futther examples under the cut, wee bit spoilers for anime watchers)

This scene lives rent-free in my head forever, because of two things: Thistle suddenly realizing just what the hell he's up against,

And Laios breaking Thistle's arm.

Now, I think Laios didn't mean to actually break his arm here, he's just half-blind and dizzy and knows he has to restrain Thistle or it will all go to shit. So that's what he does. The move you see above is a restraining hold. The point is that the person pinned down can't struggle much because the position of the arm presses the suprascapular nerve, so it hurts a lot, but unless they're held that way for too long they'll be fine.

But Thistle is TINY and elves are generally fine-boned. I think Laios really did just underestimate his strength.

And the moment the dragons aren't an IMMEDIATE THREAT anymore?

Laios heals him. Thistle's a better mage than him by miles, he could have done it himself. But no. Laios does it. He was too rough, too careless with his strength, and he immediately backtracked, fixed what he broke, and continued with more mindfullness.

And these are just the examples that stuck in my mind the most. And it happens often enough that the team isn't even fucking surprised! Laios' strength would 100% scare people who only saw him in a barfight and didn't know anything else about him. Hell, the other adventurers they meet fucking quiver before this guy who just took down a monster they had nightmares about in one blow, up until he opens his mouth and they relax. You put more malevolent software in that sort of hardware and he'd be the next Shadow Governor.

But Laios is Laios. He's a gentle soul at heart (a Great Pyrenese, specifically, the gentlest souls ever unless you're out for their flock) and he is VERY CAREFUL with his strength, ESPECIALLY around his team. Chilchuck, who is literally half his size and underfed to boot, can smack Laios as much as he wants with ZERO fear because Laios is aware he can hurt Chilchuck by literally tripping over him, so he just stays still and lets Chilchuck smack at him. I'd be surprised if he ever managed to leave a bruise. Chilchuck has to aim at Laios' weak spot (back of the knee here) just to get Laios to notice him!

But because I have some experience with marital arts and close combat, I think the fight with Shuro exemplifies my point so fucking well! Laios is HURT here, he's living every autistic person's worst nightmare.

And he HOLDS BACK. His restraint is fucking IMMACULATE.

Shuro is fucking lucky Laios still liked him when he started talking shit, because he would have broken his spine otherwise. Laios doesn't even take the fight seriously! He starts with a fucking SLAP.

Shuro retaliates with an actual punch (that does nothing but piss him off)

Laios wobbles. Shuro HITS THE DIRT.

And this is the part where he realizes just how outside his weight category he is. Shuro definitely has technique on his side, but that means jackshit when you need ten blows to to even bruise your opponent, but one hit from them will leave you drinking through a straw for a week. For a second there, Shuro thought he was in ACTUAL DANGER.

But instead of finishing the job, Laios tries to talk him down, which just sets him off again. Man was at his fucking LIMIT, and it snapped. Self-preservation who?

And the best part is? Shuro is throwing all his strength behind his punches and Laios just takes them, but Laios? He mostly pushed Shuro around!

They're mostly grappling here, precisely because Laios is very conscious his friend is pretty fragile right now.

And when he does have enough?

Shuro is flat on the ground again, and Laios has a black eye and a bloody nose. He sits down and five minutes later he's ready to go! Like yes, Shuro was at a low point here, but he's been mowing through monsters at only a bit slower pace than Laios' party. He's no weakling regardless. And Laios had to HOLD BACK SO HE WOULDN'T HURT HIM. And it's so obvious that Maizuru takes one look at the two of them and leaves them to their toussling.

When I saw her reaction I had to scroll back and take another look, because I was sure she would intervene! But she doesn't! She is aware of Laios' strength, she has to be, and she doesn't lift a finger to help her precious charge. She knows the big dog he's wrestling with knows to watch his strength.

And that's my whole point: my boi is STRONK AF! And he is very aware of his strength, and how he could hurt the people around him is he wasn't careful, so he is ALWAYS CAREFUL. He has deeply internalized the fact that to have strength is to be careful with it, to use it in service of people rather than to hurt them (possibly from his dad). He is going to SUCH a good king! He's not going to like the job but by GOD he will do it really well.

And I will give my right arm to see a fic about the first corrupt lord/governor/courtier who attempts to misuse their authority for their own gain. Kabru's gonna have to talk Laios out of an execution.

#dungeon meshi #laios touden #delicious in dungeon

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cloudbasedsoftwareblog · 1 year ago

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#technology #gst software #spine software #software

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luetta · 2 years ago

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i saw someone joke about robot girls as an example of kinks that are just impossible to ever be made reality, like they're completely in the land of fiction. but ... that is just not true!

you can set the mood in your room. turn off the lights but put on some little coloured purple and blue blinkers. sit her down on the edge of your bed and sit down behind her. let her eyes flutter closed since there's no reason to keep them upon in this dark, safe room. softly coo into her ears, she's been such a good robot day! doing so many tasks so efficiently! making everyone around her so happy. but, silly her, she overdid it. so you're just going to have to do a tiny bit of repair work. "will that be okay, dear?" of course it will be. she trusts you completely. you're her admin. you created her. of course she has a safeguard preventing just anyone from powering her down, but she lets you override that with no resistance. such a good girl.

press your finger into the back of her neck, and then drag it down her spine. as she powers down, glide her limp body softly onto the bed. put her feet up so she's lying down completely now. maybe hold her limbs up a bit and let them drop. yep, she's powered down now. she's not unconscious, just mental faculties are capped at 10% and body autonomy is disabled. all you have to do now is find where she's sustained some damage. trace your fingers all along her chassis, poking in with a "screwdriver" to take her outer layer off and examine the wires and joints. hmmm... oil is a bit thin. these wires are too close together, could cause sparking and overheating. goodness, your fan is dusty. you've been working so hard, haven't you? gently turn her over onto her stomach now. it's time to investigate her processing unit, her software.

make sure her arms aren't stuck underneath her. once she's all comfy, you can unscrew her entire back panel. make sure to trace your fingers all around her back and spine as you do, robot girls love that shit. the soft human touch is heavenly to a machine of metal and electricity. and such a well designed chassis too, so beautiful. but off it comes, what's underneath is even prettier! oh, even now, it's still hot to the touch. you've been thinking so much today ... you don't need to think anymore though. just let me explore you. read out her event log for the day. algorithmic neural plasticity score. joint lubricant levels. corrupted data percentage. things like that. they're like scores to her. praise her if she's gotten good ones, tease her if she's gotten bad ones.

i could write so much more and maybe i will...like roleplaying injecting a virus into her neck or chest, and feeling the code flow all down her body...your cock can even be the usb!

also, at some point lay your whole body weight onto them - arms over her arms and legs over her legs. to calibrate pressure sensors or something. bc lets face it if she's a robot girl then she is 100% a neurodivergent cutie who'd love that sm <3

#robot gf #oops i wrote a lot #but i'm passionate about this okay #iridescent

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pascalislove · 4 months ago

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Error 404: Your clothes not found: Hacker!Gong Yoo x F!Reader

Summary: Your hacker boyfriend has been distant lately, so you decide to take matters into your own hands to get his attention back.

Warnings: (18+), graphic smut, unprotected sex (wrap him before you touch him!), creampie, piv, cunnilingus.

Gong Yoo has always been meticulous, serious, and organized, but lately he’s been so wrapped up in his work that he’s barely paid you any attention.

You decide it’s time to remind him that you’re a part of his world, too, so you slip into his work area wearing only one of his t-shirts, loose enough to cover you… but not so loose that it hides your intentions. You sit on his lap with a mischievous smile and whisper in his ear:

—“Still busy, love?”

He barely looks up from the screen, giving you a slight smile before continuing with his software. It’s not the reaction you were expecting, but you’re not going to give up either. You lean down and begin to slowly kiss his neck, pressing your lips against his warm skin.

—“You haven’t been paying attention to me lately…” you murmur, sliding your hands down his chest.

Gong Yoo closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying your touch, but he continues to try to concentrate. Seeing that he still resists, you decide to take more drastic measures: you take off his shirt in one movement, revealing the red lingerie you chose especially for him.

When he looks back at you, his eyes scan your body with apparent indifference, though the slight darkening in his gaze gives it away. Frustrated, you frown and blurt out:

—“Pay attention to me, dammit!”

He calmly sets down the keyboard and flashes a lopsided smile.

—“You shouldn’t have touched my computer,” he says in a deep voice.

—“I did it to buy this,” you reply, pointing to your lingerie.

His gaze slowly slides down your body before you take the liberty of straddling him. This time, he doesn’t hold back. Gong Yoo calmly takes off his glasses and sets them on the desk before wrapping you in his arms. With a firm movement, he picks you up, and instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you into the bedroom. His lips find their way to your collarbone, leaving a trail of warm kisses on your skin.

With eager hands, you slide his shirt down his torso, feeling every line of his well-defined muscles beneath your fingers. He responds with another deep kiss before undoing his pants, leaving him in just his boxers.

You can’t help but run soft caresses over his toned abdomen, enjoying the feel of his warm skin against your fingertips. Slowly, you unhook your bra, letting it fall to the floor, and his gaze darkens with desire. He’s quick to lean down to capture one of your breasts in his mouth, playing with his tongue as a moan escapes your lips.

He then slides down to the other, sending shivers down your spine. His mouth travels lower, placing kisses on your belly before removing the last piece of clothing and dipping between your legs.

The first brush of his tongue makes you arch your back and let out a ragged gasp. Still looking at you, he slides a finger inside you, exploring with precision until he finds that spot that makes you shudder.

A second finger joins in, moving in perfect sync with his mouth that never stops playing with your clit. Your hands clutch at his hair, holding him tighter to you, and between muffled whispers, you beg him not to stop.

Pleasure consumes you suddenly, leaving you trembling under his expert touch. With a satisfied smile, Gong Yoo sits up and undoes his boxers, revealing his erection. You roll over on the bed, lying face down, and feel him align himself with you before slowly entering, stretching every fiber of your body with his size.

His thrusts start slow, torturously deep, until his grip on your waist becomes more demanding. With one hand, he grabs a fistful of your hair, tilting your head to the side to whisper in a deep voice:

—“You can’t last even a few hours without my attention, can you? Small and needy…” A shudder runs through your body as you gasp between moans.

—“No… I can’t be without you…” you confess, lost in the feeling of him inside you.

His response is a firm spank that makes you arch even further against him, followed by three more that only intensify your desire.

He pulls out of you suddenly and drops onto the bed, giving you an expectant look. Understanding his invitation, you straddle him and take control, aligning yourself with him before slowly sinking into his hardness.

His hands grip your hips as you begin to move, the rhythm of your hips matching his perfectly. His gaze is lost in the way your breasts move with each swing and, unable to resist, he captures one with his mouth.

—“Tell me about your computer…” you murmur between moans, enjoying the friction between your bodies.

Gong Yoo lets out a laugh between gasps and, without stopping moving inside you, begins to explain about settings and systems, his deep voice making you tremble even more. You feel an intense heat build up in your belly.

He senses it too, and in a quick movement, he pushes you onto the bed and settles between your legs, taking control again. His rhythm intensifies, his skin hitting against yours in an increasingly frantic swing.

You wrap your legs around his waist, clinging to him as your nails leave marks on his back.

Your climax hits you again with overwhelming force, making you moan his name as you cling to him desperately.

A few thrusts later, he follows, burying himself deep as his own pleasure consumes him. You’re both left panting, sweaty, tangled up in each other. His face hides in the crook of your neck before he leaves a soft kiss on your skin.

—“That was amazing…” you whisper with a satisfied smile.

Gong Yoo props himself up on one elbow and looks at you with that confident expression that turns you on even more.

—“Who said this is over?” he murmurs before leaning over you again.

And without waiting for an answer, he claims you for himself again.

What do you think of this approach by Gong Yoo?🫦

I put the saleman labels and others characters so that they appear to you.🫦

#gong yoo x reader #salesman x reader #gong yoo #gong yoo x you #the salesman x reader #recruiter x reader #the salesman x you #han jeong won x reader

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jcwdrawskinda · 6 months ago

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Veronica engineering, as she do

Hi everyone! Today, I bring a Veronica to the table. I hope you enjoy!

I haven't been active as much lately; just getting through political seasonal depression, and that means I like to take time away from posting to work on mental/physical health. Hugs to everyone going through similar rn <3

For Veronica, I did plan to go into Spine Software to edit her, but I decided to keep it simple and have just have fun. My biggest regret is that her power fist isn't the same as the model in game, RIP

So let's pretend that she found a new one while trying to find Christine, eh? Maybe she's fixing it up from whatever derelict place she found it!

#helloooo #looks it's the girl!#fallout #my art #2d animation #fallout fanart #fallout companions #animation #fnv #fallout new vegas #veronica santangelo #fallout veronica #animated illustration #animated gif #fanart #scifi

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zerosconsort · 5 months ago

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Zero's Fic Binding - Sixpence In His Shoe

Sixpence In His Shoe by scifigrl47 [@scifigrl47]

Fandom: Marvel (Comics) Ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Start Date: 02/05/24 End Date: 01/21/25 Pages: 253

I am, honestly, probably the most proud of this cover. This might be the most detailed, delicate, intricate thing I’ve made - ever. I know I haven’t been doing this long, but this? This is really good.

The amount of layers in this bitch is astounding. Sometimes I yearn for the embrace of a better graphic software then Canva. We’ll get there. Anyway.

There is an Owlcrate special edition of The Longest Autumn that inspired the shit out of me for this, along with the version of The Fine Print that i saw in Target that was this beautiful lined foil design. The idea of a mirrored, hyper intricate lace-like cover that wove all the individual parts of the story together drove me crazy.

The vinyl is foil - which, if you are new to HTV and want to use it to make book covers, LISTEN: This foil sucks. All foil HTV sucks. It’s going to suck to cut. It’s going to REALLY suck to iron on. It will be worth it, but it’s going to try and drag your soul out of your body by your fingernails the entire time you’re using it.

Alright, lets talk about the process and the typeset.

The entire theme of this fic is marriage - in both that the characters got married, are having a wedding, and are desperately in love with each other despite not actually telling each other that before said marriage and wedding. I initially was going to do a blue and white theme, more along the lines of really flowery modern wedding invitations - but then I read the fic again.

I forgot about the first chapter. Reading again, I paid more attention to what everyone around them was doing to celebrate marriage being legal. The process of it. The traditional feel of how it was done. And that’s the hook that I followed instead.

Sixpence doesn't have chapter names - so instead I pulled some of the wedding traditions that I researched and used those as my chapter foundations.

Each chapter gets one, where I use the motif as the header and the scene breaks in the chapter. I also added the iconography to the chapter numbers in the header.

I made three of these in total. I fought this book every step of the way - I really needed to be a more experienced version of me to make this book the way I wanted to, but honestly? I literary did the best I could, and even I can tell that I did it.

The first copy of this book went to Sci - Its got a little extra character from being the first version, but out of the three sisters I made of this print run, she turned out the best looking. I'm keeping the most fucked up version (which is otherwise perfect, really, save for the fact that I put the FUCKING SPINE ON BACKWARDS), while the littlest sister is going to go to one of my best friends for a VERY belated gift.

This was a surprised gift for Sci - who had reached out to me almost 4 months ago and asked if they could maybe, possibly, have a copy of Maybe Tomorrow. I knew immediately that I wanted to make this for her too; I had the typeset in my Want To Make file since FEBRUARY OF 2024. So I dusted it off, dumped my other project to the side, and hyper focused on this book for about a month and a half.

Sci - I admire the fuck out of you. You are a gift and a treasure, and I hope you are ok with me getting my little racoon hands on your fics. Thank you for being open to my interpretation of your work. It’s a privilege and an honor to bind them.

If by some miracle, you have not had the pleasure of reading Sixpence In His Shoe - or any of Sci’s work, #1 what the fuck, #2 please start here.

#zeros fic binding #steve/tony #stony #stevetony #ficbinding #bookbinding #steve rogers/tony stark #mcu #2025 bind

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silvakochdostoe · 2 months ago

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My OC’s character sheet, and down below her lore/backstory/ability awakening: ⬇️

Silva was ten years old when her ability awakened,

Just ten—and she’d been happy that morning. Her scarf was red, her fingers a little numb from the cold, and she’d stolen a piece of chocolate from the kitchen for her little sister Shizu. She was supposed to go straight home.

But she wandered.

The abandoned docks were quiet, gray, littered with broken bottles and rusted chains. She liked the silence. Until it broke.

They surrounded her.

Six—no, seven men. Adults. Ability users. Scarred, twitching, high on something. Their eyes gleamed with something unclean. Predatory. Hungry.

“What’s a pretty little girl like you doing out here?” one crooned, stepping closer. His hands glowed faintly red—heat user. Another crackled with static. One had black eyes and claws.

She froze. The air thickened. Her legs refused to move

She didn’t know there was a world of supernatural powers, but now she does.

“Don’t scream,” another said. “It won’t help.”

She screamed anyway.

It didn’t help.

They were on her. Rough hands. One slammed her face into the concrete. Another tore her coat away. She felt the blade before she saw it—cold metal sliding across her back, slicing skin, over and over. She choked on her own sobs, her fingers clawing uselessly at the ground. Her blood ran hot down her spine.

“Still breathing?” a voice sneered, just before the knife slashed across her left eye.

Agony. Blinding, searing agony.

She couldn’t hear. She couldn’t see. Only pain.

But then—something else.

A low, pulsing sound beneath her skin. Like a heartbeat—but not her own.

The blood stopped falling. It started rising.

It listened.

The pain vanished. Not gone—replaced. By rage. A monstrous, pure kind of fury that took her tiny, broken body and twisted it into something new.

Her eye—burned red. The other glowed green like wildfire.

Then the screaming started.

Not hers. Theirs.

She didn’t move. She didn’t have to.

The blood flowed up—hers, theirs—turning into jagged tendrils, barbed blades, sickle-sharp whips. One man was torn in half before he could blink. Another’s chest caved in as a spear of blood impaled him through the sternum and burst out the other side. They tried to run. Their feet slipped in gore. One tripped and was dragged back by a crimson leash around his throat, flailing, clawing at air, before his body exploded into meat.

Her expression didn’t change.

She watched them die like it was a lullaby.

One man begged. “Please—please, stop! You’re just a kid, please—”

Her blood slashed his jaw off mid-sentence.

When it was over, the docks were painted red.

Three escaped. Broken, bleeding, screaming about a monster with one glowing eye and blood that moved like it had a mind of its own.

Silva stood in the center, her back a lattice of torn flesh, her eye a ruined mess of blood and tears. But she wasn’t crying anymore.

Her body trembled. Her hands were slick with gore. She looked down at her fingers, then at the shredded corpses twitching around her.

She didn’t understand what she’d done.

She just knew one thing:

She had become something terrifying.

And she would never be prey again.

That meant she had to hunt down and locate the rest that got away.

_____——_____

At fifteen, while her classmates obsessed over crushes and celebrity gossip, Silva was tearing through encrypted firewalls designed by military contractors. While they learned algebra, she was reverse-engineering black-budget surveillance software from four governments and rewriting it in six hours—better, sleeker, impossible to trace.

She had no formal training. She didn’t need it. Her brain devoured information. It wasn’t just intelligence—it was something else. Something unnatural.

Patterns glowed for her. Systems spoke. The moment she laid eyes on a network, she saw the architecture behind it, the cracks, the pressure points. Like blood vessels waiting to be pierced. And she did. Effortlessly.

They called it a gift. The psychologists, the government recruiters, even the hackers online who traded secrets with her and never knew they were talking to a teenage girl with one ruined eye and scars down her back. But Silva didn’t feel gifted. She felt haunted.

The attack when she was ten never left her.

She still heard the screams.

Still felt the blade.

And so, she controlled what she could.

She built her own systems from scratch. Modified keyboards to fit the speed of her thought. She wrote code like it was poetry—fluid, instinctive, laced with venom. Her personal rig had no brand. No OS. It was hers and hers alone. And it was alive with her blood.

Yes—blood.

Her ability had evolved. She could now interface directly with machines using thin strands of her own blood, magnetized and refined through years of brutal experimentation. Wires were clumsy. Silva’s veins were cleaner.

At sixteen, she hacked an underground weapons ring trafficking in children. She leaked everything to Interpol��after burning their funds and publicly doxing their leaders. Three suicides followed.

At seventeen, she took down a private mercenary company’s communications grid during a covert operation in Syria. No one ever knew how it failed. Only that it failed catastrophically.

Her files were ghosts. Her online identities were labyrinths. Even the best white-hat teams could only conclude she was either a government AI or a demon in human skin.

But inside, she was still that girl on the dock, bleeding, shaking, trembling with a power she barely understood.

She didn’t go to parties. She didn’t trust people.

She trusted data. Control. Isolation.

And still—her body was not done changing. Her blood whispered. It wanted to grow. Sometimes her skin would split during stress and release threads that slithered along the floor, searching. Curious. Hungry.

But she never let it loose again. Not fully. Not since that day.

Not until she met him, by fate, years later.

The man who would unravel everything, Fyodor Dostoevesky.

___—-___

Silva Koch also graduated at sixteen.

Officially, it was with highest honors, top of her class. Unofficially, she had already outgrown the curriculum by the time she was twelve.

By then, she’d rewritten portions of her school’s outdated network infrastructure just because the lag irritated her. She exposed a hidden surveillance subroutine planted in students’ laptops—by the school board—and dismantled it, anonymously dropping a report to the national press.

When she sat for her exams, the proctor swore he’d never seen a teenager answer higher-level math problems in seconds, without a calculator, while simultaneously reading from a law textbook and re-coding her own testing interface to be more efficient.

She was bored.

She completed four university degrees online before she could legally drink:

•Cybersecurity and Forensic Cryptology

•Applied Mathematics

•Political Science (focus: covert policy and digital warfare)

•Linguistics, because she liked pattern-mapping phonemes

She never showed up for classes. Never turned on her camera.

Her professors feared her.

Some respected her.

Most didn’t even realize she was a teenager until the national spotlight hit.

____—____

“NEMESIS” Appears in NATO Leak—World Governments Scramble to Identify Source

At seventeen, Silva—under the handle Nemesis01—intercepted a shadow op that would have used a social media algorithm to sway an election in a small Baltic country. Funded by two superpowers. Sloppy, arrogant.

She didn’t just expose it.

She hijacked the code.

She weaponized it to undo years of digital disinformation, and wrote a 94-page dossier analyzing the psy-op’s structure, weaknesses, and funding lines.

She sent it to NATO, Interpol, and the UN.

Not with her name. With a blood-red insignia: a single eye.

The world panicked.

Hackers tried to trace her. Blackhats and whitehats both. No one could.

Governments issued quiet invites.

Only a few got responses.

Germany got her first.

The Bundesnachrichtendienst recruited her under strict anonymity—not as an agent, but as a consultant.

She worked behind mirrored glass and biometric vaults, never in person. She built systems that could detect cyberwarfare attempts before the first packet even arrived. She predicted a data breach three months before it happened—down to the day. She corrected it with six lines of code.

She worked with the EU. With Japan. Even a few secret joint operations with the CIA’s cyber division—though she made it very clear she found their encryption practices embarrassing.

She never just took payments in cash.

Her fees were data. Access. Leverage.

Control.

___——___

By eighteen, she was untouchable.

They called her “The Blood Witch of Code.”

The “Ghost Cipher.”

“Red Nemesis.”

No one knew what she looked like.

Only that she was young, brilliant, and not entirely human.

And behind the digital veil, her blood still whispered—itching for something more.

For a purpose no system, no government, no firewall could satisfy.

Not until they found one another.

Not until fate brought them together.

But that wouldn’t be for another three years.

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