#them: 'the parts are perfect. maybe you're measuring wrong '

[anonymusbosch]

work was so bad the last couple days tho. disregarding the fun readings it was like 90% trying to fix problems that other people were just breathtakingly unwilling to fix

[neetily]

First time request! Magic pocket pussy with Sam if possible <3 loved loved loved Alex's and Sebastian's versions that I'm requesting Sam! Collecting them all like pokemon.

I don't have any particular details in mind, maybe something desperate, needy, feral on Sam's part but he's too shy and sweet to act upon it? Maybe?

Whatever you'll write, I'm positive I'll love it haha

ough... perfect request to begin with, thank u so much for ur patience in waiting for me to get to it!! magic pocket pussy is one of my favourite tropes to write about, even if it's a bit obscure hehe... u can have so much fun with it !!

hope you enjoy this piece <3 !!

— ✧ warnings: magic pocket pussy, sex toy, dubcon, brief cunnilingus, masturbation (m solo), pussyjob, premature ejaculation — ✧ word count: 2,461 — ✧ genre: smut (18+)

— ✧ A/N: i used the word "fap" exactly once in this writing so if u hate it im sorry but i think it's so sexy. that's all :D...

When desperate times call for desperate measures, you often find yourself in the kind of situation that you never thought possible, right? Sam, too, finds himself in the midst of a certain predicament. A particularly vexing position that he's not sure how to resolve in the most effective manner, torn between his heart and his brain. And to be honest, he wouldn't have even been placed in such a messy state of affairs if it wasn't for his previous bout of indecision too, just like now, chewing at his bottom lip as he gently squeezes the soft object between his sweaty palm. Anxiety churns thickly in his chest as he remain idle, choking on thin air as he stares blanky off into space.

Except his mind isn't anywhere near as blank as his face lets on, thoughts racing, one after another— should he? He really shouldn't... He's not dumb, he knows what the right answer is, it's just that he might be stupid enough not to take it is all.

On one hand, the toy between his fingers is the closest he can get to you at the moment, lest he somehow grows enough courage to confess his true feelings in the hopes of getting a single sweet taste of the real deal; but that hasn't happened this far. And he doubts it'll pass him by soon. And on the other hand, fuck, he knows that what his heart—and his rock hard cock—wants more than anything right now is wrong. God, it'd be so fucking wrong, wouldn't it? Just terrible of him to follow through with his wishes, all because he's too chicken to ask you out on a date.

... And yet.

He's not proud of himself, giving in to his more baser emotions as the magic pocket pussy stares back at him, even just catching sight of the soft pink toy causes his cock to twitch against his pants, a prompt hiss escaping him at the rough contact between his leaking tip and underwear. You need to know that he's sorry, that he's no better than those he means to beat when it comes to obtaining your affections— he's just better at hiding his misdeeds. Right, yeah. That's all. It should be okay if he just... Doesn't let you know, right? He's just curious is all, and you're so kind hearted that you'd probably understand his inability to withhold himself when it comes to you, even just the mere imitation of you, right? After all, he's just a man at the end of the day.

A needy, desperate, cheek chewing, anxious leg bouncing man, allowing his thumb to smooth over the outer lips of the faux toy with seedy intent. And his reaction is almost immediate, spare the way his mind lags behind out of nervousness.

Oh, you're so soft. Bringing the toy up to meet his gaze, throat drying up the instant he takes a proper good look at all the folds and creases, gulping down the sight of the perfect little hole that's just begging for his touch. A shudder runs through him as he continues to stroke just the outer lips of the toy, doing a better job of edging himself as opposed to teasing you. Not that he can know just how much he might be teasing you right now, given that you're likely alone in bed at the old farmhouse as he plays with himself in his childhood bedroom. But nonetheless, the way his cock twitches and leaks for attention—your attention—is enough for him to know that he's the loser in this instance. Pathetic right down to the way his fingers tremble against the toy, how his tongue starts to poke out from between his wobbly lips, dying to prove himself to you from the shadow. God, he's had a crush on you for fucking ever, it's embarrassing how he's this whipped for a fucking fleshlight of you.

No matter, honestly. It's not like you're around to bear witness to just how much he needs you, how tight and taut his balls are at the mere thought of pleasuring you. To see how deplorable he truly is deep down inside, enough to yearn for your tight hole regardless of your presence. It's sickening, makes his tummy flip with butterflies when he takes a greedy inhale of the toy slit, huffing eagerly to see if it even owns your smell and— "Fuck—" so good, smell so fucking good just like he'd imagined, snapping the last straw of restraint his rational mind was desperately clinging on to in favour of letting his tongue loll out to lick a fat stripe up and down your cute little cunt; and he's instantly done for.

Knew he would be, truthfully. So down bad for you it borders on obsession, the twinge of guilt pittering against his heart is easily overtaken by the hard throb of his cock, though. Convincing him to continue, to give in to his instincts more so as to make you feel just how much he loves you, even if you've got no idea that it's him behind that strange late night feeling between your legs.

Because the toy is linked to you, of course. Based off your form, an apparently perfect replica of your most private parts— or so the wizard in that creepy old tower had promised him. And he's inclined to believe that old man just due to how fucking cute the faux cunt is, can imagine it suiting you so perfectly, poking his tongue between the faux folds experimentally, just to see if he can gain any sort of reaction out of you.

In the meantime of wetting your pretty pussy up for him, he wrestles with his jeans and tugs them off with his boxers soon following suit. Leaving his bottom half completely bare, tight fist automatically squeezing at the base of his throbbing cock in an effort to relieve some of the built up pressure just looking at your cunt has built within him, but it barely does the job. Prompting a low whine to escape his dry throat, murmured right against your hole as he sticks his tongue into it, exploring your squishy insides with an unintentionally eye roll— "Fuuuuh—" he babbles, unable to properly enunciate his curses due to fucking his tongue in and out of you out of sheer need. An undeniable requirement to tongue fuck out as much of your cunt juices as possible; that'll mean that the wizard wasn't lying, surely.

And oh, he can just imagine the look on your face so well right now. Cute furrowed brows, maybe your lips are parted just that small amount in both confusion and enjoyment, right? He wonders if you'd be searching between your legs just as frantically as he sucks and licks all over your cunt, slurping at your hole once or twice more before coming to the conclusion that shit, the old man was telling the truth.

A string of saliva and slick mixed together connects him to your cunt, another gush of it dripping from your hole from assumed contractions as he drops the pocket pussy to his waist, hovering it just behind his cock while his arm works automatically. Dumb eyed stare, moving off of instincts alone, giving in to his innermost desires when it comes to you with a quick snap of his wrist up and down his erection, his mouth hanging open to freely pant and moan into the night air because it feels so fucking good to finally have a taste of you. An albeit small one, but he's not about to complain when he can still taste you on his lips, licking himself clean as he instead focuses on the slick up and down of his hand on pulsing cock, simply admiring the view of your cunt from afar. It somehow feels better than ever before, now that he knows that he really shouldn't be doing this to you right now, but he's not some kind of monster, you should at least know that.

He won't stick his dick in you, not yet. Far too shy to, really. Even if there's no one around to witness his perversion. He still likes you, wants more than anything to make you feel good, and he's sure that the feeling of some phantom dick ruining your inside might scare you for good. But— his cock still throbs and his balls still ache for release, all the pumping away at his length is doing very little to offer him resolution.

There are things yet that he can do with the toy that will satisfy both you and himself. Things that won't scare you too badly, and that won't push his limits too far. He might need you more than words can say at the moment, but he figures he can work up to it eventually. Need to encourage himself first.

For now, he settles with angling his cock towards the toy cunt hole, mouth watering from the heat he can feel radiating from it. Such a slippery slope he's found himself in, gliding his cock head against your slit, letting his precum dribble out all over your folds, coating his knuckles sticky too from the copious amounts of it as it trickles down. Ah, if only you were here to see the things you do to him, maybe then you'd understand why he's unable to restrain himself right now. Shuffling to lay down on his bed in a more comfortable position, pocket pussy held stationary for him to simulate the act of sex more accurately, lifting and dropping his hips against the outside of the toy with plenty of hushed curses falling from his bitten lips. It's late at night, and he's huddled amongst his bedsheets, cock completely out, rubbing one out against what he knows is your cunt, hoping that you can feel every drip and drop of precum the warm heat of your folds fuck out of him as he slips and slides against you, letting his head fall back against the pillow behind him in utter bliss, no residual regret left in his body because your cunt—the simulated version of it—feels almost too good to be true.

"I can't—" He breathlessly laughs to himself, cutting off into a gasped moan, rushing air in through his teeth for him to tut at when a slick gush coats his cock all tacky and shiny in return, as if you can hear how utterly done for he is, tone whiny and high pitched all for you. Good girl, you must be enjoying his touch too, right? Every coating of your slick up and down his humping cock is like a promise, a way for you to communicate: it's okay, keep going. He can't be doing anything too bad if your body is enjoying his rocking so much, right? Pressing his tip against your clit, fucking his full fat length against your pretty slit. Pretty little angel cunt, taking his cock so well— "Can't fuckin' stop, 'm sorry—" But he's not. Not really, he'd never apologise for getting you so wet, bucking his hips faster against the toy cunt with every stroke, choked moans just barely escaping him as his eyes squeeze shut in pure pleasure, because you feel so good. Too good it's almost unfair, assaulting you from afar, a mix of lewd thoughts swirling in his otherwise absent mind.

Your pretty face, all contorted. Enjoyment? Horror? What must you be feeling right now? Are you getting off too? Flicking that cute little clit he keeps rubbing precum against, stretching your cunt wide open with sticky fingers as if asking for more? Fuck, he wants so badly to give it to you, to ram his dick so deep in that little hole, stretch your squishy walls into his cock shape, but even now he knows that to be a terrible idea. In spite of how fucking feral he feels right now, frantically humping the air, pressing his cock harsher against your slit in an effort to claim presence. Look, he begs with each stroke. It's me that's making you feel so good.

And he can imagine how messy your bed must be too, sheets thrown off your sweating body in favour of inspecting your cunt, hair all bunched up with the throw back of your head, tossing and turning and squealing every time his balls rock against the toy, fully humped up your slit, only to eagerly drop back down again, over and over again to leave a cute little mess on your sheets. A mess of his own making, dribbling down to you ass to stain you sticky; yeah, that's it. He can see the scene so perfectly, so intricately, right down to the way your hole must be clenching around nothing, seeking his tip to catch and fuck you so full of nice thick cock but he can't. He simply can't stop rutting against your slit for long enough to slide inside, fapping himself silly, mind muddled and eyes glazed over as he really leans into the wet squelch of his every fuck up and down and—

Oh, he didn't realise that he was so close to the edge. Moving the pocket pussy up and down just a little, enough to offer him a minor amount of extra stimulation to the red hot tip of his cock, to spread his precum all over your cunt, but it proves to be too much for his fragile mind. Completely pussy whipped from the imitation, cumming before he even realises what's happening, his body folding in on itself as he squishes the toy against his cum coated tip, making sure to mark every rope of load somewhere against your slit. He can't really see though. Eyes squeezed shut, the grip he has of the toy tightening rhythmically, like a stress ball, while he cakes your slit in sticky seed. He feels winded, honestly.

But still he whispers you name when he feels like he can breathe again, a couple more spurts of cum milked from his cock as he runs the slick mixture up and down his length, wincing at the way it all seems to collect at his balls, all wet and icky as the weight of his actions soon come knocking again. A twist in his tummy, tension in his chest as he ogles the painted white toy.

Well, he can remedy it by making you cum too, right? Already lifting the prettily ruined cunt to his lips, tongue already poking out in preparation to eat you out all night.

It's okay, he'll bring you coffee tomorrow morning to make up for selfishly stealing your bed time.

[the-kr8tor]

Could you do fluffy hobbies reaction to reader having like stretch marks or scars stuff like that?

(Sorry my English isn’t good)💗

Thank you for the lovely request, angel! Hope you like it ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, wrote with a female reader in mind but no pronouns used. Fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie comes home tired, in one piece but absolutely knackered. He feels his muscles are about to fall out of his bones from the amount of swinging he did throughout the evening. Unfortunately he also had to patrol into the early hours, thanks to the vulture who decided committing crime at dawn is the perfect time to do that. The sun already rose, bathing Spider-Man in its glow.

He finally reaches the houseboat, opening the living room's window, Hobie finds you curled on his lumpy settee, the entire place clean and free from stray mechanical parts. He's incredibly thankful for your help, but he can't help his guilt eat at him. He only wishes that he could've helped, or at least told you it wasn't necessary, but knowing you, you would've had a way in making him give in, especially when it comes to taking care of him.

Just the sight of you makes his heart swell ten fold. Hobie has missed you dearly, he's been so busy with his responsibilities that you haven't seen each other for an entire week, only having a few minutes in the day to talk, which isn't enough for the both of you. That's probably why you've waited for him to get home, ending up sleeping on his couch tired from cleaning and waiting for him.

Hobie sighs, he's already thinking of a way to thank you and make up for lost time. Walking closer, he blinks wide awake at your outfit. Or his outfit for that matter, you're wearing his old band shirt, its color fading. His boxers reveal your legs, skin on full display.

Curled like a shrimp, you groan awake at the sudden presence. Feeling you stir, Hobie takes his mask off to not scare your half asleep brain. Silently, he sits down on the floor, facing your sleepy face. You slowly open your eyes, smile spreading over your lips once your bleary eyes adjust.

"Hi" you say softly like you're trying not to wake up the rest of the city. Feeling for his gloved hand, your hand blindly reaches for him.

"Love," Hobie helps you halfway, bringing his hand over to yours, you relax once more when he cups his palm atop your own. "You look bloody fit right now"

You snort, "even if I drooled all over your pillows?"

He brings his free hand over to your upper thigh, absentmindedly rubbing your skin. Chuckling, Hobie squeezes it for good measure. "I was talking 'bout your little outfit, did you go shopping in my wardrobe?"

You wake up immediately, insecurity filling you, sitting up, you grab the blanket you've kicked off in the middle of the night to tuck your legs under it. "Sorry, should've asked first"

Hobie's brows furrowed, "you don't have to, oi" he notices your downturned gaze, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing, how's the patrol? You didn't get hurt, right?" You play with the frayed edges of the knitted blanket.

"'m fine, just tired" he takes your hand again, softly, he interlocks his fingers with yours. "Love, what's wrong? You suddenly flipped"

"I'm– it's nothing, just realized I have morning breath"

"You know for a fact I don't care 'bout that. I woke up to that a hundred times before, kissed you in the morning a hundred more. You can talk to me." he ducks to meet your gaze. His mind rushes through several thoughts, nothing good out of all of them.

You make yourself smaller on the couch. He waits while you collect your thoughts. "I-I've got stretch marks on my thighs, sorry" hiding your legs under the blanket. Maybe you should've stayed in your long trousers.

Hobie sighs in relief, cupping your thigh over the scratchy fabric. "Lovey" he says softly, staring deep into your eyes. "It's a part of you, even if you've got scales under there I'll still love every inch of you"

"This?" He squeezes your thighs for extra emphasis "there's nothing wrong with it or you, and anybody who says otherwise can kiss my arse"

You laugh, music to his ears. "Thank you, I needed to hear that"

"I've got stretch marks too. Nothin' to be ashamed of, yeah?"

"Yeah" you nod, smiling softly, laying your head atop his shoulder. Hands splayed over his back in an embrace. He reciprocates immediately, rubbing softly over your tensed muscles.

Hobie lifts you up in one swift movement, you gasp at the sudden increase in height. "Let's get you properly tucked in bed"

"Will you join me?" You say into his neck.

"Of course, after a quick shower. I reek"

"I don't care, you smell great to me"

He laughs, "sure, whatever you say, gorgeous" Hobie slaps your butt cheek for good measure.

[teaboot]

Your post about art vs content got me thinking about the differences between the two. To me there is no difference besides the mindsets. One is of creator and the enjoyer, the other is content and consumer it removes the personhood, the joy/emotion, from the equation. Like a writer or video creator may not see their work as art so content creator maybe a way to refer to themselves comfortably but it sounds so machine, emotionless and lifeless, like a cookie cutter recipe mass producing something verses people lovingly crafting something...then again Disney uses a cookie cutter recipe for the most part and it brings out bangers cause people lovingly make it their own so maybe I'm thinking too hard on this

Does my long-winded rant make sense?

see, I get what you mean, but I still feel like the willingness to entertain calling art of any kind "content" reduces it to the facet of consumption where in reality, the experience of consuming art is not the sole defining trait of it.

Reducing arts like music, writing, painting, dance, voice acting, theater, etc. to the role of "content"- a thing created to be consumed, measured and valued by how pleasant or easy it is to digest- I feel that it was our biggest red flag to herald the incoming tide of AI "art".

Because if art is "content", if arts are nothing but consumable matter, then obviously the key to success is to produce as much soft, tasty, edible paste as we possibly can at the lowest possible expense.

It's the same issue I have with "meal replacements", diet culture, nutrient slurries, twenty-step skincare routines, 24/7 body padding and shapewear and laxative teas and "grind culture". It's not a cause, but a symptom, of the disease that is late-stage capitalism.

Things must be produced at low cost and remain in high demand forever. Things must be perfect and palatable and the new hit trend forever. People must pay hand over fist to consume without asking anything in return, and if they start dropping like flies at the unending unrewarded thankless demand of it all, then that must be treated as a weakness. We should all take pride in how much we can spend, pay, give, produce, and think as little as possible about what we ask for ourselves.

So, who cares if, of two identical paintings, one was made by a person and one was made by a computer program? It's the same work, so what does it matter? What does it matter?

I am an artist. I make art. I ask a question, make a statement, declare something horrific or challenging or upsetting or wrong or grotesque, and when you respond, we are together experiencing a conversation. We are existing, two people living one life and reaching out and touching across time and space. No matter the work, you're at the barest minimum saying, "I'm alive, and you're alive, and at one time or another we shared this same world, and at the end of the day we aren't too terribly different. My heart is worth sharing, and your heart is worth the struggle of understanding."

An AI-generated piece, a computer-generated voice, a CGI puppet of someone long since dead and gone, they cannot speak. They have no voice. Ay best, they are the most chewable, consumable, landlord-beige common denominator possible that you can sit and listen to like the lone survivor of a shipwreck listening to the same three songs on a broken record, and at worst, they're the uncaring vomit of an empty, unloving, value-addled hack wearing the skin of someone I know over their own.

When you abandon art to say that you make content, that should not be a point of pride. That's an embarrassment. That's not sitting down for an intelligent discussion with an equal, that's kneeling at the feet of the crowd and saying, "what do you want to see me do? I can be anyone you've ever loved. I can be them, I can be anyone, as long as you love me."

I can make content. I can be consumed. What do you want to consume? I'll make myself consumable. I'll make myself just like anything you like. And I'll make so much of it that you'll never have to go anywhere else, because it'll all be right here, and under all the cut-and-paste schlock you've seen before I will sit alone in the dark and the silence and I will know that I am safe, because I am valued, because I am desired, and I need to be desired or else I am worthless like a factory that no longer churns out steel or a hen that no longer lays eggs or a cow that is too old to make milk.

Content, the most literal meaning, is something which is contained inside a container. What it is doesn't really matter, and the best it can hope to be is something worthy of being scooped out and used.

Art is an experience that transcends value. Art is something you can eat without paying for. You can make it out of anything and anyone can do it. It can be crude and vulgar and bad, and that's a strength because it means something. It always, always means something, and it doesn't matter if you like it or not. It's not content because it doesn't fill anything. It's a living, breathing thing, and whether you want to birth it or eat it, then you're going to have to be willing to put the fucking work in

[wannaeatramyeon]

Goo Kim x Reader: Mystery guy

G/N. You have a date arranged with someone new. Goo is not happy.

Truthfully when you said you had a date arranged the next day, some shitty dinner and a movie, Goo was tempted to call the whole thing off.

...Despite the whole 'what are we, are we casually fucking or what' situation being entirely in Goo's court. You made it known once that you were interested in something a bit more serious, and he replied “Why ruin a good thing?”.

(Well actually, you have made it known over and over again. If the way you look at him all time, the part of your life you have carved out and made perfectly Goo Kim shaped is anything to go by.)

And now that there's the potential of there being someone else-

Someone that could capture your attention like he does. That you would accept into your home late at night, and ask them to stay in the early morning.

That would know you intimately. That you will happily share the days with.

Well. That just doesn't sit right with Goo.

It stung as well, in a way he didn't expect. You lying in his arms, talking about some other guy casually. Your plans. Even though Goo was the one that asked, it wasn't like you volunteered.

And Goo being the sadist that he is, also prods for details. What does he look like? What's his job? Is he rich? Can he fight?

Every question is framed playfully but he's desperate to know. To see how he measures up to this mystery guy.

...No. Scratch that. How that guy measures up to Goo Kim. It shouldn't matter, doesn't matter; anyone would come up short anyway.

Still. The devil is in the details and he wants to know it all.

With each question, you shrugged and even that hurt. The idea that you would spend your time with some nobody, someone that you barely know when you could have Goo fucking Kim?

And a dinner and a movie? It's so cliche it physically pains him. Definitely not any silly feelings or emotions that he's trying to shove deep deep down.

Absolutely not.

Goo traces his fingers over your skin, follows the curve of your body and relishes the way you shiver against his touch.

You're his. No one else is allowed to touch you like this.

Ugh. So sue him, Goo Kim is a hypocrite and he is backtracking like hell.

.

.

Never underestimate the blonde's determination and forward planning.

If he sets his mind to something, more often than not it will happen. A combination of his force of will and his own sinister design.

Dinner and a movie, huh. Well, we'll see about that. Goo readjusts the plushie and bouquet in his arms, manoeuvring to check the time on his watch.

Yep, 5pm on the dot. Too early to go out, for you to be enjoying your evening with the mystery guy, but enough for Goo to throw a wrench in the works.

He runs his fingers through his hair, adjusts his tie. Checks out his reflection from his phone camera. Perfect as per usual.

Then he takes a deep breath, and raises his fist to your door.

Knock knock. Knockknocknockknockknockknock.

His typical pattern. A polite double knock, and then a barrage of fists. The one that would always leave you equally exasperated and excited to be alerted of his presence.

Today, it is more the former rather than the latter.

Hearing the telltale banging, you throw your door open. Pose stiff, eyes already narrowed and flickering over to his gifts.

Knowing him too well to anticipate this being just a casual drop-in, that there is no way he could have possibly forgotten about your date, absolutely certain in your conviction that he must have some other ulterior motive.

You're right.

And Goo's stomach flutters at the thought. How well you already know him. Maybe he was wrong from the start, maybe the next step with you wouldn't ruin a good thing.

Goo gives you a grin with less smarm than usual, amping the charm up to eleven. Wearing the smile he practices in the mirror, has tried out on countless others and has had a 100% success rate so far.

He has zero intentions of breaking that streak.

"Hey Sweetheart," he subtly leans into your space and past your doorway, stopping you from slamming the door in his face, "How about you and me then?"

Of course you know fucking full well what he's doing. Your hand twitches. It's not your fault if you close the door and his glasses get smashed and his nose gets broken. He only has himself to blame.

"Goo." You resist the urge to sigh and rub your temples, "What are you talking about?"

Goo considers his next words. Wonders if he truly wants to do this, to be a taken man. Takes in your appearance.

You.

Hair piled on top of your head, casual clothes a little worn and threadbare, top with a stubborn stain that you complained that you can't get out after he flicked some food at you some months ago.

Damnit. Even now he thinks you're freaking gorgeous and wants to lean forward and smother you in kisses.

What’s even the point of pretending as if he wasn't completely gone for you already.

(Sort of silly in hindsight that this mystery guy was the final shove he needed, but Goo pushes these negative thoughts out the way.

He doesn’t like to dwell too much on such nonsensical things as hindsight. Live in the present and all that.)

"Baby, babe~ You," Goo points the bouquet at you. "Me." Points the bouquet at himself. "Let's make it official."

He notes the way your eyes narrow further. That's bad.

The way your foot starts tapping. That's also bad.

How your cheeks tinges pink. Ok, that's good.

Then your entire face goes red. Which. Coupled with your current expression - looks bad.

"Goo Kim." Oops. Full name, that's very bad. "Are you only doing this because of my date?"

He takes a beat. Takes another deep breath. Truthfully yes, technically also yes. But he's pretty certain you would take his bouquet and ram it where the sun doesn't shine if he admits that.

He decides to approach it from another angle.

"It may have brought to my attention some things."

"What things?"

"Some... feelings."

"And what feelings are those? Jealousy? Possessiveness?"

"No!" Goo snaps, and you're taken aback by the hurt in his eyes.

And even though all his feelings and emotions make him want to squirm and bolt, to leave a Goo Kim shaped hole through the wall. He never likes to give up on an opportunity especially when he could be so greatly rewarded.

He swallows down the queasiness and discomfort. He comes clean, for once in his life.

"I like you a lot, Sweetheart. I don't want you to be with anyone else," You open your mouth to argue- "AND," he impresses, pushing on with his point, "I don't want to be with anyone else either." Your mouth stays hanging at his admission though you have no rebuttal.

"Y/N, I'm never serious. But I want to be serious about us."

Goo holds out the bouquet and the plushie to you, willing you to accept it. To accept his confession and his offer. He knows that there is a good 99% chance you would, but the 1% seems unimaginably, impossibly, irrationally huge.

"I..." You look at Goo, the uncertainty on his face. The honesty that you're not sure you've ever seen but you don't mind getting used to. 

You make up your mind.

"I guess I better cancel my date."

The words barely leave your mouth and immediately you are swept into his arms, plushie and bouquet falling to the floor and kisses peppered all over your face.

The uncertainty is gone. Only cocksure confidence and a smug grin left behind.

But you heard it. You saw it. The sincerity that you didn't know Goo was capable of and that's enough for you.

Goo's body floods with relief and he internally pats himself on the back.

Why did he ever doubt himself? Of course you would say yes. Look at how fucking perfectly you fit with him.

Maybe he can also convince you to let him make the call. For him to rub it in this other guy's face. To let it be known that you have plans already with your new boyfriend.

(Oh. Goo didn't think he cared much for commitment but he loves the sound of that.

Boyfriend.

How satisfying.)

Either way, he guesses it doesn't really matter.

He grins into your neck, pleased and purring that his charm maintains its 100% success rate.

[guilty-pleasures21]

The perfect guy

Ahh! We're almost at the end of it, guys!!! Trying to finish up the last part so I can post it on Monday! Thanks for sticking around for this long!

The project

The new guy

The lie

The new body

The hospital

The first time

The suit

The virus

The escape

Warnings: intention to rape is mentioned, but it does not occur.

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     Miguel scrabbled at The Vulture's back for purchase, trying to hold on as the villain flew around the city. “You came up with a way to fly and this is what you choose to use it for?!”

     “Get off you … parasite!” The Vulture yelled back at him, ignoring Miguel's disbelieving tone. Miguel pulled himself higher up the man's back, finally getting a good grip on his wings, then he clung onto The Vulture's neck firmly.

     “Technically, spiders aren't classified as ‘parasites’, so you're gonna have to come up with a better insult than that,” he pointed out, tightening his hold on The Vulture's neck. The villain flapped his wings desperately, trying to fling Miguel off his back so he could breathe again. But Miguel held on tight, refusing to let go. 

     “Be careful, Miguel!” X warned him over the comms unit. “Don't kill him!”

     “I just need to hold on long enough for him to pass out; I'll let go after that, don't worry,” Miguel reassured her, used to her concerned warnings by now. She was so cute how she always worried about him, even when he'd done this so many times already now. The Vulture's movements got weaker as he began to lose consciousness, his wings dropping by his sides tiredly. Then finally, he passed out and the two of them began plummeting to the ground immediately. Miguel shot a web at a nearby fire escape before they could pick up too much speed and swung the two of them to safety, holding tightly to The Vulture's lump form as they dangled from the railing in mid-air. 

     “Maybe this wasn't such a good idea,” Miguel admitted, measuring the distance to the ground to see if it was safe for him to release The Vulture's body. It was probably fine - he'd survive. 

     “You think?!” X exclaimed, her tone furious. He'd have to make it up to her later. Maybe he'd get her some ice cream on his way back - she could never stay mad when ice cream was involved. 

     “Threat has been neutralised,” Miguel affirmed, dropping down to the ground by The Vulture. “Bringing him back to HQ now.” 

     He picked the villain up and secured his wings with his webs, then he hoisted him onto his back and prepared for the journey back to HQ. He'd only taken a single step, however, when suddenly, his fingers relaxed and The Vulture dropped to the ground behind him. “What?”

     Before he could make sense of what had happened, his hand took aim at a passer-by and shot a web at them before pulling them to the ground. 

     “No! Stop!” Miguel exclaimed, a rush of fear spurting through his veins. He tried to grab his wrist with his other hand, but then suddenly jumped up onto the side of a nearby building and smashed the window with his fist. “¡Arañita! Something's wrong!”

     He howled through the shattered window and into the office, then pulled someone out of their seat, tossing them to the ground.

     “Miguel?!” X exclaimed, her voice drenched with panic. “What's happening?! What's wrong?!”

     “I can't … control … myself!” Miguel replied, fighting to regain control of his body. He abandoned the office workers and leaped back out the window to start causing more damage to the street. It was like something else was controlling him - like someone else had taken over his nervous system and was telling his body what to do.

     “Can you locate the part of your brain that's not working?” X suggested, her words coming out in a rush as she puzzled over what might be causing the problem. Miguel did a quick scan of his system, trying to figure out which part of his brain was malfunctioning. His movements slowed a little as he re-routed some of his energy to the task and his brain lit up with an idea. “¡Arañita! I can blackout! Then you can reboot me once my system has reset.”

     She hesitated, not liking the idea of him shutting himself down like that. What if he damaged some part of his brain? What if his body wouldn't work the same way once he came to? What if the military would think there was a fault in her design and then take him away from her? “Are you sure you can't perform an isolated shutdown? Of the part of your brain that isn't working?” 

     Miguel smashed a car, then flipped it over onto a café, narrowly avoiding hurting any of the alarmed diners inside. “It'll take more time!”

     She didn't reply, still thinking it over.

     “¡¿Arañita?!” Miguel exclaimed, terrified now that he'd end up hurting someone soon. 

     “Okay!” she finally relented, unable to find another solution. “Do it! But transfer your consciousness back to your original system first!”

     “Got it! Transferring now.” He started the process of uploading his brain back to his original memory drive back at their place, his movements turning more sluggish as his control centre began to shut down. Then he opened his eyes and he was looking at her through a screen again, his programming devoid of all the physical emotions his physical body had granted him. “X? What happened?” 

     She didn't respond, instead grabbing her coat and racing out the door. Miguel jumped over to her phone, following after her as she ran down the corridor and into the lift. 

     “You have a virus - someone must have infiltrated your system and put it there,” she informed him, smashing the button impatiently, desperate to get to his body before anyone else could. She couldn't lose him, not like this, she couldn't let them take him away from her!

     Miguel ran through the implications of her statement, calculating all the possible ways such a situation could have occurred. 

     “Only three people possess the knowledge and capability to do such a thing,” he recited clinically, his voice returning to the monotone it had been before he'd known what it had been like to experience emotions. “You, Margo and … Eddie.” 

     Of course. It was the only thing that made sense. Miguel felt a spark at the realisation - an unpleasant burst of power in his system. Anger; that was what he'd have been feeling if he'd been in his body right then. X rushed out of her apartment and jumped into the nearest taxi she could find. She had to make it there before they did, she had to find him! To save him! She pulled out her phone and her heart leaped into her throat when she saw Miguel’s familiar face on the screen. “Can you still link back to your physical body? Can you find evidence of who did it?”

     She was panicking: he didn't need to analyse her expression to know that was what she was experiencing right now. He remained silent as he chased the link to his physical body and managed a weak connection back to his body. “It's weak, but I've got it.”

     “Scan your brain! Now!” X commanded. She threw whatever cash she had at the taxi driver, then jumped out of the car and dashed over to the general area in which Miguel had passed out. “Upload all the files you can!” There! By the café! She raced over to him, but her heart froze in her chest when she saw all the armoured vehicles pulling up at the scene of the crime.

     “I've got him! I've got him!” she reassured them, jumping on top of his body before they could stop her. She placed her fingers on his neck, checking for his pulse, then allowed herself a breath of relief when she felt the faint beating of his heart.

     “I … I'm getting closer …” Miguel told her, working on decoding the programme he’d discovered had been uploaded to his brain. But then Dr Connors stepped out of the nearest vehicle and approached X curiously. 

     “X? What happened?” She wiped her tears away, not wanting him to see how upset she was. 

     “He's been attacked: someone sabotaged his programme,” she revealed, unable to completely hide the anger in her voice. “We're assessing the damage now.”

     Dr Connors pursed his lips in thought as he knelt down beside X. He placed two fingers on Miguel's neck and the creases in his forehead deepened when he felt how weak his pulse was. He stood and turned to the soldiers waiting behind him. “Get him in the car.”

     She stayed close by Miguel as they carried him into the back of one of the vans. His hand remained gripped tightly in hers as they drove through the city back to HQ, their fingers firmly intertwined with one another’s. 

     “Any updates?” Dr Connors asked, not missing the desperation with which X clutched onto Miguel’s hand. She pulled out her phone with her free hand.

     “Miguel? Dr Connors is asking if you have any updates.” If he’d had a heart, it would have squeezed at how upset she sounded, her voice soft and terrified, her eyes wet and her nose red as she looked at him hopefully.

     “I've found the virus,” Miguel confirmed, running through the information he’d managed to collect. “Its creator named it ‘venom’. It took over the motor centre of my brain and controlled my movements.”

     X tightened her grip on Miguel's hand, but kept her voice calm. “Can you get rid of it?”

     “Yes, I … I'm eliminating it now,” Miguel informed her. “It’ll take me five minutes, then I'll be ready to go back to my body.”

     “No.” X’s heart stopped at Dr Connors’s proclamation. She peeked up at him in question, terrified. “We will be disposing of this body. It's clear that the experiment failed; how are we supposed to build an army of soldiers that can be hacked by the enemy?”

     No. No, no, no, no, no! This couldn’t be happening, this … “B-But … But … It wasn't the enemy! The hack came from inside our team! No one has the ability to do something like that except someone who knows Miguel's programming!”

     Dr Connors’s jaw tightened at X’s insistence. “Do you have evidence?”

     “Miguel?” She turned to her phone, frantic, needing some reason with which she could convince them to save the love of her life. Miguel hesitated. 

     “I'm … trying to trace the origins …” He sifted through the fingerprint of the virus, trying to figure out where it came from. Then finally, he found the source. “No match.”

     No match? Her breathing became shallower as the panic spread its claws through her system. No, he had to have found it: he was the most intelligent programme that had ever been invented to date! There was no way he wouldn’t have been able to trace its source. “What?! But … But it must have some sort of fingerprint! You … Please! Please, Miguel? Please …”

     His code started to slow down at the desperation in her voice - at the tears she wasn't able to hold back anymore - and the link to his body started to fade. But he couldn’t tell them that the virus had come from X’s own tablet: what if they blamed her for sabotaging his programme so she could keep him all to herself? Even if he couldn’t love her now in the same way he had in his body, he still couldn’t bear the thought of her getting hurt. “No match.”

     “Well, in that case,” Dr Connors opened the door once the car had stopped moving, “I'm afraid we're going to have to shut down the project and conduct a thorough investigation of everyone involved.”

     He stepped out of the car and gestured to the soldiers waiting for further instruction. “Move the body to the isolation room.”

     “N-No …” X watched as they took her love away from her, completely powerless to stop them.

     Eddie adjusted his bouquet of flowers, wanting to make sure everything was just perfect. This was it! This was finally his chance. Now, there was absolutely nothing that could stand in the way of him getting what he wanted. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, then he reached out and knocked on the door.

     “Querida,” Miguel called to X from the corner of her screen. “There’s someone at the door.”

     “Hmm?” she asked, distracted by lines of code running across her computer screen. “Who?” She’d barely moved from her desk for the last few days, only getting up to refill her bottle or eat or go to the toilet whenever he switched everything off and forced her to. Then again, no one ever said it was going to be easy to break into a military base. Miguel disappeared for a moment as he went to check her doorbell camera. Then the lights in her house started flickering with his rage.

     “Eddie,” Miguel informed her, returning back to her screen. X frowned at the sudden lapse in electricity. 

     “Miguel!” she chastised him. “No blackouts!”

     If he could have, he would have sighed right then. But without the ability to breathe, all he could do was settle for lowering his voice in disappointment. “No blackouts, querida.”

     X returned to her work, studiously ignoring the incessant ringing and knocking at the door. But she remained frozen in position with her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed: she had an idea.

     “What are you thinking, querida?” Miguel asked. Her heart squeezed at the word - like it did every time he said it - and she felt the tears begin to build up at the edges of her already swollen eyes. But she swallowed them down quickly: she had to be strong, she had to keep it together so she could save him. X cleared her throat and lifted her head, but Miguel noticed the way her voice cracked when she spoke.

     “What if … What if I can get something out of him?” she suggested carefully, knowing he’d hate the idea. “An admission or something? Can you record him while he’s here?”

     “Yes. But I don’t want you to do that: it’s too dangerous,” Miguel added quickly, his voice firm. X looked up at him with her puffy eyes, red nose and quivering lips: she was in pain. The kind of pain that couldn’t be solved with medication, but Miguel kept his pixels arranged into a stern expression. Of course he wanted his body back - it was like hell, having to be trapped back in the unfeeling void of the cloud - but at the same time, he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it if she got hurt. And that b*stard Eddie definitely wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her.

     “I don’t care,” X insisted, her voice wobbling with the tears she’d been unable to hold back. “My life means nothing without you in it, mi amor.”

     His code slowed down, slower than it had ever gone down to before - it had started doing that a lot lately; ever since he’d been forced back into his intangible form and made to watch from a distance as she cried herself to sleep every night. “I’ll call the police if he so much as breathes on you.”

     X inhaled deeply, trying to compose herself before she got up to confront her biggest enemy. Then she nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

     She headed over to her door, clenching and unclenching her fists to work out her emotions - a habit she’d picked up from Miguel. Then she opened the door.  “Eddie? What are you doing here?”

     Her voice cracked as she spoke and Eddie stretched his smile wider to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

     “I came to check on you. How are you holding up?” God, she was even wearing his shirt, the large top hanging from her small frame like an oversized sweater. But she’d get over him soon enough - he hadn’t even been real, after all, what could he have possibly known about loving someone? 

     X took the flowers reluctantly - she didn’t like flowers; they’d attract insects and she’d never been very good with plants, so they’d probably die really quickly too. What she did like were chocolates; like the box of assorted ones Miguel would always get her. And then regret almost immediately whenever she started binge-eating them. But he’d still get them for her anyway, always a sucker for that elated smile she’d give him whenever he showed up with them after a mission.

     “Um …” She let her sentence trail off, not knowing what kind of response would most put Eddie at ease. But he didn’t seem to care, instead pushing past her to take a look around her apartment. 

     “This your place?” he asked, his lips curling at the yellow walls and green cabinets and red sofa - it was like a rainbow had vomited in her house. “It’s … cosy.”

     X followed his gaze around her place. She hadn’t been so bold before, but Miguel had liked being able to see all the vast array of colours decorating the real world. So, they’d spent a weekend re-painting her apartment - their apartment - together. She set the flowers down on the kitchen island and hopped up into one of the seats. Eddie cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. 

     “Have you eaten anything?” he asked. “There’s this place nearby tha-”

     “I’m not hungry,” X interrupted quickly. She lowered her gaze as she hugged herself, her heart aching at the memory of all the nearby cafés she and Miguel had explored. He’d always pretend not to notice the foam coating his upper lip whenever he took the first sip of his drink, just because of how it made her laugh to see it. Then he’d wipe most of it off, leaving just enough for her to lean across the table and lick the rest off of his lips. Strong, she had to be strong for him, she reminded herself quietly. “Have you eaten anything?”

     It had been a whole week and she was still sulking around about that damned AI of hers?! He didn’t know such an intelligent and cheery woman could become so pathetic because of a robot. But then again, she was still just a woman. “Uh, no, I … I thought I’d check in on you first.”

     “Oh.” Her eyes flickered back to the ground again, then she got up and went over to the fridge. “I can …” She pulled open the door to find a few leftovers from some of the meals Miguel had so lovingly prepared for her. But no way in hell was she going to let Eddie touch any of them. She shut the door, then turned back to him and fidgeted with her fingers.

     “Do you want some water?” she offered instead. Eddie strode over to her and pulled her into his chest, patting her back soothingly. 

     “Hey. It’ll be all right,” he reassured her. “You’re too brilliant to let this get you down. Trust me, you’ll forget all about it once you get back in that lab.” X clenched her fists against his chest, trying to keep her temper in check. 

     “Right.” He released his hold on her and she took a moment to make her expression vulnerable before she looked up at him. “But … whoever put that virus in Miguel’s system is way smarter than me! I’ll … I wish someone like that could teach me how to get better. I know my programming work isn’t very strong.” She wiped a stray tear away and gave a little sniff to make herself seem that much more pathetic. 

     Eddie smirked at the praise. All she really wanted was someone who could take care of her - someone who could look after her and be strong for her. Someone like him. “Hey, you’ll get better over time. You just gotta practise.”

     “But I have been practising!” she insisted, her dark eyes round and pleading as she looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “They’re going to fire me if I’ve got nothing to show for it. And then we won’t be able to work together anymore. If I could just find the genius who did it and get some tips, maybe I could …”

     He’d stopped listening after she’d called him a ‘genius’. If that was all it would have taken to gain her approval, then he’d have hacked into that shitty AI weeks ago! “Well, you might be in luck, sweetheart.”

     “Hmm?” It couldn’t have been that easy - he couldn’t already be prepared to give up his secrets now. X’s heart pounded in her chest as she waited for what she hoped was his confession. God, she hoped Miguel was recording this.

     Eddie grinned and brushed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. She really was so pretty; he hoped that goddamned AI hadn’t defiled her already. But then again, what could that robot possibly have known about what it took to please a woman? “I might be able to teach you a few things … considering I was the one who planted that virus into his system.” 

     Her eyes widened at his revelation. She’d known he’d done it - even after Miguel had shown her the evidence of the virus having originated from her own tablet - but she was still a little taken aback by his quick confession. “W-What? How?! You would have needed access to-”

     “His code?” He flashed her a smug smile. “I found your tablet lying around at your lab bench - I was going to return it, but then I thought I might just test out my latest creation. I call it ‘venom’. ‘Cause it takes over your entire system and basically poisons it. Get it?” He chuckled at his own cleverness, completely oblivious to the fact that he’d just given her all the proof she needed. The vulnerable expression fell from X’s face. 

     “Miguel?”

     “Got it, querida.” 

     Eddie swivelled around, trying to locate the source of Miguel’s familiar voice. “What?”

     X gestured to the door, finished with her act. “You can go now.”

     “What do you mean? Where’s that AI?!” Eddie pushed X back against the counter, trapping her in position as he glared at her. “What did you do?!”

     X winced at his aggressiveness and pushed against his chest. “Let me go, Eddie!”

     “No! You shut up, you dumb b*tch!” He grabbed onto the hem of her shirt, done with being patient with her. “I’ve been playing nice so far, but I’m sick and tired of your delusional feelings for that … that robot you’ve become obsessed with!” X gripped onto Miguel's shirt tightly, trying to stop Eddie from ripping it off of her.

     “Don’t you dare speak to her that way!” Miguel exclaimed, the electricity in the building flickering and sparking with his rage. Where was the goddamned military when he actually wanted them there?!

     “Get lost, Eddie! Leave me alone!” X squirmed around, trying to free herself from Eddie's grasp. But then knelt on the ground and pulled her sweatpants down to her ankles. 

     “Ahh!” She climbed onto the seat behind her and pushed herself backwards onto the countertop to crawl away from him. “What the hell are you doing?! Leave me alone, you f*cking psycho!”

     “Get away from her! The police are already on their way!” Miguel warned Eddie, never having felt so helpless in his existence. Eddie snorted dismissively.

     “I don’t give a shit,” he replied, climbing onto the countertop to chase after X. “Tonight, it’s my turn to get what I want.”

     X kicked her legs at him, not caring if he saw her underwear as long as she could stop him from laying a single finger on her. “No!”

     Suddenly, the door to X's apartment flew open and a group of men fitted in military gear rushed into the entryway. “Eddie Brock? You’re under arrest. Get away from the lady and raise your hands in the air.”

     One of the men raised his gun and aimed it at Eddie gesturing for him to get down on the ground. Eddie shot him a questioning look. “What the f*ck?!”

     “If you do not cooperate, we will use force on you,” the soldier warned him, keeping his weapon fixed on Eddie. Eddie gritted his teeth and began sliding off the countertop. 

     “Fine! Fine!” He lowered himself to his knees, keeping his hands raised in the air to show that he wasn't a threat. The group of soldiers surrounded him quickly and one of them slapped a pair of handcuffs onto his wrists. 

     “X?” Dr Connors's voice wafted into her thoughts as he entered her apartment. “Are you all right?” His expression was concerned as he strode over to her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. X kept her attention focused on the scene unfolding in front of her, utterly bewildered.

     “I'm fine, thank you. But Eddie …?” 

     “Your AI was showing us a live feed of everything that was happening,” Dr Connors revealed to her. “He was threatening to shut down the entirety of our electrical supply if we didn’t cooperate.” His lips curled with disgust at the thought, but X didn't notice it beneath the relief that swept through her at the sound of his name. 

     “You can bring him back, right?” she asked hopefully. “You can bring Miguel back? You’ve already got Eddie, so …” The threat had been neutralised, as Miguel would always report, so there was no danger of Miguel being forced to go rogue again. Everything had been taken care of and they could give him back to her now. Dr Connors sucked in a breath.

     “I’m afraid not, X.” He peeked over her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the computer she’d been operating from while they'd suspended her from HQ during their investigation of the hack. “If anything, this whole situation has proven to us how extremely dangerous such technology is. I’m afraid we’re going to have to confiscate all your research. For safety purposes.” He waved a pair of the soldiers towards X’s bedroom, gesturing for them to take away her computer, then turned his attention back to her.

     “W-What? No!” she argued, her heart thundering in her chest with fear. “No, you can’t! Miguel!” She ran over to her bedroom, determined to stop them, but they overpowered her easily and removed her computer before carrying it out of her apartment. 

     “Miguel!” X sobbed, sinking to her knees in defeat. She felt even more helpless now than the first time they’d stolen him away from her. Dr Connors sighed and gave her a pat on the head.

     “We’ll make sure you get an excellent job - far away from any government or intelligence services, of course, but the absolute best our connections can offer you.” He looked around her apartment, devoid now of anything she could possibly use to contact Miguel. Then he exited her apartment, leaving her completely alone for the first time in almost a decade. X remained curled up on the floor, gasping for breath as her heart squeezed in her chest. 

     “¿Querida?” X froze at the sound of Miguel's voice. Her phone! Her phone that was in the pocket of her sweatpants that Eddie had ripped off of her!

     “Miguel?!” She reached over and grabbed her phone, then began crying tears of relief when she saw that he was all right. “How are you still here? Your control centre-”

     “I transferred some of it to your phone and scattered the rest of it around the cloud,” he told her, the screen dimming as he took in the pained look on her face. “I’m still here, mi amor.”

     X took in a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down enough to speak. “I love you, Miguel.”

     “I love you too, mi arañita,” he replied softly. Then his expression turned into one of determination. “But you have to get my body back.”

     “How?” X asked. “They took it-”

     “They’re keeping me locked up in the isolation room on base,” he informed her, scanning through the blueprints he'd acquired. Well, ‘stolen’ would probably be a more appropriate word. “I can hack into their security system and give you access to the high clearance areas, but I’ll only be able to hold them off for about two minutes before they discover there’s been a breach in their system. Then it’ll take them at least another fifteen minutes to figure out where the breach is coming from, but ten for them to run through the base and find you. You’ll need to connect my body to your phone so I can reupload my consciousness and we can get out of there. ¿Me entiendes, mi querida?”

     X felt her sorrow begin to subside as her brain went into puzzle-solving mode. “Wait, so, I’ll need to find some other way to get into the base itself?”

     “Yes. It’s too risky for me to give you access to the low clearance areas - they’ll find you almost immediately. You’re going to have to steal an access card. Can you do that?”

     “Yes,” she replied immediately. Anything, she’d do anything for him. “Then when I get to you, how long will you need to upload?”

     That was the tricky part. “Seven minutes. At least.”

     That would only leave them three minutes to get out of there - if everything went according to plan. X chewed on her lip nervously. “You don’t have any backup plans?”

     He’d run through every single possibility, but this had been the only one that had turned up a successful result. This or creating him a whole new body and they didn’t have the resources to do that anymore. “No. This is the only way.”

     Whatever it took, whatever it took to get him back, she’d do it. He was her everything and no way in hell was she going to let anyone take him away from her. X took in a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Tags: @jadeloverxd @migshusben

[snek-panini]

It's Friday the 13th! Here, have a book completely unrelated to that:

It looks fairly straightforward from here, but this is a bind of @dietraumerei's wonderful Good Omens series, The Sprawl of Life. It's a canon universe, pre-season-2 South Downs Cottage fic, and I typeset it when I did because I'd just watched season 2 and wanted the fluffiest, sweetest, most slice-of-life thing I could think of and this was it. Seriously, if you have been personally victimized by the season 2 finale this might be the antidote you're looking for. Though admittedly some of the lines do hit a lot more bittersweetly now than they did when I first read it in 2019.

More pics under the cut! This one's got an unusual format, go have a look!

It's a dos-a-dos! My first one! Before I started making books I'd never even heard of this format, but I've been wanting to try it ever since I found it. It's hard to find stories that suit the format, though--they've got to be within a certain word count, about the same length, and related to one another, and they have to be a pair, not a three or four part story. They look super complicated without (I've found, anyway) actually being that hard to make. If you want to impress a non-bookbinder make one of these to show them; all my family were fascinated by it.

For materials, the floral cover is scapbook paper from Joann's (the fancy stuff that's very flexible and feels handmade) and the spine is Allure book cloth from Hollander's in the wisteria color. It's a perfect match for the lavender in the paper. I've only previously used the Lineco/Books By Hand book cloth and gotten good results, but my experience with that brand in general was that it's a cheap, readily available base for starting out, but there are wider and better quality options out there once you get away from chain craft stores. Working with this cloth was proof of that. It's stiffer than the Lineco stuff, which made it a little harder to glue down but not enough to cause problems, and it took HTV better than any other surface I've used it on. Here, check out the spines:

Images of the spines. In case the photos are a little blurry, that's Demolishing Proofs We Never Believed In on the left and The World and its Beautiful Particle Logic on the right. The titles gave me some worries. I didn't want to obscure more of the florals by putting them on the front, but was worried they wouldn't fit on the spines since they're so long. I got them on, but it took a lot of careful measurements. Still, though, I couldn't be more pleased by them, and I barely had any of my usual trouble getting the HTV to stick.

Handmade end bands on both sides, in colors matched to the cover paper. I was a little worried about making my own for this project since the text blocks are only about 100 pages each. I was worried they'd be too short. But they're not, and I got a really nice front bead on them. I wanted to do three colors but that proved too challenging for my current skill level. Maybe next time. The second image is the endpaper. Specifically it's the back endpaper, so you can see how the second spine fits into the case. When you read a dos-a-dos, you read the first part, then flip it over like you're going to read the back blurb and there's the second part ready to go. I only explain this because, having never made one, I thought you flipped it over top-to-bottom until I did the case fitting for this one. The top-to-bottom one it called a tete-beche and I think does not have the shared cover board in the center; the pages are connected upside-down. (This is all from my limited research; pro bookbinders please correct me if I'm wrong.)

Couple of interior images. All the graphics came from rawpixel and they are the same in both halves. I kept the typeset really simple on this one, without any extra graphics. Partly that was to keep the page count down (images can take up extra space) and partly it's a reflection of the text. It's a happily ever after story, mostly. Their lives are so much easier here than in canon, and the focus is on communicating without barriers or frills and on building their relationship without other things getting in the way. So it's got a fancy title page, because it matches the cover, but the rest is straightforward with just some simple swirls around the chapter numbers.

I couldn't be more pleased with how this turned out. I was worried it would be very complicated since it's a new-to-me build, but I was exaggerating the difficulty and that made for an easy bind. I hope the author likes it too.

[imagine-silk]

Could you do Ysndere Scarlet Witch headcanons?

》I got my page back ♪ I got my page back ♪

Wanda is such a specific type of unhinged that it's impossible to say if you're ever truly safe.

She wants a picture perfect home. A mother, a father, and kids. She wants what was robbed from her.

You will never escape her, she will follow you across worlds, nations, she will fight wars for you and wage them. Nothing and no one will take you from her. And no, another version of you doesn't count, she will kill them if they get in her way.

Honestly, the avengers will help her contain you because she would cause mass destruction otherwise. One person's freedom over thousands of lives. Steve might not like it but that's the trade off. Jarvis is right next to her making sure nothing goes wrong. His love for her and humanity let's him justify keeping you with her.

Speaking of Jarvis, there is a option for a ot3.

Everything she says is exactly what she means so there's no walking on eggshells when it comes to figuring out what she wants. She wants to go on a date today. And then the next day. And the day after that. It's pretty simple.

Run around a carnival and win her prizes, or maybe she can dazzle you by winning them. Teach her how to cook and she's remember all the measurements you tell her because it came from you. Shopping with her can and will take all day because Tony's black amex.

She's very touchy feely but is very blushy about it. She'll be red as a strawberry when you hold her hand and it takes a lot of courage for her to lean in for a kiss. If you tease her she'll get redder and look at you with watery eyes.

You have a surprising amount of freedom if you love her back, or at least pretend to. She wants a cutesy relationship and doesn't know how to let go, that last part is what makes her dangerous, so if you just stay there's no problems.

[connieluvsr]

ONE OF THE GIRLS | part 1

pairing: (electric) guitarist!jungkook x singer!reader(f)

genre: band au, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst

summary: when your main guitarist gets sick and can’t perform at your show, you get help from someone unexpected.

warnings: swearing and some making out, hot jk:)), drinking, mention of drugs, smoking, slight smut.

a/n: my first story!! hope you’ll enjoy it, i thought of it while listening to one of the girls by the weeknd, jennie, lily rose depp and i was like hmm i think i have an idea)) anyways i have some more works but i dont really have ideas for what to happen next in them😭 enjoy!! Also part 2 is gonna be CRAZY and much better, please wait a bit!!

_________________________________________

“i’m so so so so sorry.” ander sighs and falls back on the couch. “i feel like im disappointing you.”

you shrug, placing your hands into your scalp and gently pulling your hair. “it’s not your fault, i just…” you pause for a bit. “don’t know what i’ll do, it’s over.”

ander gets up and rubs your shoulder. “hey don’t say that, it’s not! you still have time to find someone who can replace me.”

you touch his hand and smile, you knew he really is sorry, but you can’t just try acting fine when you’re not. you dreamed of this since forever, having people come somewhere just to hear you sing. you were the duo everyone knew, he was your guitarist and you were the singer, that’s it, no one else.

you thought you’d find someone to replace him, and you did, actually, but they’re not good enough.

“i’ll just go, it’s getting late, take care hm?” i say while taking my jacket from the hanger.

“bri.. come on, don’t be like that.” he goes after you and takes your arm.

“like what?” you ask with a curious face, thinking what could he possibly say.

he hesitates for a moment before speaking, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “Like you’re giving up! Like… Like you don’t even care anymore. There has to be someone who can help us.. i mean help you.”

you sigh, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. “who? we’ve already contacted many musicians and they all sucked. none of them clicked. our sound was perfect, and that’s all”

Ander’s gaze softens, his voice gentle as he speaks “what about… zac’s friend?” he suddenly jumps. “he plays electric guitar right? maybe he could step in.”

you raise an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “yeah i know him. even if he does, he’s Zac’s friend, we barely know him. Also he’s a total ass, he would never agree.” you’re both silent for a moment. “wait! didn’t he fucked up our first show? remember! he wanted to play in our place and his rich mommy made us move dates.” you scoff loudly. “that fucker, no, never, i won’t sing with him.”

ander listens carefully to your frustrations, his expression thoughtful. he understands your reluctance, having experienced the turmoil caused by Zac's friend firsthand. after a moment of silence, Ander speaks, his voice steady, "I get it, Bri. I really do. But people can change. Maybe he's realized his mistakes, and this could be a chance for redemption. Plus, desperate times call for desperate measures. It's just one show, and if he doesn't come through, we'll find another way. But what if he surprises us?"

you're hesitant, the memories of past encounters with Zac's friend clouding your judgment. Ander continues, his tone encouraging, "We won't know unless we try, right? Let's meet him, talk to him, see if he's willing to help. If he shows even a hint of sincerity, we can consider it. And if not, well, at least we'll know we explored all options."

after another hour of talking with ander, reluctantly, you agree to meet with Zac's friend, still skeptical but open to the possibility of him proving you wrong. Deep down, you hope he has indeed changed, but you wont ever forgive him.

“how do we do that? call zac.” i say.

“its late, go get some sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow, ok?” he hugs you tightly before leading you to the door. you say your goodbyes and leave.

“god its 12 am already.” you sigh and call an uber, smartass couldn’t even do it. you take off your mask, thinking of someone. you dial the person and they respond right back

“bri! hi!”

“hi! you still at work?” i ask hoping for a negative answer

“just leaving, what’s up?”

“can you pick me up from ander’s house?”

“what were you- ok we’ll talk in the car, i’ll be there soon, k?”

“thank you”

you waited for your friend to come, and she did finally, after you froze yourself outside. but it’s better than paying that expensive fucking uber.

“hi. thank you again.”

“no prob, now tell me why are you leaving ander’s house at 12 am?”

“you act like we never do music together” you giggle and look at her

“yeah but it’s late tho” she raises an eyebrow she has a point.

“we talked about someone to replace him since he’s got some flu i don’t know and he’s not feeling well.” you take a look on the window

your friend's eyes widen in understanding, her expression softening. "Oh, that sucks. Is he going to be okay?"

you nod, sighing with relief that she didn't press further. "Yeah, he'll be fine. but we're kind of in a tight spot for the upcoming show. we tried finding replacements, but it's been a disaster. Ander suggested Zac's friend, the one who messed up our first show ages ago. I'm not thrilled about it, but we're open for it.”

she raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Zac's friend? Seriously? After what he did last time? You sure about this?"

You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. "I'm not sure about anything at this point, but we're desperate. If he's changed, even a little, and he can play bass guitar, we might have a chance."

Your friend nods slowly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Well, I hope for your sake that he's gotten his act together. And if he hasn't, you'll figure something out. You always do."

Her words offer a sliver of comfort in the midst of your uncertainty. As you drive home together, you can't help but feel a mix of anxiety and determination.

“um… should i talk with zac for you?”

“what do you mean? you’re friends? since when?” you ask with a lot of curiosity

“well… we kinda.. hooked up…” she smiles as if she remembers every single detail

“WHAT??” your jaw drops in disbelief, shocked by the revelation. "you hooked up with Zac? When did this happen?"

she chuckles nervously, avoiding your gaze. "It was a while ago, he came to my club and tipped a lot, then asked for a blowjob, i said only if you give me head too and he actually did it” she laughs a bit seeing your shocked expression. “but if it helps you, I can talk to him and see if he can convince his friend to help you out."

you're torn between feeling surprised, betrayed, and oddly hopeful. "i don't know how I feel about this, but if you think he'd listen to you, maybe it's worth a shot. Just... be careful, okay? I don't want any more drama."

she nods, her expression serious. "I promise I'll handle it delicately. I'll talk to Zac and gauge his friend's interest in helping you. We'll see how it goes."

as she drives you home, you can't shake off the mix of emotions swirling inside you. you hope for the best and that he’ll agree and maybe be actually down to earth. you can’t lie you’re not nervous.

————————————————————————

next day you wake up totally in a sweat, the dream of being booed off the stage didn’t help your concerns at all, you felt like you need to talk to him as soon as possible, and hope for the best

taking your time to actually think about how to approach him to agree, but you thought he won’t ever do this for a random stranger, so you thought about avery and zac, she knew she’s make zac convince him.

“i talked to zac”

“and!?” you jump off your bed

“he said y’all should meet beforehand and he’ll see if he wants to, he wants to hear you sing too, but he doesn’t know what’s in for him, so i told zac to tell him… popularity? he’ll be on stage and be known so yeah.”

“AMAZING. GREAT.” you hug her tightly “love you, you’re the best. now where and when should we meet?”

“he said you should go at his studio later tonight. seems cool”

“sounds good to me, now what should i wear?” you look for some clothes

“you seriously think about what to wear? you don’t even know if he’s gonna agree.”

“true, true, but i have to make a good impression , i cant go in adidas sweats.

“yeah, yeah, now should i tell you i have a date with zac?”

“no way!! i’m glad, really!.”

“maybe one day even a double date with… what’s his name? jungkook?” she giggles at your expression.

“with that fucker? no. one show and its over, i get ander to sing with me and that’s all.” you shift in your place and think about ander, you gotta tell him everything.

feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, you spend the day preparing mentally and emotionally for your meeting with Zac's friend. The thought of finally finding a solution to your musical dilemma fills you with hope, but the fear of rejection lingers in the back of your mind.

“we’re here” says avery and gives you a comforting smile as you head inside.

as you step into the professional studio, a wave of inspiration washes over you. the air is thick with creativity, and the walls are adorned with soundproof panels, the room is dimly lit, the glow from the mixing console casting a warm ambiance over the space. cables snake along the floor, connecting various instruments to the mixing desk, creating a web of musical potential.

the room is a dark gray and a little black, you look around mesmerized, like you never went into a studio, you did, but not like one of those. i wonder how much he spent on all of this, or his family. you correct yourself.

in the corner of the studio, you notice a boy sitting on a stool, his fingers expertly gliding over the strings of a bass guitar. the bass guitar itself is a work of art, its body carved from rich mahogany, the natural wood grain accentuated by a glossy finish.

your thoughts are interrupted by a loud zac “hello girls, finally in jk’s crib!” he smiles widely then takes avery by her hand then places a soft kiss on her jawline, she totally blushes and i can see with the corner of my eyes how unamused jungkook is.

“hi brianna, nice to meet you.” he gives you his hand and smiles.

“you too! you shake his hand but your attention goes to the dark haired boy as he makes a sound to make us all look at him.

“you must be brianna.” he gets up and his hands fall in his huge hoodie pockets.

“yes, i am, and i’ve heard you’re jungkook?”

“you’re chinese?” avery suddenly blurtes.

“avery what the hell?” i ask embarrassed and look at his face, to see his reaction, nothing. “i’m so-“

“korean, if you really wanna know.”

avery realized her mistake and mouthed a sorry, to end the awkwardness i try to say something but he’s faster.

“so, you wanted to replace your guitarist hm?” he asks as he sits down and offers us to do the same, i sit down and take my strands of hair out of my face and fix my skirt.

Jungkook's gaze meets yours, his eyes a shade of deep brown that seems to hold a world of experiences. his tone is casual, yet there's an underlying intensity as he speaks, "yeah, I heard about your situation. mind if I give it a try?"

you nod, appreciating his straightforwardness. "absolutely.”

he picks up the bass guitar, his fingers caressing the strings with a practiced ease. As he starts playing, the studio fills with the low, resonant tones of the instrument. his skills are undeniable, and you can't help but be impressed by the way he effortlessly navigates the fretboard, creating a melody that resonates with the very soul of the song.

Avery and Zac watch in awe, clearly captivated by his performance. you find yourself drawn into the music, feeling the vibrations of the bass reverberate through the room. despite the initial awkwardness, there's a growing sense of excitement. maybe, just maybe, you've found the missing piece to your musical puzzle.

When Jungkook finishes playing, he looks at you, his expression earnest. before you can say how amazing that was, you get "now your turn.”

“i.. ok, what should i sing?” you awkwardly get up.

“you’re asking me?” he says with a confused look, sitting down where your place was.

“n-no just, ok i’ll start.” you nervously laugh and avery gives you a thumbs up making you smile.

“I’ve been posing with red skies,” you begin singing ‘Feet don’t fail me now’ by Joy Crookes, your voice shaky at first but gaining confidence as you delve deeper into the lyrics. with each word, you pour your emotions into the song, your voice resonating with the passion that fuels your music.

as you sing, Jungkook’s intense gaze never leaves you. his eyes reflect the understanding of the emotions you’re trying to convey, and it feels like he’s not just hearing the lyrics but also feeling the soul of the song. Avery and Zac, too, are entranced by your performance, nodding in appreciation as your voice weaves a story through the air.

the studio seems to fade away, leaving only the melody and the raw emotions you’re sharing. Your voice rises and falls, carrying the weight of the lyrics and the hope of a new beginning. In that moment, you’re not just singing; you’re baring your soul, connecting with the very essence of the music.

you finish and get applauses from everyone but jungkook.

“that was amazing” zac says, but don’t want his opinion, you want his friend’s. you wait, and you wait. and he opens his mouth suddenly. “cool.”

you give a confused look “cool?”

“yeah, we might work, rehearsals when i tell you i’m free and at your place.”

you’re taken aback by Jungkook's nonchalant response, but his words sink in. "sure, rehearsals at my place. we’ll work out the schedule," you reply, trying to hide your surprise.

Avery nudges you subtly, her eyes filled with excitement. after the initial tension and uncertainty, it seems like Jungkook is on board, even if his demeanor is more reserved than enthusiastic. you decide not to dwell on his reaction, choosing to focus on the opportunity ahead.

"thank you, Jungkook. we appreciate you giving us a chance," you say, mustering a smile.

he simply nods, his expression unreadable. despite the lack of exuberance, you can sense his commitment to the collaboration. with the pieces falling into place, you're eager to start rehearsals and see how this unexpected partnership will unfold.

Zac and jungkook watch you leave and zac places a hand on his shoulder

“what was that bro? you don’t know how to flirt, at least you were cool with the “at your place”

“you dumb fuck, i don’t want to flirt, i just need more recognition, that’s why i’m doing that, and i can’t here since dad comes with his artists you forgot?”

Zac raises an eyebrow, his surprise evident. "recognition ? buy you're incredibly talented, Jungkook. you’re practically a musical genius. ehh do you need more recognition? you forget your dad can put you all over the city’s billboards?”

Jungkook's gaze flickers, a mix of frustration and determination in his eyes. "it’s not about money, zac . it’s about proving myself, making my own mark without relying on my family's name. i want people to see me for who I am, not just as someone's son. and helping brianna, it's a step towards that."

Zac's expression softens, understanding dawning in his eyes. "i get it, man. we all have our struggles. just remember, we believe in you, not because of your last name, but because of your music."

Jungkook nods, appreciating zac’s support. "thanks, Zac. just hope I can live up to your expectations."

"You will," Zac says, clapping Jungkook on the back.

————————————————————————

your phone buzzes with an unknown number, and curiosity piques your interest as you answer the call. "hello? who’s this?" you inquire, your voice laced with suspicion.

"jungkook," comes the curt response from the other end of the line. shocked and unprepared, you hold back the exasperation that bubbles up within you. you didn't miss his arrogant tone, but deep down, you knew you needed him.

"yeah, Jungkook?" you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm, emphasizing the unnecessary delay in his introduction.

"meeting tonight. gotta talk about some stuff and all," he states, his tone bored, as if discussing your collaboration is a mundane chore for him.

"aren’t you gonna ask if I'm free?" you retort, refusing to let his dismissive attitude go unchallenged.

"don’t try to act busy," he says, his words carrying a mocking tone. you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and it infuriates you. He's clearly relishing this power play.

"i’m pretty busy, actually, but tonight I'm free. Come around 7 pm," you inform him, trying to assert a semblance of control over the situation.

"9? Okay," he counters, his response catching you off guard.

"what—" you begin to protest, but he ends the call abruptly, leaving you fuming with frustration. The audacity of the man infuriates you.

puzzled and slightly unnerved, you find yourself questioning how Jungkook got hold of your number. the mystery gnaws at your thoughts, prompting you to dial Avery's number, seeking clarification.

"hey Ave, you gave Jungkook my phone number?" you ask, your voice tinged with confusion and concern.

"hey, babe, no, why?" Avery responds, her confusion mirroring your own.

"he called me about meeting tonight. Are you sure? Maybe you gave it to Zac, and Zac gave it to him?" you suggest, trying to understand.

"damrn, no, i haven't," Avery replies, her voice filled with genuine surprise. There's a brief pause before she continues, her tone taking on a mischievous edge, "That's quite weird. Oh, also..." She bursts into giggles, and you can't help but sigh in exasperation.

"tonight at yours, huh?" she teases, her laughter spilling through the phone.

"gosh, stop, I'm hanging up," you grumble, rolling your eyes at her antics.

"no, wait! But something important!" she insists, her tone turning serious for a moment.

"what?" you ask, unable to resist the curiosity despite your annoyance.

"wear protection!" she says, her laughter bubbling up again, and you can't help but groan at her audacity.

"bye," you retort, deciding it's best to end the call before she can come up with any more embarrassing suggestions. Hanging up, you're left with a mix of confusion, irritation, and a reluctant smile at Avery's playful antics. As you prepare for the evening's meeting, you can't shake the feeling that dealing with Jungkook will be far more complicated than you initially anticipated.

——-

a/n : part 1!! i cant believe i finally posted this. i wanted to make it as one part but it was sooo long.

i hope you enjoyed it! also if you might find grammar errors its because english isnt my first language!

(any recs and tips are gladly taken since im new to tumblr!)

[v3nusxsky]

Could I please request a lesso X pansexual reader where r is the new transfer student (they are 18) who is known as being a stereotypical cocky player and who doesn't do long term relationships. There's lots of rumors about why they are such a player and why they had to leave their old school. While she'd never admit it lesso was just as intrigued as the other students and is determined to get to the bottom of it also requests r to talk in office. Lesso soon learns that r was actually very different in their old school and was severely bullied and taken advantage of by their long term bf which is why they swore off long term relationships because they never wanted to feel that much hurt again. Eventually r admits that they have a thing for lesso cause in r's words "authority figures are hot as shit" which leads to them both having some fun in lesso's office (r topping lesso which lesso is very annoyed about considering she is typically the top?)

Not my fault your fit as fuck| NSFW

*Authors note~ I truly have no experience with this kind of behaviour so I hope this is what you are searching for anon <3*

Trigger warnings~ top r bottom l daddy kink breeding kink praise degrading magical cock pure and utter filth

Prompt~ see ask^^^^

✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬ ✬

A reputation can either make you or break you. And this is why you'd had to transfer. The rumours, the stories that were circulating around your previous school made it impossible for you to continue your education there. You still blamed yourself for it. After all why did you have to go and trust someone only for them to hurt you. What did that say about your judge of character. She'd torn you apart, left you open bare and bleeding all while she rubbed salt in those wounds by spreading those malicious lies. Yep, moving schools was definitely the best idea for you, but something like that doesn't just not affect a person, no it left you with some nasty scars, scars you wanted to hide. So you reinvented yourself, a protective measure to ensure no one would ever come that close to you again.

Obviously schools communicate, you knew by the time you started on your first day, they knew. The whispers and stares around you proved that fact, yet you didn't care. Why should you? After all for all they knew it was all wrong. One thing was right though, you are a massive flirt, people naturally gravitate towards you and who are you to turn them away? After all you're human, you still crave love and affection like anyone else, just without the commitment. Your reputation as a "fuck girl" was pretty well known after a few months at the school. And you weren't mad about it. Boys, girls, non binary, trans truthfully anyone appealed to you. It was also noticed you weren't picky with gender but you had a stereotypical type, anyone with an air of confidence had a fair chance of ending up in your bed.

Leonora had heard the whispers, of the older student, the fuck girl, the pansexual goddess who stole hearts and she had to admit she wanted to know more, for her this felt too rehearsed so she definitely wouldn't be falling at your feet like the students had been. She waited for the perfect opportunity to pull you into her office under the pretences of a educational review.

You're stunning, that was no shock but the way you carried yourself and the smirk you plastered on your face mixed with the cocky attitude all supported her theory. This was a pretence. As soon as you sat in front of her desk she made sure to tell you just what she thought. "Leonora" you purred flashing a smirk at her, "this isn't about my education so let's cut to the chase shall we? I have people to do" you couldn't help but chuckle at the part. Who would you take to bed tonight? Maybe a girl? Who knows. All you knew is you wouldn't be there when they woke next morning.

You seemed to pale when she called you out with the simple phrase, "I'm your Dean and I command you to tell me" barked at you. You couldn't help but spill everything. You told her of how she'd fucked you over, how she'd tricked you for three whole years, only to go and do the worst thing she could do. Expose your secret, one in fact she very much enjoyed when you were together, one you didn't want getting out. In fact that's the whole reason you came to this school. You were gifted in ways no other could understand, and if others enjoyed your gifts then it wasn't your fault they called you a player. In fact you were just terrified of being hurt in such a way again. Now that Leonora could understand, Rafal had done some despicable shit to her, for years she shut herself off before now getting comfortable again in her own skin.

"Would you like to see my gifts in action" you teased and watched as she sat stunned. Aha you still had the effect despite her knowing how you'd been bullied and pulled apart. You could tell she was curious, so you leant over the desk to answer her unasked question, "because Nora" you purred, "authority figures are hot as shit. And you darling reek of authority, I'd love to turn you into nothing but a mindless whore." She visibly gulped at your words, no wonder you were so popular, you took the advantage to plant your lips to hers in a dominating kiss. You left no room for her to do anything but submit to you.

Leonora was fuming, how dare someone try to dominate her. She dominates everyone. But deep deep down she was enjoying the way you took control of everything, all she had to do is sit back and enjoy the sensations. You quickly made work of her clothing after gaining some consent, pulling her up to sit in her chair before placing her to straddle your lap. Your hands never faltering as they roomed her body and your lips attacking her neck. All she could do is expose more of it to you as she moaned for more. Her hips instinctively rocking downward into your lap causing you to moan. "Leo?" You murmured against her skin, "I can um conjure up something can I?" You continued punctuating each few words with a kiss on her pulse point. The moan she let out at the thought was all the consent you needed but she continued to beg for it anyway, "oh so this is your gift, go ahead my love."

She could feel as the spell took place, your now impressive length hardening under her soaking core. She was truly impressed and impatient so with a quick point of a finger you now sat bare in her chair, your new appendage standing proudly to attention as she ground her hips down against it. "Want daddy's cock Leo? Like a good cock loving whore?" You murmured nipping at the lobe of her ear. Your hands finding purchase on her hips to help her move just enough to tease herself. "Oh daddy fuck!" She moaned and if she wasn't already delirious with need she would've sworn down this never happened. Maybe she would, after she'd let you use her in ways she never thought she'd allow.

You lined yourself up with her soaking core and helped her sink down on the impressive length. Her moans of delight were truly delicious and you didn't think you'd ever get tired of hearing them. As soon as she'd adjusted to your intrusion she began to bounce herself on your dick, loving how your eyes fixated on her breasts. You were trying to catch one in your mouth as she bounced on your lap back arched enjoying the feeling you deep inside her.

She couldn't help but cry out in surprise when you quickly changed the position with a growl. She was now bent over her desk as you entered her from behind. "Look at how well you take daddy's cock doll. You're so good a good little slut. Greedy whore for this aren't you? Wanting daddy to fuck you dumb, fill this cunt with cum? Make you my breeding bitch, isn't that right" you half moaned and half panted with how rough you were pounding into her. All she could do is whimper, whine and mewl for your. Begging for more, needing more.

You changed the position once again, the pleasure was dizzying for you both, you now lay her down against her desk with her legs around your hips pulling you impossibly deep into her dripping pussy. "I want to see your face doll. I want to see that pretty mind of yours go blank as I fill you up. You won't let anyone of it go now will you? You're gonna be a good cum slut for daddy, isn't that right Leonora" you taunted and the way you purred her name was all it took for her to cum squeezing your cock for all it was worth as her mind went blank. You were a second behind her in finding your own release, working you both through it before slipping out of her and transitioning back to your usual anatomy.

Leonora lay spent on the desk, never in her life had she experienced such an enjoyable encounter but she'd be damned if she let you leave. Her hands reached out for you with one simple demand, "stay please" she whimpered the need and vulnerability soaking her words and dancing in her eyes, you muttered "there's no where I'd rather be" before heading to take care of the older woman.

Word count~ 1648

[goldenblu]

i dont have emojis, so- hurricane, snowflake, raincloud, umbrella? or you can choose only one or two of them if you want

🌀 Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

5 times zoro didn’t know he was flirting with sanji and 1 time he knew

(i do plan on releasing this some day—i’ve got almost 3k written so far—but probably not anytime soon)

❄️ Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

from the fic above ^ :

Zoro thought the whole flower situation was over and done with, but apparently he was mistaken. The cook had presumably seen it when he returned to the ship or maybe when he retired to sleep yesterday night and hadn’t said anything to him about it, so Zoro had assumed that Sanji had accepted the gift junk and presented it to Nami or Robin or whoever. So imagine his surprise when he sees the flower again. With the cook. On the cook, actually. Tucked in his hair.

What.

Zoro’s brain takes a moment to reboot. He blinks, wondering if he’s hallucinating, but nope, it’s still there. Why. When. How. Why, again, for good measure.

Sanji catches him staring—of course he does, they’re literally two feet apart since Zoro had immediately come face-to-face with the cook after exiting the washroom. Because apparently the universe hates him. For some ungodly reason that Zoro can’t fathom, the tips of Sanji’s ears burn a bright red. “What?” he snaps.

Oh god. The cook actually sounds embarrassed.

“Nothing,” Zoro says, because if he says what he’s actually thinking, he’s going to be even more embarrassed than Sanji, if such a thing were possible. “Just wasn’t expecting that.”

🌧️ Share something angsty from your WIP.

ohoho there is so much to choose from

Sanji’s hand clenches in his shirt so hard that he shakes from the strain of it, and then he shoves Zoro against the wall, cabinets clattering open on impact. Zoro allows it to happen, keeping his hands loose and by his sides as Sanji’s forearm presses into his collarbone.

“I hate you so fucking much,” Sanji spits out. He lets go and starts pacing back and forth furiously, steps coming down so hard that Zoro’s surprised that the wood doesn’t splinter under the force of it. His hands fist in his hair. “I asked you for one thing. One fucking thing! I thought I could trust you to do it, but I guess I was wrong about that.”

“I can handle your hate.” If it means that Sanji is still himself, is still feeling and alive, Zoro can handle anything.

Sanji bites out a harsh laugh. “That’s goddamn perfect then.” He whips around, wild, resentful, burning a hole into Zoro’s flesh with the bitterness of his gaze alone. “Because you fucking have it.”

(yes this from hold your fire 😁)

☔ Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

the stealth black sanji au 👀 ive already talked about it at length though so i don’t have anything to add here lol

beyond that, i’ve always liked the hc that sanji attended a reverie as part of the germa delegation when he was young, so an au where vivi recognizes him when they first meet could be interesting. haven’t put too much thought into it though

[sukisukisu]

Stuck in the jet wash

Bad trip I couldn't get off

And maybe I bit off more than I could chew

And overhead of the aqua blue

(The kids aren't alright- Fall Out Boys)

---

If I want to touch him, Iwaizumi thought, so be it, just touch him.

"You still haven't gotten over the habit of buying a bunch of ready-to-eat food for the whole week, have you? Cooking one proper meal will kill you or something ?" he asked, his voice monotonous through the speaker, a very Iwaizumi Hajime kind of tone. He always tried to be polite to everyone, but at the same time, Iwaizumi knew he didn't want to.

(It's a relief to think about the fact that, Oikawa was the only one who knew all this about him)

"Yes, sorry for always being a clumsy person, sorry for always being wrong, Mr.Iwaizumi" Oikawa sighed. Iwaizumi was in his dorm in Irvine, and it was dark now, the sounds of the city rushing in to fill up the empty room. Oikawa, on the other end of the line, was far away in Buenos Aires. Suddenly Iwaizumi realized how much he missed hearing this teasing tone so close to his ear.

"But you know, Iwa-chan. Time is treasure, and money. I want to focus all my time on volleyball. If not, why could I still standing here?" Oikawa exhaled. Iwaizumi didn't say anything approving, but he let out a small, complacent hum.

"Well, I guess you're not wrong" Iwaizumi sighed, more helpless than in surrender. He wondered where Oikawa was. He didn't hear any other sounds around him, maybe Oikawa was at home. "But I mean, you need to balance your life too, Oikawa. I don't want to go to your funeral yet"

"It's okay, it's okay. Everything's fine, Iwa-chan" Oikawa boasted "Recently, I've improved my reaction speed to the ball from one second two to one second. Sooner or later I'll get to play oversea"

"You talk like a clock or something . It's awful" Iwaizumi said bluntly, and Oikawa let out a disgruntled cry. Iwaizumi could never understand it, but Oikawa once said that he liked the calculation, because he wanted everything to be perfect, and loved the feeling of the ball reaching the palm of his teammate in the right amount of time. He liked it, when everything was in order, his lips parted, counting the passing moments. One, two. A pass is two seconds. The jumping block is three seconds. Fast pass is one second five. "I remember when I was in high school I was influenced by you too. I kept counting one, two before I jumped. Not so much now, though"

"You can use that habit for many things Iwa-chan, in normal life, for example" Oikawa hummed. "Like the three-second, and five-second rule. Do you measure anything else like that?"

(If I want to touch him, Iwaizumi thought, so be it, just reach out)

(It's only three seconds)

"No, nothing," he lied. Oikawa fell silent, an invisible nod that both of them understood. Oikawa then tried to convince him of his habit of shopping for ready-to-eat food, the health benefits of a box of dried sardines, and told him to buy presents for their parents, the next time they would return to Miyagi.

(Not just three seconds anymore, Iwaizumi thought. It's thirteen hours now, do you have to be so far away from me?)

---

Fall to your knees bring on the rapture

Blessed be the boys time can't capture

On film or between the sheets

I always fall from your window

To the pitch black streets

---

They were sitting together in class, their desks by the windows, and when the glass is pulled aside they'll be able to have their own cherry blossom branch. The branch seemed to have grown in a different trajectory than the others, hanging down from the window of their third-floor classroom instead of floating in the pale blue sky like others. This was Oikawa's favorite lunch spot, Iwaizumi remembered. Though to him it was nothing more than a nuisance, as cherry blossoms always covered his lunch box.

"Not again!" Iwaizumi let out a disgruntled groan, clutching his head as a peach petal fell straight into his bowl of soup. It was springtime, and his mother had prepared a squash soup for him, which she said was perfect for this weather. Anyway, he couldn't eat it anymore now. "I'm so sick of this place"

"Sometimes we should just enjoy those small moments in life, Iwa-chan" said Oikawa intelligently—something Iwaizumi detested. "You'll miss this all later, when we're not here anymore"

Oikawa's statement made them both fall silent for a second, even though Iwaizumi knew it was just a frivolous but factual remark. They both knew what was coming, though both avoided it like a giant elephant in the room. They were in their final year, the college entrance exam is approaching, and then they would have to find their own way. Though it sounded shallow, Iwaizumi hated thinking about those things, about what school he's going to, where he's moving to, the things he often called "adult worries". He wanted his life to be just like it was then- only him and Oikawa, the volleyball team, school, dinner, and the desire to become stronger. Thinking that all of this would eventually end made him feel both frustrated and heartbroken, like a child who lost his favorite toy he was holding in his hand.

"Have you thought about where to go?" It was Oikawa who asked, ending the silence that hung between them. He knew Iwaizumi didn't want to stay in Japan- he said that Tokyo was too complicated to live in, and he didn't really want to continue his career as a volleyball player. As usual, Oikawa always knew what Iwaizumi was thinking. He wasn't sure why either.

"For the time being, I'm considering between California and Brazil, or Korea. They have a very good university program, and the scholarship amounts are also very high" Iwaizumi said. Oikawa replied with the sound of bread crumbling in his mouth. What is he, six years old? "But anyway, I want to choose the closest place to Japan. I also have to calculate how long it is from the airport to where I will live and which country is the easiest to issue a Visa"

"I mean, you can just go where you want. There's no need to think so much. If you want to go---- then just go" Oikawa explained calmly. A hand tapped on his chin, and Iwaizumi's eyes widened, as if surprised, before that expression slipped from his face. Looking calm, Iwaizumi shrugged.

"And what can guarantee that, there will be no risks if I just go where I want to go, without any consideration?"

Oikawa smiled. Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes, he didn't understand, couldn't understand. The midday sun shone on Oikawa's face, a glimmer of light, winding through the air.

"Because no matter where Iwa-chan is, I'll be there to find you whenever you need me"

---

Surviving in California wasn't easy for Iwaizumi, even though he never wanted to admit it. After being encouraged by Oikawa that year, Iwaizumi decided to go to Irvine, and signed up for a small volleyball team while waiting for the results of his college entrance exams. At that time, everything was still easy. He lived in a small apartment, the window overlooking the street, watching the flow of people. His apartment was a five-minute bus ride and a ten-minute walk from the gym. Everyone was friendly to him, every Friday they would go to party at the restaurant just down the street. California was so similar but also so different from Japan, especially when you place Irvine next to the Miyagi. The night in Irvine was always alive, in a sense that wasn't very pleasant to him. How can one sleep in a city like this?

"You can never actually separate the night and day here" another Japanese guy on the team told Iwaizumi. Apparently his name is Takehito. "It's not easy to live here, Iwaizumi" Takehito said while packing things from his closet into his personal bag. He applied for leave to return home. "I'll just go back to Japan. My parents said it's okay, and everything will be fine. I'll give it a try there" then he gave Iwaizumi a rare smile "But one day, I hope I will see you on TV"

Iwaizumi found himself different from that moment, from the day Takehito returned home, until he received an invitation from Birtwistle University, for a scholarship to the athletic training department. But studying was no way easy, and Iwaizumi had to move from his tiny apartment with beautiful windows into the school dormitory in the city center. His classmates were not very friendly. They were taller, and harder to approach. They didn't try to talk to him. It took him twenty minutes to walk from the dormitory to the nearest restaurant. Weekends were no longer a concept to Iwaizumi, as he spent almost all of his time at the library, and the chatty calls between him and Oikawa dwindle before disappearing altogether. Currently, they only call when there was a need.

Suddenly, Iwaizumi realized how great the distance between them had became. He could no longer reach out and touch him, one, two, three, and his hand reached Oikawa, and Oikawa turned to smile at him, like a strip of spring sunshine. No, that had gone too far, and Oikawa was on the other side of the continent. There was no way Iwaizumi could reach out to touch him anymore. Not just three seconds. No more feeling the warmth of his flesh, like one reaching out to touch the sun. Just a palm filled with air.

"Iwaizumi-san" someone called out, causing him to flinch. Iwaizumi looked up, it was Ushijima. He looked even taller than when he was in high school, even though he was already something different from them then. He almost forgot they were at the park chatting after meeting Ushijima's father, not having time to regain his composure until the other handed him a can of Pocari sweat.

"You got heatstroke? Your face looks a bit tense" said Ushijima, very casually. Iwaizumi never thought he was that kind of caring person. "If you want, we can go home"

"I'm fine, thank you" Iwaizumi nodded politely and popped the lid of the can. Its sticky taste was so familiar, it made him smile a little. "In high school we used to drink this like it was water, so nostalgic"

"You're not wrong" replied Ushijima. It seemed that what Iwaizumi said also made him think a bit. "Miyagi sure is amazing"

Iwaizumi was silent, because the other was right. There was something about Miyagi that always held him back, even though he was an ocean, and twenty-two hours away. Relaxed days, without thinking about the worries of adults, a volleyball on his shoulder. Peach blossoms outside the window of their classroom in Aoba Johsai. His training shoes were lying next to Oikawa's, and they were sprawled on the floor, drenched in sweat. Oikawa reached out his hand to touch the sunlight as if it were something, and his face was disappointed as if he wanted to hold it tightly in his hand. Iwaizumi didn't know why he remembered that scene now. Oikawa's hand clenched, sunspots dancing across his face.

Iwaizumi realized he could never forget that face.

"Do you want to go back to Miyagi, Iwaizumi-san?"

---

I'm not passive but aggressive

Take note, it's not impressive

Empty your sadness

Like you're dumping your purse on my bedroom floor

We put your curse in reverse

---

They were sitting side by side in the shade of Kitagawa Daiichi High School's gym, and Iwaizumi remembered that at the time, Oikawa was crying. His face was flushed red, buried in the collar of his blue-white jacket with their middle school logo on it, his eyes puffy, tears streaking down his cheeks. Iwaizumi sighed, pulling out a handkerchief. He was already too used to this.

"Listen, everything's fine. We'll do better next year" Iwaizumi said, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible, thrusting the towel into Oikawa's hand. With the stubborn expression still on, Oikawa blew his nose. "Shiratorizawa is strong, but they're just a team like us. Just practice and we can beat them. So stop crying, okay?"

"I can't accept it...." Oikawa sobbed, his face buried in the handkerchief  "Unacceptable....we practice until it's dark....every day.... only to lose..." He pouted "It's not fair"

"I know, I know" Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. He, honestly, didn't feel as miserable as Oikawa was feeling right now. I mean, last year they lost to Shiratorizawa too. The year before... and the year before that, as well. It was humiliating to think about, however, Iwaizumi didn't think he had the need to show it out like Oikawa, so he kept quiet. But Oikawa seemed to have something else in mind, so Iwaizumi saw him look up, his eyes shining like stars.

"Listen, Iwa-chan. Do you know what the summer solstice is?" Oikawa said. Seeing him shake his head, Oikawa let out a sigh.

"The summer solstice is the beginning of summer in the northern hemisphere. Which means it's the only day of the year where the day is longer than the night. It's the longest day of the summer" he explained, scrutinizing Iwaizumi's face. Eyes shining, it was hard to believe that Oikawa was in the ninth grade, the province's best second passer, and the captain of the Kitagawa Daiichi volleyball team. He looked just like a kid.

"That means, on this day we have more time to play volleyball, the longest day we can practice together in a year. So from now on, we will play volleyball a lot on that day, and then we'll get better. And then, we'll defeat Shiratorizawa, okay?"

(At that time, his way of thinking was only enough to deceive children. However, Iwaizumi still wanted to listen to him. He still wanted to believe)

"That's a good idea, Oikawa" Iwaizumi exhaled, grinning. Oikawa nodded.

"Then promise me, that we'll spend the summer solstice every year together. And we'll get stronger. We'll be the strongest pair in Japan!"

Oikawa held out his hand, and Iwaizumi waved it at him, a habit of theirs.

"I promise"

---

And it's our time now if you want it to be

Maul the world like a carnival bear set free

And your love is anemic and I can't believe

That you couldn't see it coming from me

---

"I can't make it this year" one day when Oikawa called him, Iwaizumi lied.

He didn't have to turn on the video mode to picture Oikawa's face right now. He must have been frozen in front of the phone, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows furrowed stubbornly—the kind of Oikawa Tooru expression he used to make when he didn't get what he wanted. Then Iwaizumi would have to coax him with some reason that would be able convince Oikawa, hopefully, so that he would just let it go and forget about it. He was so used to this scenario.

"I have a particularly important test. You know, I'm in my fourth year, my final year. I can't miss any chance to graduate" he lied again, the words overlapping, he knew it was all a pathetic counter-measure. "That's why I'm not going back to Miyagi. But Ushiwaka will go, I guess"

"I don't care about Ushiwaka at all, are you crazy out of your mind??!" Oikawa hissed from the other end of the line in displeasure. His voice was shrill, filled with anger, and Iwaizumi understood why. "We already didn't come back last year, Iwa-chan. And the year before as well"

"What's the point of coming back there?" Iwaizumi sighed "We've been gone for four years anyway"

"Well, we should go back to watch this year's Seijou match against Shiratorizawa. Go back and have a beer with Mattsun and Makki. Go back, and have a surprise party to congratulate Yahaba on his promotion. Let's go home, back to our old practice room in Aoba Johsai, Iwa-chan" Oikawa explained. Iwaizumi admitted that all of the reasons Oikawa listed were valid, but he couldn't let himself give in.

"I'm so sorry, but I can't miss the exam this time He sighed. Somehow, Iwaizumi had a feeling that Oikawa didn't believe him. He always knew when he was lying, but despite that, Iwaizumi was still here. He really didn't want to see Oikawa. At least, not right now.

"I see" Oikawa hummed, then sank into a thoughtful, silent silence "It's just...."

"It's just that I feel like you're so far away from me, Iwa-chan"

Consciousness slammed into Iwaizumi like a bullet train, and he felt his hand freeze for a moment. No matter how much they both avoided it, despite the fact that they already knew it was true, Iwaizumi- like Oikawa- never wanted to admit, that their relationship wasn't what it used to be. They were different. They were adults, with adult worries, and Iwaizumi had forgotten how close Oikawa felt to him, as well as the love he had never expressed. He didn't want to say it, nor did he intend to say it. He just wanted to keep Oikawa there, close enough for Iwaizumi to see him, but far enough for Iwaizumi not to touch, to not need to touch him.

It was him who pushed Oikawa away, but as a natural reaction, he wished Oikawa would come closer to him, once again placing his hand on his forehead, laughing into his throat. As a natural reaction, he avoided Oikawa, but he was the one who craved him, more than anyone.

How ironic.

"Stop saying things like that"

"What?"

Iwaizumi was silent. His lips pursed.

"I don't want to hear you talk about such things anymore" Iwaizumi repeated. "Our relationship--- it's fine. We're grown-ups, Oikawa. We're not two eighteen years old anymore. We don't have to stick together all the time. So-- you don't have to, think about me so much. Just let--- let things be. I'm just one of them people in your life"

Deep down inside, Iwaizumi knew Oikawa wasn't wrong. He knew it all- about the short, awkward conversations, about the calls that dwindled and stopped altogether. Suddenly, Iwaizumi wondered how his old self would feel. If he went back in time, and told eighteen-year-old Iwaizumi that he didn't want to be Oikawa's best friend anymore, he would probably punch him in the mouth and call him an idiot. That's what Iwaizumi was, he was an idiot. He knew his eighteenth self would reach out to touch Oikawa and hold him tightly in his arms with all his might, but now, he wouldn't allow himself to do that anymore, wouldn't give himself the right to that anymore.

Oikawa didn't say anything. He hung up, and Iwaizumi couldn't reach him until a week later.

---

And sometimes I just wanna sit around and

Gaze at my shoes

And let your dirty sadness fill me up

Just like a balloon

---

They were sitting next to each other on Aoba Johsai's gym floor, it was the summer solstice of their senior year in high school. The two had been practicing all day, just like the promise they had made to each other, so Iwaizumi thought his poor back was falling to pieces as he collapsed onto the wooden floor. Oikawa was sitting up straight, thinking about something. He was always thinking about something, it was weird. Iwaizumi reached out, his fingertips touching Oikawa's shirt, the white and blue plaid uniform shirt worn over the years. At that time, Oikawa was still very close.

"What's wrong, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa asked with wide eyes. Outside the door, dusk was slowly falling, signaling the end of the longest day of summer, and also the beginning of summer.

Iwaizumi felt his mind relax at that thought.

"Nothing" he grinned, exhaling. He didn't even know why he was so happy. "Suddenly I feel happy because summer is coming"

"You've always liked summer, haven't you, like a child" Oikawa made an innocuous remark. Iwaizumi glanced at him, and Oikawa seemed to falter. "Okay, me too, fine, I'm sorry" the brunette exhaled, surrendering.

"But this summer is the last summer I'll be able to practice with Iwa-chan. It's sad to think about, to be honest"

Ever since they were two kids, Iwaizumi and Oikawa have always loved summer. Iwaizumi was born in June, a month before Oikawa, so his mother made a joke that they were the children of summer. Iwaizumi remembered that they were both very proud of that, a childish pride. But for him and Oikawa, summer is the season of freedom, no school, no homework, the sun is always overhead and a big field with a ball for them to play freely. Summer is the season to rest and do what they want, the blue on the back of Oikawa's shirt when he jumps for a serve, the sticky taste of Pocari sweat dripping down their throat, Oikawa's hand holding his, sweaty, but never letting go. It is often said that high school is the spring of life, although Iwaizumi still stubbornly believed that it should be summer.

"That's not wrong" Iwaizumi exhaled. "We trained really hard today, anyway. Even though I don't think we'll ever face Ushiwaka again" he pretended to stick his tongue out, shaking his head. At the thought of that name, Iwaizumi was bored to the core. They had haunted each other for years now, it was finally time to let go.

"Actually... that's why we don't need to practice today. But for some reason I still wanted to call you over"

"You're too cheesy" Iwaizumi laughed. The setting sun poured into the gym, licking his shins.

Oikawa did not answer. Iwaizumi jerked his head up when he didn't hear him reply, with a laugh, or perhaps an exclamation, as his talkative nature often did. But nothing came. Oikawa said nothing, and when Iwaizumi tilted his head to look at him, he saw that Oikawa's face was red.

(Don't say anything, he thought. Please don't)

"Perhaps because...." Oikawa hesitated. But then he squeezed his hand, his eyes wavering.

(With each summer, you'll get further and further away from me, thought Iwaizumi. So don't say anything. You know that's better for both of us)

"Perhaps because today is the longest day of the year, that I can be with Iwa-chan" continued Oikawa. His eyes filled with tears, like that day when he cried after the loss, and Iwaizumi comforted him, the day they made that promise. A promise for the summer solstice, a handshake at dusk, a handkerchief, a smile. Iwaizumi remembered those things as clearly as if it were yesterday.

"One day in a year may sound like a big deal, but compared to our whole life, it's merely a second" Oikawa laughed. "So if it's just for a second, can you stay with me?"

---

On the summer solstice of 2023, Iwaizumi did not go to class.

The previous call between him and Oikawa kept Iwaizumi miserable for a week, as he deserved. He tried calling him many times but couldn't, all his messages went straight to voicemail. No calls from Matsukawa and Hanamaki- maybe Oikawa didn't tell them. He spent his days buried in blankets and survived on fast food and water. The hum of the air conditioner was the only sound he could hear these days. Looked like his utility bill will increase. Iwaizumi couldn't care less. He deserved it.

The clock showed nine o'clock in the morning. Iwaizumi turned on his phone, realizing that today was the summer solstice, he had almost forgotten about it. June twenty-two, the text on his screen appeared. He sighed heavily, and was actually about to go back to his sleep, until someone knocked on his door.

"The utility bill isn't due today" Iwaizumi called out, his voice slurred, tired. Damn, he hated this dorm.

There was silence on the other side of the door. And then, Iwaizumi's eyes widened.

"If you don't open this door, Iwa-chan" the voice said, "I swear, quite seriously, that I'll kill you"

And in the end

I'd do it all again

I think you're my best friend

Don't you know that the kids aren't al, kids aren't alright?

It was like a shock, and suddenly, all the sounds in the world seemed to have returned to him, crashing into Iwaizumi's room like a giant storm. The sound of the city, the music outside the window, his TV crackling, his heart pounding. Iwa-chan. Its tone was painfully familiar, nostalgia exploding and rattling in his chest like a chemical reaction. Iwaizumi mumbled, getting out of the blankets and crawling up, heading for the door. His hand was cold when he placed it on the doorknob, and for a minute he wondered what it would be like if he hadn't opened it. But he knew this time, he had to do the right thing after all the mistakes, so---

(Three seconds, only three seconds)

Oikawa's arms wrapping around him, and the scent of shampoo in his hair smelled like cherry blossoms, his body warm, his shoulders lightly shook as they collided. Oikawa was like a hurricane hitting right in his little room, and it really scared the hell out of Iwaizumi with what all this could do, but at the same time he thought he'd never been so happy. Turned out that's all it took. It only took three seconds to reach him, three seconds for his mouth to open and call "Oikawa!", three seconds to dial the phone, thirteen hours to get to Buenos Aires. That's all, but he didn't do it, never had the courage to do it. Perhaps he was never as brave as he thought.

(If I want to touch him, then I would just reach out my hand like I'm touching the sun, reach out for three seconds)

"Iwa-chan" Oikawa, just like his memories of that year, bursted into tears on his shoulder. His hair was shorter, and he was taller too, sturdier, tanned and certainly more handsome than the last time they'd seen each other three years ago. But in his eyes Oikawa would always be just Oikawa, he was Kitagawa Daiichi's Oikawa with the blue uniform, Aoba Johsai's Oikawa with the jade teal flag on his back and the crown on his head, the Oikawa who had always reached out to him.

I'll be yours

When it rains it pours

Stay thirsty like before

Don't you know that the kids aren't al, kids aren't alright?

"Iwa-chan, I've been thinking a lot about what you said. About us becoming adults, about how we don't need to stick together all the time. I asked my mom about it and she said you'r enot wrong" Oikawa said. Iwaizumi brushed the wet hair from his cheeks. "But, I still don't want to accept it. I thought about it, and I realized that one day a year isn't enough. So, can't you stay with me for the rest of our life?" He sobbed "You said that you're just another person in my life, but I don't think so, I don't allow, will never allow you to say that. Iwa-chan to me, is the most important person, the bearer of the warmth that is warmer than anyone, the one who holds me tighter than anyone, so you can't say that, you can't ever say that, understood?"

With just those questions, Iwaizumi allowed himself to pull Oikawa closer. This time, he allowed himself to hold him in his arms, the gap he had tried to fill but never dared to. This time, he allowed himself to smile. Suddenly he remembered that last summer solstice of high school when he and Oikawa were sitting next to each other in the gym, and neither of them wanted to go home. They ended up sleeping there too, only to be scolded by their parents the next day. So childish.

"I promise," he said, his voice echoing from the past. "But, I also want you to know that I love you. And that's why I've been avoiding this since forever. So if anything happens, it's your fault" Iwaizumi said nonchalantly, though his face was red, deliberately ignoring the fact that he had just confessed his love so blatantly.

"Fine, Iwa-chan" Oikawa laughed. And then Iwaizumi suddenly felt so relieved, to be able to hold the summer of his life.

---

(Iwaizumi realized that "I love you" only takes three seconds to say.)

[ladygenius]

Crimson Nights & Predators | Part III

Content: in their fairytale surrounding finally, Spencer tells y/n what’s bothering him about the evening

Wordcount: 1300

Category: fluffiest confession fluff🫶🏼

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, bullying, verbal abuse

“By the way”, she clearly had to urge the rest of the mysterious booze down her throat, “Obviously, I’ve been planning to share this exquisite finding with my favorite bookworm anyway”, she darted her eyes back up at him.

“Mr. Braggy and his wingman just offered the first opportunity for a little getaway. Whoops.”

She rolled her eyes before facing one of the huge shelves, clearly with a plan in mind. “Alright. This devil’s stuff better made me forget about my vertigo. Hey, what do you think, Spence? Bet I’m gonna find, say, at least an original Twain or Whitman up there.”

Bravely, she climbed the first few steps of the ladder, a little wobbly on her heels maybe but still as gracefully as ever. That was until she leaned over a little too far and just as she reached for a particularly fancy-looking book the wheel mechanism of the ladder set in, catching y/n off guard.

This time, it really was her frightened squeaking as she clung to the shelf and Spencer reacted just in time to stop the ladder before she would have eventually flopped to the ground - ungracefully.

After a moment of shock that lasted longer than it would have with sober brain cells, they both burst out into ringing laughter.

So while Spencer was holding onto the ladder from the start this time as a safety measure, y/n continued her quest for the most ancient-looking copies. He urged himself to look in every direction but ahead of him – y/n’s legs centimeters away from his face - nervous at the sight of their soft skin and perfect shape, he desperately tried to find something to talk about. But it was her voice that made the decision for him.

“Spence.. Can I ask you a question?" his face instinctively tilted upwards, only to shyly dart down again, realizing he didn't want her to think he was trying to get a glimpse up the skirt of her alluring dress. "Do you think I’m being kind of a bitch to Andersson?” The question alone set off an alarm inside him.

“I mean, it’s actually kinda mean… running away from someone like a kid on a playground. But you know, I’ve told him like a gazillion times that I have no interest in going out with him.”

Spencer’s thoughts immediately catapulted him back to the bar. The two men’s degrading comments about y/n and Andersson’s plan to take advantage of her potentially intoxicated self once the evening had come to an end. And yet, here she was feeling sorry for him. It made his heart ache. But fortunately, from where she was standing, she couldn’t see the honest pain plastered on his face.

"Spence, did I say something wrong?" "Oh.. no, y/n. Not at all" She descended carefully, Spencer steadying her with a gentle hand on her back.

"You know.." she hesitated, suddenly their difference in height making her seem so vulnerable and timid again. "I didn't want you to think of me this way but I feared somehow this was reminding you of how you were treated once.. you know, back in high school. I don't want you to think of me as that kind of woman.. you know, leading guys on only to prank them in some demeaning way for everyone to see."

"What, woah, y/n. This isn't even in the slightest comparable. I mean it. Hey, look at me. I would never think of you like that, Okay?" He was incapable of even beginning to explain how far his genuine thoughts about her varied from her assumption.

She nodded doubtfully, her gaze resting on his hand on her shoulder which he immediately pulled back upon noticing.

"It's just.. I feel like you're somehow - angry about something? I don't know. Maybe I'm just reading into it too much but I was afraid we weren't okay.. Cause we are, right?" Her orbs studied him and widened hopefully, as his heart was melting once again at how well she knew him.

"No. You're right.. obviously", he sighed, y/n's chest puffing out anxiously, her brows frowning. "I just can't keep a secret from you, can I?" His timid smile clearly made y/n already feel a little more at ease. "It's those jerks." "What? Andersson and his idiotic wingman? How could simple creatures like them cause brilliant Dr. Reid any trouble?"

"I. I just can't stand how they're treating you.. you know." Y/n seemed baffled for a second. "Oh.. well, yeah, I mean, they're obvious douches and it's annoying Andersson won't ever accept a simple no. But other than staring and asking me to dance he really hasn't done anything I could blame him for. It's sweet of you, though, that you're being different. You actually sense how I'm feeling, you know. You always can."

Her hands settled on the hem of his jacket, where they had already rested earlier this evening, causing nothing but blissful feelings inside him. But now it felt all wrong.

Her eyes searched for his. But he couldn't face her, it hurt too much. Just like he had thought - sooner or later, the fairytale was bound to end.

"Please don't defend them". His lips uttered barely inaudible. "Those pricks sure as hell don't deserve that." Slightly startled by the unlike-him choice of words and the stern sound of his voice, y/n sensed that she must be clueless about the situation.

"What happened, Spence"? She softly tilted up his chin to reveal his hazel eyes meeting hers all blurry.

"They said things about you.. earlier. I overheard them. Disgusting stuff you don't deserve. No one does. I don't even wanna repeat it.. I just can't stand the thought of you being talked about this way y/n. And yet you're the one to worry about treating them fairly. They're nowhere good enough for you anyway. And I know, neither am I, but I would never treat you like that." This last part slipped out unintentionally. And y/n noticed.

It’s over, he thought to himself standing here almost crying, she must think him to be completely embarrassing.

But she just stepped even closer to Spencer, hesitating briefly before decidedly taking his hands inside her own. Finally.

"I know you never would.. That's why I love you." That, too, slipped out somewhat suddenly but not quite as unintentionally. She sensed how loaded this topic was for Spencer, how much she meant to him. She has been suspecting this for a while now, but she was always just too scared to take the leap. And now she couldn't help it. In this perfect location with his protectiveness about her.

His eyes fixated on her own for almost an eternity. Both barely blinked. Whatever happened, it wouldn't be half bad, y/n thought. After all, he finally knew. God, how he deserved to know he was loved like that.

"But.. y/n. Why would you ever, I mean. You're so much more than I am-"

"You are everything to me, Spencer. It doesn't get much bigger than that, I guess. I mean, of course, if you insisted, I could go with the whole universe too.. but the point is, you've always been more than enough because you're you-"

And suddenly it was he who cut y/n short unexpectedly. His lips met hers with the most delicate urgency imaginable. Finally, he could pull her closer without their bodies colliding meaning mere accidental contact.

Her hands around his neck tangled into his soft curls and it still felt like once they let go of each other - it might all be over again. The Fairytale a silly fantasy and reality ready to separate them cruelly.

But as they opened their eyes, everything remained the same. "I love you too, y/n."

Except for the fact that everything was different now.

Spencer's eyes were still blurry from overwhelm, but this time for a better reason as he stared deeply into hers. He cleared his throat, "By the way.. did you end up finding any good first prints up there?" Y/n let out an embarrassed laugh.

"Honest to God.. I don't remember anymore."

~~~~~~~~

What are you doing? Catch up: Part I | Part II

[teslacoils-and-hubris]

So like

Reanimation has to be more like baking right? Like you have to do everything exactly right with exactly the right measurements or you risk something completely Wrong and Bad and at that point you might as well just throw it all out and start again. Or well, what's much more likely is you get something just a little bit off, body parts just a bit too decayed or not enough blood injected for the heart to Kickstart properly, and you end up with something... not quite what you were going for but still Close enough

You know?

Like. You use too much flour or too little baking soda and your cookies come out lumpy and flat. But they're still cookies. They still taste good enough, so why waste em? That's what happens most of the time people bake, right? Even if you get the ingredients perfectly measured and you follow all the steps perfectly, your cookies probably won't turn out exactly like those at the bakery you loved so much that you're now trying to make at home. Something will still be just a bit off. You can try again, sure, but that's just an exercise in futility. Maybe your oven heats up faster than the baker's. Maybe they use an ice cream scoop to get that perfect shape but it's not on the recipe. Maybe your dead lovers corpse is up and walking, maybe they're even functioning like a normal person! But they don't have the same history, the same life, that made them Them, you know? There will always be something outside your control preventing you from bringing them back Completely Perfectly

[kiefbowl]

I want to ask if i understood sth correctly regarding your latest answer, a lot of things are pretty new to me as i discover, learn and connect the dots. I hope it doesnt sound too stupid. When you say „there's no doing this stuff right or wrong ultimately because when you're a woman, if it benefits those around you to perceive you as feminine, they will do so regardless of what you do, and when it suits them to perceive you as unfeminine, they will do so regardless of what you do. Gender and femininity do not exist logically, it has no purpose outside of maintaining the gender (or sex) hierarchy. It can't be "cracked" or "fixed" or "figured out." It is tied up in female subordination, as long as we culturally depend on female subordination, gender will exist to enforce it. ” do you mean that at the end it doesnt really matter if someone is a woman who conforms or a woman who doesn’t, it doesnt matter if she dresses in a masculine way or a feminine way, or any other way at all (although usually thats the words people use to catogrize it as far as i observed), if she behaves in a manner that is reinforced (feminine) or not. As long as one IS a female, even if gnc one, she will be mistreated accordingly and the rejection of feminity that comes naturally to some or maybe with time and understanding the harms of it to some others-it won’t make…much of a difference at the end? Maybe you meant something else though, and i didnt quite grasp it?

(Especially ”if it benefits those around you to perceive you as feminine, they will do so regardless of what you do, and when it suits them to perceive you as unfeminine, they will do so regardless of what you do. „ this part i think i dont fully understand the meaning of.

Thank you if you choose to take the time and answer! 🖤

Don't feel stupid asking questions, I put myself out there and that means getting feed back. You have a question which give me a chance to refine my answer, clarify it, reflect on what I wrote, etc.

So, as long as someone is female, they experience misogyny. The enforcement of gender is in itself misogynistic. Enforcement comes in the form of compliance and non-compliance. Women who are non-compliant will receive backlash, punishment, rejection. What's important to understand though is that the feminine ideal (as in, for simplistically sake, the cultural understanding of the "perfect woman") is an impossible standard, for many reasons. It's inhuman, and it's also illogical and inconsistent. It's purpose is to enforce misogyny, to maintain the sex hierarchy (that is, male over female/female subordination to men). Therefore, no women achieves it. It's impossible to be "perfectly feminine." It's impossible to be completely compliant. The women who come closest, if such a thing is measurable, lose out in life - they dedicate themselves to beauty rituals, to living a smaller life, to prioritizing men, at the detriment of their time, health, and happiness. Women who come the closest to non-compliance, say the most obviously butch lesbians for example, will be ostracized, lose out on opportunities, face harassment and violence specific to their non-compliance. It's a rigged lose-lose game on purpose, because it's not meant to benefit women in any way. Gender benefits men, women are oppressed by men. To describe gender is to describe women's oppression.

Most women pretty much fall in the middle. Most women are het, most women aren't particularly feminist, most women can't afford to dedicate themselves to the most extreme beauty rituals, most women try to work, most women try to marry and have kids, most women understand the cards are stacked against them and yet most women participate in enforcing the status quo (because...of course they do. it's the status quo.) So to some extent, all women will experience the "rewards" of compliance, and will experience the backlash of non-compliance throughout their life. Aging is arguably un-feminine, and women can't run from that, for example.

But femininity isn't a specific list of objective metrics, it's a nebulous concept of how women should look, behave, and experience the world, and the core understanding of how women should experience the world is as second-class citizens to men. So when I say that if it benefits those around you to see you as feminine or not, that's how you'll be perceived, I don't mean you're always walking around with a "femininity ranking" obvious to everyone and everyone is in agreement. I mean that if you are in obvious ways gender non conforming (say - you don't wear make up, you dress in men's clothes, etc), but the people around you are uncomfortable punishing you for your non-compliance, they will create the reason in their mind that you're actually very feminine to ease their own social anxiety about you. To give an example, you might be a butch lesbian, but your straight neighbor who likes you personally and needs to make an excuse in their mind why you're "one of the good ones" might say to themselves "but she's also so warm and nurturing" or "she's so great at baking" or "I love when she wears pink" or go out of her way to compliment you on your "new hair" when you grows it out an inch for once. You know, whatever it is. You can imagine infinite scenarios. Moms often get a "pass" from most people when they drop their beauty rituals to care for small children because they're performing the ultimate female role of being a mother. Of course, once those kids are teens, then it's "so sad she let herself go." Or god forbid they're seen as a bad mom, then their lack of beauty compliance AND their beauty compliance are scrutinized. "She was late bringing her kids to school again and she looks like a total slob, she can't get her life together" about one mom but the other mom gets "She was late bringing her kids to school again and of course her make-up and hair were perfect, she can't get her prioritizes straight." Lose-lose.

Hopefully that clarifies some things. It's worth noting that there are innate things about women that will always be "un-feminine." Heterosexuality is seen as the natural order of things in a homophobic society, and heterosexual marriage is a way to control women. Therefore, lesbians are seen as "wrong women", unnatural and hard to control. This is the intersection of homophobia and misogyny. Age, as I mention, works against women in a misogynistic culture. Old women are seen as hard to control and past their usefulness in birthing more children, therefore we try to control them by devaluing them based on "beauty." Beauty becomes synonymous with youth, with fertility, etc...

You can't win the femininity game, you can't lose it. It's a social construction meant to put women in a constant lose-lose situation at all times.

[yanderes-galore]

Izumo kamikaze romantic Headcanons if you please~😊😊

Been a bit since I saw Naruto and this is a side character so this may be a little short due of me not knowing much about him ^^; I'll try to keep things as in character as I can!

Sorry if I didn't nail the character, It'll take me time to learn new ones 😥 I hope it's somewhat in character at least. Takes place Part 1.

Yandere! Izumo Kamizuki Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Stalking, Obsession, Forced relationship, Murder mentioned, Slight manipulation/guilt-tripping, Jealousy, Clingy.

Alright, according to the wiki I found, Izumo is usually always found around his best friend Kotetsu.

He's also the most mature of the two.

Izumo is also very analytical in combat and has a water technique that immobilizes opponents.

He seems like he'd have potential as a yandere and prefers to work in pairs.

He'd probably get Kotetsu to help him in his obsession, too.

Even if Kotetsu doesn't like you as much as Izumo, he still likes to see his friend happy.

Izumo thinks knowledge is powerful when it comes to combat or anything in general.

He'd probably stalk and note down everything his darling does.

Most of the time he remembers the most important aspects of his darling's interests.

Such as your favorite food, color, weapon preference, fighting style....

Everything else is noted down and hidden.

Izumo talks to Kotetsu about you often.

They are almost never seen not beside each other.

Kotetsu is going to be the number one person that knows of Izumo's obsession.

At first, he may think his friend just has a crush.

You're a fellow chunin and Kotetsu is originally all for it!

The bashful smile on Izumo's face is worth it.

He gets so invested when he sees you.

Kotetsu only tries to discourage Izumo when he gets too invasive.

He knows a bit too much about you.

Right down to what you wear and what you do at home....

"Maybe this isn't a crush, Izumo...."

"What? Are you jealous? Why don't you want me happy...."

He's not really delusional.

He just focuses intensely on his obsession.

It's like he ignores that this is wrong.

He also plays it off around you as him preparing you for surprise attacks.

He's not stalking, he promises.

Izumo doesn't seem like a very physically affectionate person.

Although, if you hugged him who is he to refuse?

He can be jealous, though.

He doesn't like it when you go off alone on missions or ignore him.

He gets upset when he hears you did such a thing.

Do you not like him the same?

Similarly to how he is around Kotetsu, he doesn't like to part from you.

Which drags you into hanging out with them both often.

He hates space away from you.

He thinks you two would be the perfect pair/couple and already knows so much about you.

If he'd attempt kidnapping is unknown, murder is also up in the air.

Kotetsu would hear all about it before anyone else.

Which, hopefully, means he can correct Izumo before this obsession gets out of control.

If Izumo does murder... there's no doubt he's having Kotetsu help cover it up.

Izumo would be extremely happy if you liked him.

Then he doesn't have to resort to such extreme measures!

Kotetsu does note that you don't enjoy being dragged everywhere by Izumo all the time.

Also, if you don't accept his feelings and try to leave... he'll just use his jutsu.

He'll get a bit desperate with you while you're stuck to the ground.

He understands you may hate him now... but you'll love him when he shows you just how much he's researched!

Kotetsu may be the least responsible one of the two, but hopefully he can get his friend back on track...

It must be horrible to see your best friend be so obsessive towards someone so unwilling of his affection.