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carolmunson · 7 months

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the cars that go boom | (daddydom!sadist!eddie)

this fic isn't related to the title song reference at all, it's just stuck in my head. needed to get this out of my drafts so here's some ddlg themed sadist eddie that's been sitting in my draft folder for fucking ever and i'm sick of looking at it. tw: 18+ mdni ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, eddie being all over a cocky shit bag hottie who likes control but it's consensual, use of a vibrating toy. lots of allusions to other sex.

You watch him get out of the bathroom after his shower, tattoos stretched taught over softly cut muscles. You almost drool. He tried something new with you this week, an orgasm ban -- nearly a sex ban -- in fact, he didn't even want you to see his dick. And much like he always does when he finds a new way to torture you; he was feeling really pleased with himself about it.

'That's more than you deserve,' he hissed at you Monday night while you knelt obediently between his legs. He pet your hair while you watched TV and he jerked himself off, you were not allowed to turn around until he was finished. You pouted all night, and when it happened the next day you started pouting all week. But, the week was over, which meant your punishment was done. You'd spent all day getting ready, a long shower, smooth skin, body butter, his favorite perfume, everything you could do to feel perfect for him. You cleaned the trailer and made dinner, you kissed him when he got in the door to which he blushed and smiled.

'Hi beautiful,' he greeted you so gently, 'I missed you today.'

You watch him dress now, hair dripping while he tugs on a pair of grey sweatpants and a ratty cut off Iron Maiden t-shirt. You sulk a little. Those aren't normally the clothes he'd put on if he wanted to take you to bed, but you don't say anything just yet.

He goes to the kitchen table with a composition notebook and a collection of pens and markers, opening the beat up pages to what you can only assume is a new campaign, a new drawing of a map. You walk over while he mulls over it, adding new territory, scribbling in new lore. You let your hands slide over his shoulders.

"Hi baby," you say sweetly.

"Hi," he responds, focused on his notebook. Your hands slide forward, onto his chest, your face leaning down to his, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Whatcha doing?" you ask innocently.

"Workin' on a campaign," he responds, "We're gonna meet up on Wednesday night so I want it to be semi together."

"Okay," you nod, you run your fingers gently over his scalp, giving him a soft scratch. He keens into the touch, shoulders relaxing while he rolls his head back. You press your luck, letting your fingertip trace over the curve of his ear.

"Hey," he warns softly, "I'm tryin' to focus, sweetheart."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you apologize, but he can't see your grin. Your fingers continue to wander, giving him a sweet shoulder massage while he reads over his story. A quiet 'thank you honey', falls from his full lips while you work out the knots. You press your luck again, trailing your finger down the line of his neck that's the most sensitive to your tongue and touch. Eddie's shoulders tense and he sits up straight, turning to you with a sour pull at his full lips.

"Do you need something?" he asks pointedly. You feel heat rush to your cheeks, "Do you need some attention?"

You nod and he grins, pulling the other kitchen chair over, "Come sit next to me then, you can help."

You roll your eyes and sit down next to him, he bites his tongue at the offense, happy to get to spend some time with you like this. He gives you a chaste kiss on your cheek while you watch him work.

You barely 'help', just sitting there while he crosses things out and re-writes them. While he flips back ten pages and then forward twenty, grabbing a red pencil and putting it down for a blue pencil then picking the red back up and so on. You get restless watching him work, so you get up and grab each of you a beer. Another sugar sweet, 'thaaank you baby,' pours from him, this time deep and focused, dark and syrupy. Molasses tongue. It goes right to your thighs.

You press your luck a third time, scooting close to him, letting your hand smooth over his covered thigh and further up, skimming over his cock that was perfectly outlined in his sweats. He let's out a frustrated sigh when he takes your hand away from his crotch, gently putting it on your lap when he looks at you sternly.

"Daddy's busy, baby," his eyes look down at you, his dominance brewing under angry brows, "Why don't you go play by yourself in another room, hm?"

He turns his attention back to the campaign notebook, while you throb from being scolded. The humilation pools through you when he chastises you, eyes lingering on you while you continue to sit there. After a beat, you get up to walk to the bedroom hearing his voice as you do.

"Good girl," he teases, "Are you being a good listener?"

You look back and see his grin while he leans back in the kitchen chair, crossing his arms. His legs are spread wide under the table, cool authority flowing off of him.

"Are you?" he asks again, a smirk cracking his face as if to ask, 'Does this embarrass you?' It does, it's humiliating.

"I'm a very good listener," you respond quietly, heart dropping in your chest.

His brows raise, waiting for you to add more to the sentence. You let out an aggravated huff through your nose, crossing your arms.

"I'm a very good listener, daddy," you repeat.

"There we go," he smiles cruelly, "Go have fun, sweetheart."

'Have fun? HAVE FUN?' you think to yourself while you go to the bedroom and shut the door with a firm click, 'Fine! I'll have fun without you then! See if I care!' It's not fair that you've been quite literally begging to be fucked for seven straight days, but to go straight into teasing you like this? The type of dominance that makes you feel the most -- god -- embarrassed? Degraded? You'd rather gag on fingers and have him wipe your spit on your face. You'd rather him make you lick someone's cum out of his ass, literally anything but this.

With a huff you open Eddie's top dresser drawer and grab the Hitatchi he bought you as an anniversary gift last year. Hastily, you plug it in behind the bedside table before climbing on to bed, shimmying your jeans off and tossing them to the floor.

Your legs spread, bent at the knees, turning the toy on low and slowly lowering it onto your covered core. The hum is quiet, barely a tremble in the head of the wand when it meets the lacy fabric of your panties. A soft gasp escapes you at the feeling, it had felt like years since you'd been touched there. You move the toy up and down slowly, teasing yourself, little puffs of breath escaping you as you do.

With a click, the buzz intensifies, sliding the head upward to settle softly on your clothed clit. You whimper while your hips start to move slowly against the vibrations, the whirr of the toy filling your ears while your eyes shut. You keep yourself like this for a little, enjoying the slow sensation, the mild tease. You feel it start, like the hook looping into the first car of a roller coaster train, the first tug when the attendant hits 'go'.

“Huh!” you gasp out breathy while your hips twitch. Your lower lips start to swell against the gusset of your bottoms, slick building between them. A slow start. You savor it, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Look so pretty like that, baby,” you hear his voice and gasp, tossing the toy next to you and snapping your legs shut. He smirks, a devilish chuckle bubbles from his chest, “Oh no, don’t let me interrupt. I said you could go play by yourself, and look at you…”

His voice raises in a lilt, while he sits on the bed. He passes you the wand and smiles, “You’re being such a good girl for me.”

“Go on,” he says with a nod, “Show daddy how you were playing.” You lean back on the pillows, opening up your legs again slowly. He glances between them, eyes flitting down to your mound briefly before meeting your eyes again, he subconciously licks his lips. You keep your legs up and bent up against your chest so he has a view, puffing out a soft sigh when you click the toy on again. He looks at you with a hazy gleam in his brown eyes, nodding slowly at you to remind you of his permission. You run it up your thigh before settling it back down on the center of your slit, letting the vibrations pulse over your entire core. "Hm," you hum out softly as your brows pinch together in a tilt. "Aw, yeah?" he coos out, "Does that feel good?"

"Mhm," you whine, lower lip tucked tight between your teeth. Yuo swallow when he reaches his hand out, smoothing over the soft plushness of your inner thigh. He squeezes, grinning when you let out a soft grunt with a twitch of your hips.

"You've been so patient this week," he purrs, "Such a good girl. Isn't that right?"

You nod hurriedly, watching his hand slide up your thigh, his index finger tracing up the hem of your underwear. It's a smooth hand off, watching his rings gleam in the bedside lamp when it wraps around the handle, both of your hands falling flat by your head. Your palms face the ceiling, matching your eyes when he turns up the vibrations. "Isn't that right, baby doll?" he asks, adding a gentle pressure up against you. Your pussy strains against the fabric the more excited you get, back already in a soft arch while you push into the mattress. "Y-yes, sir," you manage to mutter out. "No, no, that's not who I am tonight," he admonishes, still in a soft and steady voice, almost sweet -- like you don't understand anything. He takes the toy away; making you whimper, leaning up on your elbows behind you.

"You know how to address me," he says, a serpentine confidence flashing in his face, "You're a big girl, aren't you? Or do I have to teach you?"

You let out a shrill groan, head leaning back on it's hinge while your legs kick out in frustration in front of you.

"Hmm, of course," he says, getting up off the bed to pull off his shirt and slide off his sweats. His boxer briefs hug him in tight but it's there and it's missed you more than you've missed it this week, "You act like this and you don't think I should treat you like a little girl?"

You look up at him, bitten lower lip jutting out with a sheen of spit.

"So pouty, too," he coos, crawling onto the mattress between your parted thighs. He sits up on his knees, tall over your frame splayed out on the bed. He lifts one of your legs, pressing it flush against his chest so your foot rests by his ear.

"M'not pouty," you say back while his other hand reaches over your cheek with a light back before splaying over your jaw. His thumb brushes your lower lip before pressing on the dip at the center.

"Open," he instructs, you don't even think to stop yourself. You suck his thumb slow, letting your tongue lave over the length all the while. Spit fills your mouth, wet and eager, already inching at the corners of your mouth. You might as well drool. "Very good," he purrs again from the back of his throat, "Someone learned her lesson this week."

You nod, taking his wrist to steady his hand while you take more initiative with his thumb, implying what you really want.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," he says lowly, taking his thumb from your mouth. He wipes the spit on your cheek before reaching back over to the wand, keeping your legs spread and holding thight to your thigh against his front.

Your hips shimmy when he holds the toy back in place, thumb running over the power button but not pressing down.

"Hey," he says, commanding, "Look up at me."

Your gaze snaps to his in unadulterated obedience, his distaste for even having to ask evident on his face, "You know better."

"I know better," you nod while you say it, confirming his words. "You do not ever stop looking at me," he glowers down.

"I don't ever stop looking at you," you repeat back, needy for whatever he has for you next. Your hips shimmy again, you try to stifle the whine in your throat but it comes out just the same; desperate and childish. "Oh, baby, do you need help asking for what you want?" his voice lilts, "Does daddy have to guess?" "Turn it on, please," you whisper. "Please what, princess?" he asks, voice mocking with a knowing stare, leaning down so your knee hooks over his shoulder. His chest hovers at an angle over you, chain and guitar pick dangling over your lips. "Please what?" he asks again. "Please daddy," you whine, "Please turn the toy on." "Look at those manners," he grins wickedly, "My sweet girl."

He turns it on, speed setting high with the flick of his finger. It rumbles loud, thighs already twitching while runs it back and forth over your sensitive clit. "Fuck," you gasp out, eyes rolling, "Oh my god, right there." "That's not a very nice word, sweetheart," he chastises, "What do you say?"

"S-sorr-Oh! Oh my god! Oh! -- Sorry, d--shitshitshitshit-- sorrysorrysorrysorry," you nearly cry when the cord in your belly snaps, gushing into the fabric against your core. He greedily keeps your thighs apart, watching while you come undone under him. You gulp when he doesn't take the toy away, your sensitive nerves screaming at the buzz of the vibrator. Your hips writhe and jump, trying to pull away from it all the while he's shaking his head no.

"Gotta hear that apology, princess," he murmurs, "Say sorry."

"Sorry daddy, I'm sorry," you babble out, "M'sorry I'll be so good, I'll be good." He let's out a satisfied hum, clicking the wand off and placing it gingerly on the bedside table. His hand lingers for a moment to make sure it doesn't roll off and then finds it's footing back on the mattress.

"You'll be so good?"

"So good," you nod when he settles back between your thighs. He crawls forward like a cat, pressing his hips slowly up against yours. You sigh needily when you feel the drag of his erection against you, whimpering when you see it affect him the same way. "Shit, baby," he smirks, trying not to break character while he grinds against you a second time, "Fuck." "That's not a very nice word," you tease back, looking up at him through heavy lids. "Well I'm not a very nice guy, am I?" he muses, leaning in to kiss you deeply before one hand reaches down to tug at your panties. You giggle, a sound that sends him reeling when he's in this kind of mood. "You're very nice," you whisper against his lips. "Hmm, yeah?" he growls, noses brushing while he lingers above you. He offers another roll of his hips right before he gets to work on pulling your panties down slipping them off of each ankle with ease. Undressed completely below him, he admires you. He hadn't seen you like this all week, finally getting what you've been waiting for. So patient, so willing. He runs his hands from shoulders to hips, greedy fingers digging into you rough and tumble, grabbing and kneading with disregard to comfort. "Daddy," you start, getting his attention in a voice that makes him ready to serve accordingly, "Fuck me."

A smirk splits his face, it's cute when you ask so brazenly when you're busy looking at him with those sad puppy eyes. "Please, fuck me," you reiterate while he readies himself, boxer briefs peeling off to leave him bare. Your soft gasp at the release of his cock is more of an ego trip than he expected to have, never realizing how much you truly need him like this. How you can really only get off to him, how you've submitted in every way you could. "Daddy's gonna fuck you, sweetheart," he says steadily, climbing back ontop of you, pressing your thighs to your chest, "God, m'gonna fuck you real good."

He leans in for another hungry kiss, ownership laced in his lips. When he breaks away you catch his chin in your hand, an action that makes him bristle, jaw clenching at your attempt at control.

"Fuck me like I've been bad," you request in a timbre so low he nearly melts at the sound, "Fuck me how you fuck bad girls."

He's never flipped you over so fast in your life.

#eddie munson smut #dom!eddie munson #daddydom!eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader

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atyourmerci · 2 months

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† Salvation †

Read pt.1 and pt.2

†

Summary: finale of repent series! Drabble of abby and readers life after abby comes to terms with her sexuality. Happy ever after lesbos<3

Warnings: smut, MDNI, switch!abby, switch!reader, religion play of course, strap usage, refers to strap as cock, cunnilingus, overstimulation, bondage, smnophilia, dirty talk yurrrr, some fluff

A/N: thank you so much for all of the love on this series!! Religious guilt/trauma is a tricky subject and I’m glad that I was able to portray it in a light that most of you could relate or sympathize with. And yall im so bad at writing fluff that’s why this is so short lmao that’s why I only write smut. I’m so excited to write through more niche experiences and topics. Love you like always<3

†

That night was nothing like the first. Your God showed mercy, wrapping your cold, shaky body with cloth and carrying you to where it all started.

This time she held you and never left, she was there was the sun came beaming down, drying out your soaked hair. While you were asleep she had removed her cross and strung it along your neck. Maybe there was no need hold a token of a god she had already met, maybe she wanted everyone else to know- you never cared to question her antics.

After your mission had ended she immediately broke things off with Owen, reclaimed herself within the community. And she for one took no shit with the commentary from anyone about the two of you. Her life mission was to protect you at all costs now, you were all she knew. She wouldn’t leave your side anymore. Anything you did she made sure she was there to protect you, she wouldn’t put your life in anyone else’s hands but her own.

There was a lot of things you had to teach Abby, and by teach, that meant showing her with your legs wide open. On a mission you both were sent out on to look for resources you ran across a run down sex shop. You found a girthy dildo with black leather straps, it was bigger than anything you’d ever taken but with the look of excitement on Abby’s face you couldn’t say no to her. You told her you could use it on her but she insisted on fucking you right there over the counter at the dusty sex shop. She wasted no time dragging your pants down to your ankles and ripping your panties seams to get inside, ”I’d tell you to suck my cock first but you’re so fucking wet already, how bad have you wanted this,hmmm?” She promised she’d go slow, walking you through it, “fuck you’re doing so good, taking me so well for your first time.” After your pain had been replaced with sheer pleasure she couldn’t hold back anymore, pumping into you so hard there was sure to be bruises all over your hips. After abusing your hole for an hour for her own amusement she finally let you cum while drawing circles around your swollen clit as she pounded deep and slow thrust into you. you were so cockdrunk she had to carry you back to the truck and finish the mission herself, it went by quickly as she imagined things she could do to you next with her cock.

She loved showering with you at night, she never let you lift a finger, washing your body gently after sneaking in the strap into the showers. Maybe it was because she learned how to fuck you in the showers that it made her so dominant in that environment. She wouldn’t let you touch her in there even after you begged her while she pinned your arms against the wall, overstimulating your clit over and over again until she was done with you. After she’d run you a bath and hold your fragile body as she ran soapy strips up and down your bruised skin, making sure to kiss every inch so that never missed an atom of your being.

Abby only regressed back into her old ways when she let you take complete control. She’d let you tie her to the bed you shared edging her till she was in tears, babbling prayers to climax. You’d tie her cross necklace around her clit and tug on it while you used your tongue to fuck her dripping hole. You’d only let her cum after she got on her knees like a whore eating away at your cunt while you shamed her for her sins.

Your life with abby wasn’t like anything you’d ever experienced before, but there was no before her, or after her. There was only your god, and hers.

Maybe she had still repented for her sins, maybe she had reached salvation at the mercy of your own sins.

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson2 @lanafresitas @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed

#abby anderson #abby anderson smut #the last of us #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby angst #abby the last of us #abby tlou #sub abby

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benedictscanvas · 4 months

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pretty boy, pretty girl - jamie tartt x reader

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

a/n: okay yes. it has been six months. which is actually mad to me, but there we are - whoops! i've been off following my dream and wrote this while procrastinating an assignment, so this is by no means a return!! honestly i was just itching to write it, but i don't know how much time i have for more - enjoy nevertheless <3

warnings: just a little bit of suggestion towards the end, reader is referred to as 'pretty girl' as the title implies amongst other pet names, quite a lot of swearing (some things don't change)

---

“Hi love.”

Jamie barely murmurs it as he walks past you, can’t help himself but to drag a palm along your back, one shoulder blade to the other, as he goes.

He knows he’s bold sometimes, but he swears it’s instinct. He glances back to see whether your expression holds any discomfort, but all he finds is your grin, a tiny wave. He continues on his path towards the canteen, knowing that your corridor conversation with Rebecca is probably important.

Somewhere between here and there, he decides to get your lunch, your usual, and sits alone on a table until you appear.

You do, three and a half minutes later. As soon as he sees you, the irrepressible urge to make you grin again is back with a vengeance. He waves you over to his table with a gesture to the food he’s got for you and- there it is again.

If he was a slightly smarter man, maybe he’d consider why all it took was the sight of him to draw your lips upwards, set your eyes alight.

“Thought I’d save y’ from the queue,” he speaks, still soft, in a tone he feels he only uses with you. You match his unnecessary low volume.

“Thanks, angel,” you say easily, and you must not see his stomach doing flips, “Too good to me, you are.”

“Shut up,” he deflects, wonders if you can see him fluster at your nickname for him, “Are you still coming tonight?”

You groan. He frowns, and you quickly correct.

“Sorry. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, you sound proper convinced, an’ all.”

You chuckle, taking a bite out of your sandwich and taking a pause to chew. Jamie eats too, content to let you think before you speak. It was slowly teaching him to do the same.

“I’m just boring, Jamie. My favourite people are all under this roof, but usually they’re sober, you know?”

He often forgets you don’t really drink. Your friendship (however sour that word feels in relation to you) usually confined to these halls, to the pitch, to various football stadiums up and down the country. When they all get a chance to let loose, you’re very quick with the excuses, but he’s believed them blindly until this moment.

“Shit, y’ don’t drink, right? I can’t imagine that’s much fun in a club. I won’t tell anyone if you happen to come down with an illness or somethin’ this afternoon.”

You’re grinning at him again, all bright and sunny. It’s downright infectious, so Jamie nudges your foot with his on purpose and then apologises like it’s an accident.

“You’re alright,” you reassure, “I will join tonight. Even if it just proves to myself I’m not missing out on anything. Maybe Colin’s not as bad a drunk as I’ve been led to believe.”

Jamie winces.

“No, he is pretty bad,” he admits and then finally comes up with something to make you more comfortable, “Hey, what about this? I won’t drink either and we can spend the evening laughin’ at everyone else.”

You poke his hand and he tries not to drop his crisp packet.

“It’s everyone’s ‘relax and recharge’ night, Ted said. We both know you relax much easier with a few drinks in you. And I’d never judge anyone for that, I really hope it doesn’t come across like I’m judging any-“

“It doesn’t, sweetness,” he cuts in, “But actually, I’ll relax better if I’m one hundred percent positive that you’re relaxing too. What better way than judgin’ everyone else, together like?”

You purse your lips thoughtfully, mid-chew. He feels like he’s holding his breath, like he’s underwater and you’re in charge of the oxygen tank.

“Well, see how you feel when we’re there. It sounds lovely but only if you’re still up for it when we’re right next to a bar,” you say, still unconvinced. He wants to convince you fully, but he can’t decide if he should argue with you or kiss you silly before you speak again, “Hey, if not, I’ll buy you a drink?”

“Pretty sure that’s my line, love.”

“I said it, I meant it. Girls can buy drinks for pretty boys, you know.”

He thinks you might have removed his oxygen tank now. There’s some cruelty in that sentence but you don’t know you’re wielding it. He wills himself to flirt back even though it’ll only make him feel sick.

“Okay, pretty girl. One passionfruit J2O, please.”

Another grin. He’s so fucking fucked.

---

He’s been waiting for you for around forty minutes. He doesn’t know if that’s the normal amount of time you take to get ready, even if he wishes he knew, so he just waits, leaning against his car.

After fifty, he decides there’s no harm in just checking you’re alright and haven’t slipped on a sparkly floor that an evening cleaner has done a number on.

You mentioned going to the kit room to get changed, and he meets Will on his way there.

“Hey mate, you seen Y/N?”

Will looks paler than he’s ever been. Guilty. Jamie narrows his eyes and waits.

“Kit room.”

It’s all that Will says. When Jamie doesn’t walk off immediately, still waiting for an explanation for Will’s strange demeanour, Will turns around and legs it all the way down the corridor, turns left at the end and never returns.

Jamie shakes his head and continues in the direction of the kit room. The closer he gets, the more he hears. Muffled banging, shouting. He picks up the pace.

“Y/N? Love?”

“Jamie! Jamie, in here!”

Your voice floats out from the kit room and he hurries over. Still very confused, Jamie turns the door handle and finds the door won’t budge, however hard he shoves his shoulder against it.

“It’s locked, babe. Did you lock it?”

He hears your exasperated sigh and feels a little embarrassed.

“No I didn’t bleeding lock it! Well, I did, when I was getting changed, but then when I unlocked it my side it had been locked from the outside.”

Jamie struggled to put the dots together. Had Will locked you in? Judging by the running, he had… and he’d done it on purpose. A spark of anger shot down Jamie’s spine but he tried to convince himself there must be a reason.

Before he could, there was a hand on his on the door, pulling him away. It was being unlocked by another hand and then he was being shoved inside, hard enough to stumble against one of the benches. A piece of paper was thrown at his face and Jamie groaned as he heard the lock click back in place.

“What the fuck?” he muttered as he stood up fully, more dazed than angry now as he stared at the locked door.

“Jesus, Jamie, are you alright? Who the fuck was that?”

“I dunno,” he says, staring at the door as if it might have answers. Your hand on his face wakes him up, his eyes shifting to yours where you look him over with concern.

“You’re alright, though?”

You ask it like you need the answer, and Jamie needs you to stop trailing a finger along his hairline either way.

“Fine, love,” he assures you, patting the juncture between your shoulder and neck gently until your hands drop to your sides. Then he raises his voice, and he’s not really talking to you anymore, “Whoever’s locked us in here as some kind of joke won’t be fuckin’ alright though!”

No answer. He picks up the small piece of paper from the floor and reads it in his head.

Tell her, you prick.

He’s actually going to hit Roy with his car. Lightly, definitely not enough to damage him, but enough to really, really piss him off.

This was all some ridiculous attempt to make him tell you how he felt about you? Absolutely not. Never. He wouldn’t be coerced into something so delicate, so important.

“What’s it say?”

You’re peering over the top of the paper, but he folds it in two before you can read anything. His chuckle comes out strained.

“It says: Get fucking pranked. Must be Roy, he’s probably scared Will into helpin’ him, the fucker. I’m afraid it’s payback for putting all his socks on the ceiling last week, babe, an’ you’ve been caught in the middle.”

You pause, staring at your shoes. For some reason, you look far more forlorn than the situation calls for, but it’s gone before he can think about it further.

“On the ceiling?”

He nods and you giggle. It’s only as you step away from him in your laughter that he realises how close you had been. He should’ve savoured it.

It’s also only as you step away that Jamie finally gets a glimpse of your outfit and nearly reaches out to the nearby bench for strength. He’s never seen you in a v-neck anything before, let alone a dress, and he thinks it might do him in.

“You look good,” he says lamely, then tries again, “Great. Fan-fuckin’-tastic, I mean.”

“I like that last one,” you smile, ducking your head. He thinks, or rather hopes, you’re a little flustered, “Fan-fuckin’-tastic happens to be what I was going for.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, words gone as soon as he’d found them. And now he was staring. Shit.

“I like your suit,” you say, maybe breathless yourself. It must be his ears. You reach up as if you might fiddle with his lapel but just point towards it before your hand drops again. You practically fall down onto the bench you’re both stood beside and he follows, ever obedient, “Shame no one else will ever see it. How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

The suit isn’t for anyone except you. That’s what he’d say if he had any stupid bravery. He’s an awful coward, he thinks.

“Until Roy gets bored or Keeley finds out I reckon,” Jamie guesses, “Y’ wanna play I-spy?”

You sigh, but when he peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, you’re grinning your silly, lovely grin again.

“I spy with my little eye…”

---

It is around 11pm, when Jamie has not long fallen asleep against the jacket he had scrunched behind his head, that he feels your hand on his ankle. He can tell, as he wakes without opening his eyes, that you’re not trying to rouse him. The touch is light, feathery. Maybe an accident.

No, not an accident. It wouldn’t have lasted this long, and your thumb is drawing absentminded circles into his ankle bone. You think he’s asleep and you’ve reached out to hold him anyway.

He opens his eyes but doesn’t move. His legs are stretched out on the bench in front of him and you sit upright next his sock-clad feet, one hand on his bare ankle. You’re staring at a piece of paper so intently he wonders what could possibly be so interesting.

“This doesn’t say get fucking pranked, Jamie,” you murmur, and his hand flies to his jacket pocket. It must have fallen out when he slumped into a slumber. He’s sat up in a blink, watching the hand that had been so soothing, fall back at your side suddenly.

“I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“No, don’t,” you insist, still staring at the piece of paper. Instead of whirling on him for answers, you reach calmly into one of the boot cubbies beside your head and pull out a piece of paper from one of the boots. You chuck it at him without looking.

He unfolds it with careful, if shaky, hands.

Tell him, you silly shit.

It takes him an absurdly long time to understand what the hell this second piece of paper means. Later, when the two of you look back on this moment (and you do so often), you’ll wonder how he could have been so dense and he’ll spin you a line about how too good to be true it all felt. But in the moment, he has no lines and no words, until your hand lands heavy on his knee this time.

“Jamie,” you say softly, through a grin that is so different from your usual that he could pass out. It’s so beautiful and so strikingly lovesick that he thinks he might actually be sick, “What do you have to tell me?”

“What?”

He feels dumber than he’s ever felt. But your hand is still on his knee and now you’re shuffling closer to him on the bench.

“What do you have to tell me?” you repeat, then you poke his chest playfully as you add, “You prick.”

He still looks confused, so you clearly decide the best way to catch him up is to kiss him.

You pull away after a moment, a moment of pure heaven, because clearly you don't want to kiss him fully until he's all clued in.

"Come on, pretty boy," you say, teasing, "Figure it out. I was going to buy you a passionfruit J2O. It's the sign of all signs."

He should be laughing at your joke, but all he really wants to do is kiss you again. And again.

Maybe again.

"Oh pretty girl," he says, and he feels the rumble of his low tone in his chest. He places a hand on your face, fingers itching at your hairline, "I'll tell you anything ya wanna hear, I swear. Anythin'."

He hears your breath hitch, but he feels it too, where the meat of his palm is covering your neck.

"Anything?" you answer back, "I could have a lot of fun with this."

You scrunch up your brow like you're thinking and he's so stupidly in love with you that he just tells you. Too-soon be damned.

"Smooth talker," you laugh, giddy, and you kiss him again. And it's so good that he doesn't even remember you didn't say it back until hours later.

(at which point, you say it back so many times and in so many ways, Jamie is certain that he's the luckiest man in the world. he might not hit Roy with his car after all)

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x you #ted lasso x reader

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phyrestartr · 6 months

Text

The Intern | Miguel O'hara x M!Reader

#NSFW, Age Gap (mid 20s and mid 30s), reader's a homewrecker, Miguel's a cheater, mentions of toxic marriage, male!reader, bussy loading, porn with feelings, Miguel's a bit of a dickhead, top Miguel (for now), bottom reader (for now)

Note: I can't write anything without making it into a series lol I'm writing another part right now leave me alone!!!

-- The Intern --

[ How it Started: 1/2 ] [2/2]

Miguel didn't take interns. He hated them, actually; the way they'd needle him with too many annoying questions, the times they tried flexing their unimpressive knowledge of genetics, the way they'd fail to flirt and catch his eye–all of it ticked him off, made him snap and snuff out their bright, curious flames. He didn't mean to. He didn't want to make future scientists lose steam. But he had a limit, and these day, it was hit way too fucking often.

That didn't change when the tours came through. Actually, between his wife pushing his buttons and the young, bright-eyed scientists eyeing him over, everything just pissed him off more, shortened the limit exponentially.

And he saw you there, listening to someone with a better temper talk. You didn't look all too impressed. You were maybe a little bored, actually. Your eyes swept across the room in wide arcs, looking for something interesting to land on. That was a feeling Miguel could relate to all too well.

But your eyes eventually landed on him, somehow. You pursed your lips slowly, like it'd make too much noise otherwise, while your cheeks lifted in amusement. You glanced back to the speaker and back to Miguel, eyebrows gesturing too perfectly: get a load of this guy, eh?

Miguel's expressionless mask slipped for a moment, and he twitched a smirk. He shook his head and looked back to his work.

He did, however, glance at you on your way out. You didn't look back at him.

–

He and Dana agreed to separate. It'd be a momentary thing, a way to work out the kinks in their marriage without more random accusations and hurtful words being thrown at each other on the daily. Miguel didn't want that. He didn't want Gabi to be subject to it, most of all.

The separation calmed things down quite a bit, down to the point where Miguel wondered why they were arguing so much in the first place; until Dana did a very Dana thing and decided, for some reason, she couldn't take care of Gabi by herself while they were separated. Probably a ploy to get them back together under the same roof. Probably a scheme to manipulate the situation.

But Miguel could play hardball, too.

He'd pick Gabi up every day after school, and take her to the lab, but sequestered off in the cafeteria where a security guard was always present. She'd get to snack, she'd do her homework, and Miguel could work knowing she was safe. Not ideal, and maybe a little lonely for her, but easy.

Checking up on her was another good excuse to walk away from his work, too. And one of the times he passed by, in desperate need of a cup of coffee and boost from his little girl's warm smile, he saw someone sitting with her.

He watched for a moment as he stirred his coffee. Then, he realized it was you, that random intern from the tour a few months back. You were sat across from her, munching on whatever your late lunch was, and nodding emphatically to whatever his little girl was going on about. Her arms gestured wide and her giggle resonated brightly in the room, drawing some annoyed glances and cooing comments, but you didn't miss a beat, matching her laughter and big gestures. It was nice.

Miguel's shoulders relaxed a little for once.

He saw you there more days than not. And the days you weren't there, he often spied Gabi looking around, no doubt wondering where you were. It hurt his heart a bit to see her pout, truth be told, and he started to realize he should probably get to know you if you were inadvertently babysitting his kid.

So, the next time he found you there, he walked over.

You were beside her this time, both hunched over her usual tablet full of homework. You were the one gesturing wildly this time, talking too much with your hands as you explained fractions and common denominations and the sort in a way that truly only kids could tolerate and understand. Miguel had to put an end to it if he wanted to talk with you.

"So, for this one, the little bitch on the bottom is–"

"Sorry, 'little bitch'?" Miguel interjected, smirking when you jumped and Gabi gasped in delight. "Don't think that's proper terminology. Just a hunch."

"Daddy!" Gabi called, happily turning in her seat to hug her father. Miguel's mean smile softened into something kinder and gentler.

"Hey, mija. Doing your homework, huh?" He asked as he brushed back his girl's hair. "He's not giving you all the answers, is he?"

You balked before interrupting yourself. "Woah, hey, no, no, no, I'm makin' her do the stuff 'n the things, don’t worry 'bout it." Woah. Okay. That was a heavy Nueva York accent. Not what Miguel expected.

"Yeah! I'm doing all the work! Mr.(Name)'s just helping when I get stuck 'n stuff!" Gabi's brows knitted together in concern. "Don't get mad at him!"

"Yeah, don't get mad at me, Doc–she’s a smart kid, she don’t even need me to do this stuff for her, y’know?”

“Well, I already knew that.” Miguel smirked as you huffed. He sat down on the other side of Gabriella and peered across her tablet at you. “You’re an intern, right? You were at the–”

“The tour, yeah.” You nodded a bit and propped your elbow up on the table before resting your cheek against your palm to watch Gabi solve her equations. “Saw you, too. You looked pretty pissed.”

“Intern day isn’t my favourite day,” Miguel offered with an unbothered shrug.

“Yeah, I figured. You looked like you wanted to light ‘em on fire."

"I could've, but then I'd be out a free part-time babysitter."

You laughed lightly, and Miguel caught the charming dip of dimples light up your face. "Oh, so that's how it is, huh? Guess I ain't mad at that. Gabi's a good kid, reminds me of my niece."

Miguel raised his brows a bit. A niece. "Huh. Guess that explains a lot."

"Dunno what you mean by that, but I'm gonna hope it's a good thing."

Miguel smiled a bit. "It's a good thing."

You smiled, too, though a bit more smug and proud. "Yeah? Good." You glanced up at the clock on the wall and sighed, the cute tilt to your lips suddenly vanishing.

Gabi caught on and sent a powerful pout your way. "Already?"

"Yeah, sorry, chica. Gotta get back to work." You stood up and offered your hand to Miguel. "Didn't introduce myself. I'm (Name)."

Hm. Miguel liked how that sounded.

"Miguel. Miguel O'hara." But you probably already knew that, though you had the decency not to point it out.

"Nice to meetcha, Doc."

You shook his hand and ruffled up Gabi's hair before seeing yourself out, a sudden haste in your scrambling steps as you checked the time again. Hah. You must've been late for something.

"He's nice," Gabi said. Miguel's eyes fell back to her.

"You think so?" He's not bad-looking, either. "You're okay with him? You feel safe?"

"Ah-huh, ah-huh. He's not mean." Her big brown eyes sparkled up at Miguel, then. "I like 'im! Are you gonna be friends with him?"

Miguel glanced back your way, surprised to see you standing by the elevators and glancing back at him. You looked away when you got caught, but turned back again with a little wave, like you’d realized turning away looked awkward and suspicious and had to rectify it.

A light smirk tugged at Miguel’s lips. “Yeah, maybe.”

–

It started with chatting at lunch. Then, it turned into light touches on the shoulder and your thieving hands plucking whatever sort of drink or snack Miguel held in tired hands. And then, well, it just got worse.

Miguel growled into your ear as he held you pinned against the wall, his hips slamming up against yours, driving himself deep into your core. To your credit, you held your voice well, only letting the slightest peeps and squeaks out when the older man happened to hit your soft spot in his wild momentum. It’s not that it would’ve mattered, though; the Halloween party’s music blared too loudly in the cafeteria for anyone to hear you getting fucked braindead in Miguel’s office.

“Mmmmnnn–Doc, wait, wait, ow, ow, ow–” Your thighs constricted around his waist in a panic as you hissed and dug your blunt nails into his massive shoulders.

Miguel paused his cruel tempo and finally took a second to breathe. “I–what? You okay?” He asked, brushing some of your messy hair from your face. The corner of his mouth quirked with amusement as he was reminded of the dried fake blood trailing down your mouth, and the glue-on fangs you had set to your canines. You looked quite cute as a fucked-out vampire intern, he had to admit.

You nodded weakly as you panted. “Y-Yeah, ‘m good, you’re good.” You tilted your head back and bonked it on the wall behind you, no doubt influenced by the alcohol in your veins. “This wall sucks. Hurts my back.”

Ah. Miguel probably shouldn’t care. This was just a fling, some stress-relief from his frustrating marriage.

But he was too weak, apparently. “Tch. Picky,” Miguel scolded into your ear before pulling you off the wall.

“Picky?” You repeated, clinging to him desperately.

“Incredibly picky.” He walked a few steps, carrying you with his cock still buried deep inside of you, and rested you on his pristine desk instead. “Better?”

You sighed and pulled your shirt down more while you both got situated. “Yuh-huh.” You looked at him with that infuriating, lazy smile and wriggled your hips against him. “Continue.”

Miguel’s eye twitched. He couldn’t help but feel like he was accidentally subservient to you for that split second. He was supposed to be in control, not you.

“Smug brat,” Miguel scoffed before hoisting your legs over his shoulders and pistoning into you cruelly.

His core ached with want as you arched beautifully off his desk, and through the buzz of booze, he admired you; your own heavy cock wept against your stomach as your diaphragm stuttered with each needy dive into your messy heat. Your face flushed a captivating crimson while your eyes fluttered and shone with unspent tears clinging to your lash line. Then, your stupid costume teeth bit into your lower lip as your voice started to break free from its restraints and pushed by your bobbing Adam’s apple, letting new whimpers and clipped moans fill his office.

“Doc,” you whined, screwing your eyes closed and fisting your hand around your length. “Doc–”

Oh. Oh no. You were cute. Really cute in the way you started letting out bubbling praise and babbled wants, in the way your free hand clawed at his arm to just touch him and hold him while your high threatened to push you off the edge and into that endless spiral. Miguel hadn’t felt this wanted in a long, long time. He hadn’t been showered in praise, told how good he was, given someone’s full attention for even longer.

He couldn’t remember the first time he came first, either.

Because he did, with his teeth clenching, his thrusts breaking down into something erratic and out of tempo, he spilled inside of you. Electricity pulsed through every synapse of his nerves, bringing a wash of cool, prickling energy to his palms and curling fingers as he gripped on you harder, tighter, jamming himself inside of you with a reckless abandon.

“D-Did you–?” You asked. Miguel caught your gaze, and another gush emptied out of him–your eyes, wide and doe-like in surprised amazement, were too captivating, too endearing. And when you realized that, yes, you’d made him cum first, you were quick to reach the same peak.

Miguel was the one to moan this time. Your body clenched down around him in desperation to hold him still while your own white-hot bliss ripped through you. Pearly strands of white roped across your trembling hand and your stomach, one after the other, until there was nothing left to give. But with a sharp slap to your ass, Miguel found there was just a little more you could both give.

“Good boy,” Miguel mumbled, voice thick and full where it trilled. He gave you another good spank. “Good boy.”

Miguel slowed his hips gradually, slowly catching his breath in tandem with your wild panting as the afterglow stayed where the too-hot sear faded. His nerves relaxed with his body. His mind soon followed suit, too, which was a problem and a relief; a problem because he didn’t feel a shred of guilt, but relief in the realization of how simple this exchange was. Just sex. With someone he could tolerate.

“Shit,” you breathed. You glanced down at the mess you’d become, and grimaced. “C-Can a good boy get a, uh, a tissue or, like, five?”

Miguel rolled his eyes. He popped open one of the drawers to his desk and pulled out a tissue box and set it beside you before, like the bastard he was, he pulled out of you without warning and watched your hole clench around nothing before glossy whiteness oozed out of you. He ignored your sharp complaints in favour of enjoying the show and meanly stuffing his cum back into you before, for a third time, giving you a slap on the rear like you were a good ol’ used truck.

Miguel snatched the first tissue to clean himself up and tossed it away, tucking himself back into his pants and straightening his clothes out like nothing happened, before turning and walking away.

“Hey, wh–seriously?!” You cried (or whined, or complained) at his back.

Miguel smirked to himself before calling over his shoulder, “Make sure you clean my desk up, too. I’ll get you kicked out of the program if it’s not in perfect condition tomorrow morning.”

But he almost crumbled under your sweet, cooing pleas for him to come back, to stay a little longer, but thankfully, a whirlwind of petty insults were thrown at his back when he reached the door. And he found the strength to keep going, to subject you to his little game.

A cruel game of torturing his favourite intern.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv imagine #atsv reader insert #male reader insert #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel x male reader #male!reader #atsv male!reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #phyrestartr #smut

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hyukalyptus · 7 months

Text

focus on me — yeonjun x fem!reader | besties to lovers. NSFW/MDNI!

cw. reader has a vagina/clit, cunnilingus, hair pulling, pet names (love, babe, baby), nipple play, kinda emotional and sensual (not angsty), kinda cringe but whatever, yeonjun kinda guides reader lol notes. my first lil fic on my new blog! for those of you finding this in the tags, this is bibibinnie! i had to make a new blog, but it's me! it probably would've made more sense for my first post back to be kai related but oh well, i'll get em next time. anyway- this is supposed to be a really slow, sensual, romantic-ish smut. i hope y'all like it. smut under cut! wc. 1.2K

“I’m nervous…” you trail off, closing your legs, but his hand still caresses your hip.

“Love—” he says, his smile dropping at the sight of the awkward expression on your face. “Can I call you that?” You nod, ensuring to smile because, well, the nickname does warm your tummy. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I want to though.”

Your name falls out of his mouth in a whisper, “I’m not doing anything unless you’re one hundred percent sure.” It was a fair point. You’ve been best friends for forever and feelings, while they grew over time, all seemed to make themselves known so suddenly this evening during a typical friend date.

“Yeonjun,” you sit up straight, using your elbows for support. “I’m one thousand percent sure. It’s just—I’m nervous. You know I’m shy…and it’s a lot of pressure—”

“If you feel like I’m pressuring you, then I don’t—”

“Nonono, you’re not pressuring me at all,” you say, relief written all over his face. “It’s just a lot of pressure to…y’know…make you feel good too.”

“Oh,” he chuckles. “I will. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I was going down on you, love. I just wanna taste you—actually, I wanna make you feel good. That’s all I care about.” Looking down at him, he has the cutest smile on his face and you can’t help but return the smile back. “Yeah?”

“Listen to me, okay?” You nod. “I want you to really feel me.” Ghosts of fingertips brush against the inside of your thighs. The most delicate of kisses placed right at the top of your thighs. “Close your eyes,” he says. Following his instructions, you let your lids fall closed, laying your head down on your pillow. “And just feel me, baby.”

The smallest prod at your wet center makes your heart race, waking your entire body up, your pussy clenching around his fingertip. He’s simply gathering your wetness to softly slide between your lips. Just barely missing your clit, your hips roll with his finger.

When he finally does rub against your clit, though, you gasp, reaching for his hair, but, “No,” he halts. “Don’t touch me. Feel me. Feel how I’m making you feel.”

“But—” your chest rises and falls with your breaths.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Arms at your sides.” Your body rolls again. “Feel it all in your body. Pay attention to your toes…your fingertips…your chest…everything.”

Woah. This is definitely something new for you—someone so focused on your pleasure and your pleasure alone. And it’s magical to say the least.

Something new finds its way to your clit—his tongue. He glides it devastatingly slow across you and you gasp again, earning a nice low groan from him. “Feel good?” You nod. He’s talking to you, tongue replaced by his thumb. “Control your body. Take deep breaths, focus on me, love.”

“Fuck, Yeonjun…” is really all you can make out, drawing a chuckle from him.

“Feel the difference between this…” he flicks his tongue over your clit delicately and slowly, sending shivers down your spine. “And this—” then he glides his wet lips over your sensitive bud, a completely new feeling to you, forcing you to buck your hips up into his mouth. “Breathe,” he whispers before gently sucking, releasing you with a wet pop.

This is just so…you don’t know what to think. He’s making you pay attention, making you feel everything, making you feel things you’ve never felt before. The way your muscles react to his movements, how heavy you’re breathing, the spinning in your head.

“I feel those goosebumps,” he chuckles, his tongue continuously flicking your clit while his hands graze your bare thighs. “Feel how the air feels on your skin.” You’re noticing more and more things—you can feel the hardness of your nipples without touching them, sweat dampening your back, his nails barely digging into your squishy thighs. “God, you’re delicious.”

Your pussy flutters with his words. And for a moment, his tactic changes—he’s just tasting for himself for a bit. It’s no longer slow and delicate, it’s deep and intense. But when your fingers find his hair, it wakes him back up and he slows back down. And it’s absolutely delicious.

Everything is heightened—you’re hyper aware of everything—how your toes barely wiggle, your pussy barely fluttering, how trapped your tits feel in your bra.

“Stop—” you blurt and he stops immediately, asking what’s wrong with a worried face. “Sorry, I just need to take my bra off,” you chuckle with an eye roll before quickly slipping it off from under your shirt, keeping them covered by your thin t-shirt. “Continue.” He’s hesitant, eying you up and down.

“Can I?” He asks, tilting his head toward your chest; you answer with a simple nod. He keeps his fingertips on your clit, continuing to rub gentle circles as he delicately lifts your shirt past your tits. And his reaction is everything. Eyebrows stitched together in relief, mouth dropping open at how gorgeous you are, a hungry look on his face. But he follows his own advice. He controls himself, taking deep breaths before placing soft kisses on the sensitive skin under your breast, finishing it off with some licks. “Keep your eyes closed, love.”

You nod, letting your head fall back again, taking deep breaths.

“Feel this?” The tip of his tongue finally glides over your hard nipple and you gasp again, rolling your body. He flicks and sucks your nipples so fucking well. And— “Can I bite them a little?” Nodding furiously, you can’t wait to feel that little sting of his teeth. And oh does it feel amazing. Two fingers inside of you, his thumb on your clit, tongue and teeth on your nipples.

“Yeonjun—” your breath is heavy. “I’m gonna cum.” He halts.

“Breathe,” he whispers, lips peppering kisses all over your tummy as he makes his way back down. “Hold it for a bit. Don’t focus on cumming,” he places another wet kiss to your inner thigh. “Focus on feeling me.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Babe, I want you to focus on feeling your orgasm,” he says, making you chuckle.

“Of course I’ll feel it.”

“Just pay closer attention to how it feels this time.” Switching positions of his tongue and thumb, he wanted to make sure you came in his mouth but your nipples weren’t ignored. And you can hardly bear it. Everything simply feels incredible and you’ve never been made so aware of your body before.

The wetness of his tongue flicking your clit. The length of his fingers pumping in and out of your cunt. The deliciousness of his thumb and finger playing with your nipple.

“Jjun, please—” He knows what you’re asking. And he’s finally nodding, letting you let yourself go, cumming hard against his mouth. Your clit pulsates against your tongue, your back arches with bliss and euphoria, and your moans are the prettiest he’s ever heard in his life.

And you listened to his instructions. You took the time to feel every last bit of your orgasm and you noticed things you’d never noticed before…wiggling toes, contracting muscles, breathy sighs.

It takes a bit for you to come to your senses after coming down from your high, but you’re greeted with the smuggest smile on his face.

“Fuck.”

“Damn, you’re so fucking hot when you cum.”

#hp's writing 🪲#yeonjun smut #yeonjun hard thoughts #yeonjun hard hours #yeonjun #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #yeonjun fic #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun ff #txt fic #txt fanfic #txt ff #fem!reader #kpop fic #kpop ff #kpop fanfic

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vhstown · 9 months

Text

miles g morales x you headcanons

— 42!miles x gn!reader (dating)

warnings: fluff, brief mentions of violence, angst if you squint

note: ok i know i didn't write him like a bad boy rizzful cool criminal bf but this is just my interpretation from the 1min of screentime he had 😭 i hope someone likes it? i don't really but it's ok posting anyway, kind of long a lot of ramble

wasn't edited previously but is now!

Miles has never dated anyone before, so naturally, he's never kissed anyone before. In fact, though he's reluctant, he asks his uncle for advice about you (just as a nephew in need, of course.) It's sort of hilarious to see the boy with such a cold and unbothered exterior try to flirt and make a move on you. When he asks you out, he nearly trips over himself trying to block your way, and nearly trips over himself again when you say yes. When you try to kiss, he freezes up, but eventually gets the hang of it. It's surprisingly sweet and careful; warm.

Miles is hesitant to date you — date anyone. It's a casual sort of thing at first; he doesn't want to get too attached. But what draws him to you is the fact that you can make his life feel so normal, so simple and in-the-moment. It doesn't take long for him to realise that this is what he wants.

He does everything in his power to keep his criminal identity a secret. When there's rumours going around about the Prowler, he's quick to shut down the conversation with vague, uninterested answers. He's not scared of many things, but he's scared of the only person he can really be Miles around leaving.

So, the boy tries his absolute best to be good to you. Yes, he misses dates doing God knows what, but he's quick to try and reschedule or show up to your door with gifts, food, anything he thinks might make you happy (despite your annoyance, he's really good at making it up to you.) When dates aren't working, he decides to take you on spontaneous ones, going around Brooklyn and wracking his brain for anything that might interest you or be nice enough for a date. Half of your date is usually spent walking around together, but it's more fun than you think to pass time together like that.

For the time you do manage to spend together, you notice he's very observant (he has to be to survive as the Prowler.) Miles remembers every little detail about you and what you like. Things you told him since he met you are still firm in his memory, even if it was something you said off-handedly or to somebody else. He's always surprising you with little things you mention: an accessory, dessert from the place you wanted to try ages ago, etc.

Miles is very aware of your interests and whenever he passes by related stores, he's always asking you if you want anything. You're the only person in his life other than his family; of course he's going to cherish you.

But the second thing Miles is worried about is his mom. He's very overprotective over his mom, understandably so. She's the only parent he has left and he knows she overworks herself trying to provide for them. He's always trying to help her when he can, doing chores and errands without question and per his uncle's suggestions, but if something was to happen to her, he'd blame himself for it above all. So when he introduces you to her, he's more than uncertain. It's not like you could do anything to her, but he's made it a habit to never fully trust anyone anyway.

That is, until he sees how Rio completely lights up around you. She's so thrilled that Miles has a friend (or whatever Miles told her you were.) Even though she can only talk to you for a few minutes before her shift, she automatically opens up her home to you, telling you that you can help yourself to the kitchen and come over whenever you like. She whispers a couple things in Spanish to Miles that you can't quite catch, and he doesn't care to mention.

But you can definitely guess what she keeps telling him. Whenever he brings you over, he acts aloof, almost awkward trying to follow what his mom says to make you comfortable. The house and Miles' room suddenly becomes eerily spotless whenever you're due to come over, and the cupboards are in complete order. Rio's always asking Miles where you are, and she treats you like you're her second kid. She's very aware that you might be in the future (though Miles keeps denying it.)

You catch glimpses of his uncle sometimes. He doesn't really talk to you, but the man is calm enough. Miles seems to be comfortable around him, but when he finds out, you can make out an amused glint in Aaron's eyes whenever he sees you. Miles doesn't take you to see his uncle; he'd rather you're not aware of the man's ridiculous way of teasing him.

Whenever you come over, you both make it a habit to snack, play videogames, listen to music, whatever you feel like doing. It seems like he's always trying to keep you there. Miles will never admit it, but he misses you a lot. All he really does to show that is pull you into a silent hug and kiss your cheek when he sees you again, asking in the lowest voice what you've been up to.

When you asked Miles about his interests, he tells you the ones he shares with his uncle at first — music, art, etc. But whenever you go into his room, you notice a bunch of empty shelves and hastily shut drawers. Miles never really shares his real interests with anyone (he thinks they're childish more than anything), but when you insist, he bedrudgingly takes out the figures, comics and posters, acting like he put them away ages ago and forgot about them (more 5 minutes before you came over, if it wasn't obvious from the way he was flushing.)

The two of you spend a while putting everything back. You ask him questions about it and he returns them with short answers. When you leave that day, his heart is full, and his jaw hurts from trying to hide his smile as he looks at his shelves filled with superhero figurines and comics. He won't be touching anything now that you've put them in place. He really can be himself around you, though he's still a bit reluctant.

On top of Miles' other "secret" interests, he likes drawing. He keeps a tiny sketchbook where he draws people mainly, and you catch glimpses of it sometimes when he thinks you're not looking. Half of it is ripped out (there drawings of his mom, uncle and comic book superheroes scattered around his room), but the faces that do remain are of his dad, unfinished. There's another drawing he's never finished in there too. It's been constantly erased and redrawn; it was meant to be you. Eventually, that page is ripped out too. You can't find it no matter how hard you look; it's in his jacket.

And at first, the boy was kind of awkward. He didnt want to hurt you; he knows he very well could. He usually let you initiate anything (though he's clingy as hell and was just shooting that feeling down as much as he could.)

When he does get more comfortable around you (especially after he's sure it's not just a fling), he's always kissing your cheek, forehead, your hair; his kisses are surprisingly chaste, sweet, much like your first one. He holds your hand often too, even if you're just sitting next to each other, fingers firmly locked together with the occasional squeeze to let you know he's still there.

But he's no short of a tease too. Miles always likes to say pretty things in Spanish just to get you riled up. Even if you might understand what he's saying, he says it under his breath so you can't catch it. Miles doesn't repeat himself, instead giving you that stupid cocky smirk you've grown to love (and hate.) Sometimes he lifts your chin to make his eyes meet yours, maybe to see you flustered too as he studies your face in silence, poker-faced, not responding to anything you're saying. You think he's being teasing, but he just really doesn't know what to say. You're his, and sometimes he just can't believe it.

What he really loves though is holding you close: his head over your shoulder or your head against his chest (or his against yours, with much pestering) so you can't see the way that he's smiling. As much as he wants to be the cool and distant boyfriend, he's a big softie, absolutely melting with your affection, always quick to return it with his own.

But when you're out, it's a different story. He's not only overprotective of his mom, but of you. It really shows when he walks you home. He keeps his arm firmly around your waist, giving dirty looks to anyone who goes even an inch too close to you. He whipsers "you okay?" and "c'mon" while basically directing you around.

Miles knows these streets better than anyone else, but he's not going to take you through quick back alleys. He'll take you through busy main streets, maybe stop by a bodega to pick something up for you if you're still hungry while he eyes every corner of the store, even go on the subway with you if you're feeling particularly lazy, your back to his chest with an arm around you so you don't fall. He's always muttering about being safe, and his street smarts definitely rub off on you; his advice is sound, almost too experienced for a random kid living in Brooklyn.

However, Miles won't let you find out. No matter how much he's juggling being the Prowler, his family and you, he'll make it work. He can't lose this, no way in hell. Even if he has to lie to you about his seemingly random injuries or ditched date nights, you'll never find out about that purple blur that skids past you when you're outside at odd hours. They're just rumours after all, he tells you.

🕸️💫👾

thank you for reading 😭🙏 i struggled w this one and hobie too but idk i love 42 miles he's just some guy fr .... im thinking of writing a friends to lovers fic w 42 miles but im not sure yet (im just really lazy but lmk if ur interested?) + thank you to @qiuweyballs for the inspo i hate you (endearingly)

if u liked this reblogs are appreciated <3 catch the rest of my atsv headcanons here! love ya

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artbyblastweave · 8 months

Note

I've never made any connections between Worm and the Captain America mythos before. Spill some ink?

Okay, so from a purely aesthetic perspective, the gimme is Miss Militia. She's the most obvious "Captain Patriotic" in the roster, she has the power of GUN, she's the only one who actively buys into the mythology of America specifically. She's a Kurdish woman occupying an aesthetic niche generally held by a rugged squinty white guy. She's an output of the melting pot narrative. She's sort of a rendering of what a grounded superhero who somehow became very aesthetically into America might look like. Not in the craven marketing-driven way of Homelander or Comedian, not in the jingoistic maniac way of USAgent or Peacemaker. She buys it in the broadly left-liberal (USamerican connotation of that term) safe, friendly, reclamative way. Why, what a great rehabilitation of the archetype!

She's also deeply, deeply afraid of rocking the boat. She's got a deepseated childhood trauma related to the bad things that happen when she puts herself in a leadership role. She goes along to get along. When she's proactive, it's usually to point a gun at Tattletale to stop her from upsetting the status quo. She sits through a lot of situations where Steve Rogers, as commonly modeled, would probably plant himself like a tree by the river of truth and go, "Hey, this is fucked up." She more or less capitulates to Undersider domination of the city, in a way that predisposes us to think of her as a voice of reason after all these total nuts that Skitter's been up against- but would Taylor "to relinquish control is a form of ego death" Hebert really be willing to leave someone in charge of the local Protectorate branch who she thought couldn't be corralled? She looks like a beacon, but doesn't- indeed, probably can't- ever truly behave like one. I mean, you can debate the on-the-spot morality of any given one of her judgement calls, that's actually one of the less exhausting Worm Morality Debates to have- but in aggregate, a person in American flag garb who actually meaningfully criticizes the paramilitary organization they're part of is not gonna survive long in that role!

So again, she's the gimme from an aesthetic standpoint. But what I don't really see a lot of discussion of is how Cauldron plays into the riff.

Captain America is institutional, but in a comically morally uncomplicated way. The serum was originally mana from heaven, granted to a living saint, conveniently divorced from any nitty-gritty sausage-making process and even-more conveniently divorced from the horrible consequences of giving the, uh, the U.S government a replicable super soldier process. And in fairness to Captain America, this is 100 percent something the overall mythos eventually patched to my satisfaction; the sausage-making process eventually revealed as prototypical government fuckery driven by human experimentation on black servicemen, the overall Marvel Setting littered with failed attempts by the U.S. Government to recreate that golden goose so they can have their fun new jackboots. (In Ultimate Marvel, this is how almost all contemporary superhumans were created, and this is a state of affairs with a body count in the millions or billions.)

Cauldron draws you in with the same noble rhetoric about greater goods, the same one-off proprietary irreplicable formula- but you don't get the luxury afterwards of representing nothing but the dream. You aren't partnering up with a plucky crank scientist with a heart of gold. You're selling your soul to an organization with an agenda. The narrative makes no bones about the fact that everything you do is fundamentally tainted by the fact you opted into an end product created through torture, kidnapping and human experimentation. You don't get to pull a Kamen Rider by going rogue or opting out or making good use of the fruit of the poisoned tree; you are owned, and everything you do has this Damocles sword hanging over your head- when are the people who bankrolled this going to come to collect?

So that's the question of "who would willingly dress like that" covered, and the question of who creates a serum like that. What about the question of who takes a serum like that? I'd argue that Eidolon is the examination of that. Pre-Cauldron David reads to me like pre-serum Steve Rogers viewed through a significantly bleaker lens. They're both sickly kids desperate to serve, rocketed to the pinnacle of human capability by an experimental procedure. But for Steve Rogers, the crisis was that he had a specific vision of the world and was frustrated by his inability to carry it out. Before the serum he picked fights over what was right and wrong and got his ass handed to him; afterwards he picked those same fights and just started winning instead. The serum neatly solved a problem he had, and to the extent that his mindset is influenced by his pre-serum experiences, it's generally constructive; a desire to protect the weak, help the helpless, an appreciation for people who stand up for what's right even when they're clearly gonna get pancaked for their trouble. So ultimately there's no dark side, downside, or underlying neurosis ascribed to his initial impulse to take that serum.

But with David, it's not a tragic case of the spirit being willing but the flesh being weak. He isn't a preternaturally-noble soul, out to represent the best elements of the American ideal- he kind of represents the inverse, a guy who's been failed at every level while utterly convinced that he's the problem. He's actively suicidal because he's a wheelchair-bound epileptic in an economically-depressed socially-backwards rural town in the 1980s, and he's spent his 18 years of life internalizing the idea that he's worse than useless unless he can somehow find a way provide value to something larger than himself. Doctor Mother finds him in the aftermath of a suicide attempt spurred by his rejection from the army- and he didn't even want to join the army specifically, necessarily, he just needed his situation to be literally anything else, and he took what he thought he could get. And then he finds himself in a position to become a superhero, so he does that, molds himself into that, subordinates himself to that, builds his entire sense of self and values around the value he can provide in that role. No grand design or sacred principles carried over through the metamorphosis. Just relief at finally, finally having something that looks like an answer to the question of what he's supposed to do.

And you know, you know that if Steve Rogers was facing down the barrel of being depowered, he'd smile and nod, he'd Cincinnatus that shit. It's happened before. But for David, the emotional trauma and self-worth issues that caused him to roll the dice on a Steve-Rogers treatment never really went away. When would it? He's been Providing Value as a ten-ton Hammer Against Evil for thirty years. No family, no social life. Certainly, no incentive on his handler's part to lance his Atlas complex. So he barrels towards atrocity in the name of remaining useful. Admittedly, this is where the comparison breaks down in a significant way; Captain America is much more of a symbol than he is an irreplicable powerhouse, so it's not catastrophic if he's taken off the board. Eidolon is so unbelievably powerful that his myopia and self-centeredness actually do align with a real problem everyone else is gonna have if he loses his powers. But in terms of the starting points- I think that Steve Rogers embodies the myth about why you'd want to join the army that badly. Eidolon is, I think, much more closely modelling why you'd actually want to join the army that badly.

#apologies for the delay in responding #worm #wildbow #parahumans #worm meta #eidolon #thoughts #meta #miss militia

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skipper1331 · 8 months

Text

Lost and found // Patri Guijarro

a/n: based off this request. Please enjoy :D

"Shit!" looking though your bag, you frantically searched for your keys. "Shit, shit, shit" You've looked in every opening of your bag but just couldn't find it. Everything important was on your bunch of keys, car keys, keys to your apartment, for the garage, keys for your childhood home, everything. "¿Qué pasa?" your favorite spaniard asked as she walked to you after seeing your stressed out face. She placed her hand on your back, an innocent act to calm you down. "My keys! I don‘t where they are!" Defeated you sat down, arms crossed. Where had you put them? "Why are you so stressed? Here, there they are" Patri wiggled with them in front of your face, grinning.

"Ah! What? How?"

"Maybe you should check your jacket the next time" the midfielder whispered in your ear, answering your question. She pressed her lips against your temple for a quick peck before she walked back to her cubby, Mapi and Alexia sharing a look.

"Fucking hell" you grumbled, looking for your phone. You could‘ve sworn you had it a second ago. You searched in the kitchen, your bedroom, the bathroom, everywhere. The only phone you found was Patris which was in the kitchen. As you entered the living room the spaniard sat on the couch, some movie playing in the backround. Your hands rummaged around on the couch, desperately looking for your phone. "What‘re you looking for?"

"My phone" you whined, turning around every cushion while the midfielder started to laugh. "Here," she gave you your phone which she had in her hands the whole time. How did you not notice? "I asked you if I could play my game on your phone and then you gave it to me"

Embarassed, you slapped your hands on your face, hidding behind them. How could you forget that? Patri was obsessed with that one game you had on your phone, she always asked if she could play and you never say no. "Don‘t hide that beautiful face of yours" her hands placed themselves on your hips, pulling you down so you sat on her lap.

The two of you weren‘t together but also not just friends, there had been a few sneaky, stolen kisses yet nothing more. "You can‘t keep losing your stuff, one day you‘ll get lost yourself" she whispered, her thumb drawing circles on your hip.

"I‘m trying" you mumbled as your head fell on her shoulder.

"But I had it the whole time" Patri told Pina, Mapi and Alexia in their native language. She found it too amusing how you dramatically looked for your phone yesterday. The three spaniards laughed at the story. "maybe you should help her look again" Pina stated as you rummaged through your bag.

"No! No, no, no" full of worry, you searched for your shin pads, you needed them.

"Wanna bet in 5 seconds Patri finds what she’s looking for?" Mapi challegened her team mates "we know you would win, look" la reina replied, nodding her head in your direction.

"They‘re made for each other, don‘t you think?" the young striker asked. Mapi with a mischief smile on her face looked at Alexia, her patner in crime, before she answered, "Sí"

"Not again!" you were angry and annoyed. No, this time it wasn‘t your phone what you‘re looking for nor your keys or any football related stuff, you‘re missing your headphones.

You unpacked every single thing out of your bag - nothing.

You looked in your jacket pockets - nothing. Trouser pocket - nothing. (They wouldn’t have fit in there but you looked there anyways)

Where could they be?!

"Cariño, what‘re looking for this time?" she smiled sympathetically at you. Sometimes she thought you would lose your head if it wasn't attached to your body. "My headphones!"

She took a step towards you, her hands went around your neck, not touching it though, but the headphones that were around it. She pulled them up, placing them on your ears. "There you go" she whispered, her hands now resting at your neck. "Thank you" you gazed in her eyes, the most beautiful you had ever seen.

"They would kiss each other If they weren‘t in the locker room" Mapi stated.

"They‘re clearly in love" Pina chipped in.

"I can only agree" said Alexia.

Please pick up, please pick up

"Y/n?" the sleepy voice of Patri rasped through the phone "Patri!"

"Do you know what time it is? It‘s 3am!"

"I‘m sorry, okay? But i- i don‘t know where I am and my phone will die soon" within in seconds the spaniard was wide awake, already out of bed. "What?!"

"I’m lost. Please can you get me?"

"What do you see?"

You told her about your surroundings - she knew where you were. Immediately, she ran to her car. Why the fuck would you be outside at 3 in the morning? Alone! She was furios. She ignored the speed limit, there was hardly anyone on the streets at that time anyway. Her only concern: you. How could you be so stupid and go out at that late at night. It‘s dark and your sense of direction was as good as Mapis signing. Horrible.

You sat on a bench, waiting for Patri, there was barely light, the only one came from the moon. When a car pulled up, you turned around but didn't get up. A few cars had already passed you, none of them the girl you‘re waiting for.

The car stopped abruptly as she drove onto the path which lead to you. An angry Patri stormed out of the car towards you. "Are you crazy?!" the spaniard shouted as she walked to you, "What were you thinking?" The girl was angry, more than angry. You opened your mouth to explain but- "Don‘t! Get in the car" crushed, you looked at her but followed her command, your head hung low, your eyes fixed on the floor. That was until you realized someting "no, please, no" you whispered, your hands went in all your pockets - no keys. "Don‘t you dare to say you‘ve lost your keys" Patri said as she saw how your hands went in every pocket.

"I haven‘t lost them, they‘re at home"

"Dios mío, Y/n! One time, one time where you don‘t lose your stuff!"

"It‘s not my fault!" Now, you were getting upset. You get that she was mad at you because you woke her up and she had to drive here but there was no need to yell at you for being forgetful - you weren‘t forgetful per se you just lose your stuff and don‘t know where it was. "Who‘s fault is it then? Hm?"

"Mapi‘s!"

"¿Que?"

Now, the spaniard was confused. Why - How could it be Mapis fault? "If she hadn‘t said that stuff, i would be in bed!"

"You lose your stuff quite often huh?" the spanish defender asked as she took a seat beside you. "And Patri always knows where it is" you looked at her confused, what was she talking about? "Kinda like soulmates, don‘t you think?" she slipped her arm over your shoulders "you‘re in love with her, aren‘t you?"

"What?"

"And she‘s in love with you" she was smiling at you but you couldn‘t tell If it was a nice one or the smiles where after that blackmail would come. "It‘s cute, you know, everyone knows you’re made for each other."

"What are you talking about?"

"Gosh! You‘re always on my mind! And today was no difference but that Mapis words haunted me. That I‘m in love with you and that you’re in love with me, that we‘re soulmates because I always lose my stuff and you find it," you couldn’t stop talking, everything bubbled out of you, "I- i couldn‘t sleep so i went for a run or a walk - i don‘t know and then I got lost. I didn‘t know who to call so I called you. Look, I know you’re mad and I know it‘s three in the morning but please stop yelling at me." you were walking up and down, trying to catch your breath.

"Are you? In love with me?" she took a step towards you, stopping you in your track as she placed her arms around your hips. "Gosh Patri! We kissed one- multiple times nothing more. Don‘t be so cocky" you couldn’t describe how you felt, you felt angry and upset and so caught up in your thoughts.

"I am in love with you" she pulled your body against her own before she pressed you against the car. "I‘m in love with you since the first time you lost something" her eyes met yours, yourself still rambling about Mapis words, your own feelings and the key you had forgotten at home. "You hear me?" She pushed herself more in to yourself, her hand up to rest on your cheek - you stopped talking. "I‘m in love with you. And those kisses weren‘t nothing. They were everything," she whispered against your lips, an inch away. You could feel her breath, "i don‘t care If you lose stuff but i care about you" pulling back again, a respectable amount of space between your lips. "Do you know how terrifying it is when you get a call at 3am from the girl you love who‘s telling you that she‘s lost!" her voice got louder before it got more quiet again, "Amor, I was worried not mad at you about waking me up" your mouth agape, not believing what she‘s saying. Your brain couldn‘t process everything, only the one thing that was the most important "you love me?"

"Yeah, of course I do"

You lunge forward, pressing your lips against the spaniards, a kiss so desperately needed. Your hands grabbed her neck, pulling her impossibly closer, her hands around your waist, tightening every now and then. It was euphoric. "I do, too" you whispered against her mouth before pulling her back in.

Lost and found.

————————

#patri guijarro #patri guijarro x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #barcelona women #barca femeni #fcb femení #fc barcelona femeni #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni

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updatingranboo · 8 months

Text

tips and tricks for ranboo fans to make chat (and the community) a better place!

hello! since the rebrand is coming up i decided i wanted to make a list of certain things ranboo fans should be discouraged from saying/doing, to keep chat/the community fun and keep from pushing ranboo back into the box of a streamer they no longer are. i personally don’t believe in cringe culture, i think everyone should be able to have fun, but at this point certain jokes and comments restrict ranboo from growing as a person and do reflect on the community. this got a lot longer than i was expecting, apologies! lets begin.

gender jokes (“genderman”, you stole my gender etc)

a super obvious one. getting gender envy from ranboo is normal and super awesome! nothing wrong with that. but the jokes have been overused. the genderman one specifically has ties to minecraft which, while ranboo doesn’t care about being associated with minecraft, it’s still a tie to their past content they would prefer to leave behind. this is the same level as calling them an “mcyt”, while there’s no harm in it and ranboo really doesn’t care, it’s also just.. not really true anymore and hasn’t been for years. let them grow!

2. *blank*boo/general spam

*blank*boo is nothing but spammy. all it does is fill up chats and replies and brings no substance to anything. spamming “tiredboo” when they yawn, “madboo” when they yell etc. is not contributing anything meaningful to a chat. it’s annoying and drowns out actually fun and interesting comments. as for general spam, you can use a few emotes here and there! but when all you do is spam emotes it again just floods the chat. when ranboo tells chat to stop spamming, you stop. don’t take it as a challenge, you will just get banned. yes there is delay, but you can see what other people in chat are saying too. spamming lag, telling them they missed a dono, anything where you find yourself repeating what other people are saying to either get their attention or just because (except for using bttv emotes) just don’t. i know most people are used to speaking in a fast chat, but the truth is chat doesn’t have to be fast! if you don’t have anything to say, you can just stay quiet. even spamming the PETTHEMODS emote defeats the purpose !!

3. telling off chat

slightly related, you don’t have to tell off chat either. going “chat stop” “oh my god chat” just adds to the spam. change the subject! ignore the spam and let the mods take care of it. focus on reacting to the stream and being silly, not being backseat mods.

4. the swearing obsession

ranboo is almost 20. they make so many innuendos every stream. they are heavily considering adding a mature warning to most streams from here on out, and as we have seen they no longer are the “family friendly” kid who they used to be. he can say shit and fuck and people can be normal about it. you don’t have to say LANGUAGE or go THEY SWORE ?????? he’s an adult and can swear. all of his friends swear and a huge portion of us in the community do too. it is not a big deal

5. telling ranboo what to do

back seating in video games, as well as in other situations when it’s NOT ASKED FOR is not fun. let ranboo do what they want. this applies to just general things too- you don’t need to tell ranboo to go to sleep. they can make that decision themself. again, he’s almost 20.

6. assuming ranboo is uncomfortable with something

it’s always good to be careful about respecting boundaries! but don’t confuse your own boundaries for theirs. ranboo has said many times that if something bothers him, he’ll talk about it! it’s safe to say they are more uncomfortable with you harassing an artist for drawing something you personally don’t like, over the actual art itself.

7. the chat hopping/mentioning ranboo unnecessarily

we all love ranboo. that is very obvious. their friends love them too! but when you go into one of ranboos friends chats or comment sections and start either asking about ranboo, telling his friends to play with them, or making unnecessary references to their content, it makes their friends want to do things with them less! streamers are their own people. there’s nothing wrong with watching one of ranboo’s friends streams because ranboo is there, i do it all the time. a lot of us do. the biggest thing is to be RESPECTFUL to the person who’s stream you are watching. if you chat, chat to the streamer! you don’t have to mention ranboo. or, just stay out of chat if you don’t think you’ll be able to stay on topic. you don’t have to speak in chat! there is the flip side of this, don’t bring up other streamers in ranboos chat unnecessarily either! no one cares if you saw two colors and it made you think of something unrelated. it’s so disrespectful to the streamer to do this.

8a. unnecessary negativity

the internet can be a very negative, reactionary place. seeking out negativity just for the sake of an argument is unhealthy and can also expose others to arguments that they wouldn’t have had to see. bait, obvious unchanging bigots, and also people who just don’t like ranboo (which is valid!) don’t need to be engaged. in the case of trolls, bait and bigots, they only bring negativity and are there to cause arguments. don’t give them the attention they want. As for people who just don’t like ranboo, you can leave them be too! Not everyone has to like ranboo. he can handle it, you don’t need to defend him or try and change someone’s mind. now, unnecessary negativity does not equal call outs/criticism!

8b. please criticize !

if something happens in the community, or from ranboo directly that hurts you or makes you uncomfortable, don’t be afraid to say something and help make us all better people! ranboo wants criticism. if it’s purely in the community, try reaching out to the other person first! often things can be settled privately so as to not hurt others by dragging them into the conversation or making things heated and causing people to attack each other. on the other side of this, if you see criticism from someone and feel the need to defend ranboo: don’t. if you are affected by something (ie. you are a person of color and the topic is racism) feel free to add to the conversation! if you do not have an opinion on something (ie lesbians call out lesbiphobia, and you are straight) keep it to yourself. let the people actually affected by something talk and have an opinion, and support them. it may feel like people are “attacking” ranboo (or you!) but they are not. they are real people with real, valid feelings, who want to feel safe in a community when in real life, they may be constantly victims of horrible things. listen first. if you still have your own opinions, reflect on them and why you feel the way you do, and dissect any implicit bias you may have. these are all important things that keep a community safe, happy, and mutually respectful!

ranboo encourages everyone to be good people and use common sense. remember when you say something, people other than ranboo see it too! every account has a person behind it, so treat each other with respect and help make the community a more fun and safe place for everyone to be in. ranboo has no tolerance for bigotry, racism, misogyny, antisemitism, ableism, and so on. remember to be aware of the things you are saying, and if you don’t know why something is wrong, look it up or try asking someone politely!

thank you for taking the time to read all of this! this list is non exhaustive. there are plenty of other things you can do in the community to make this a better place, from uplifting the minorities in the community more, to supporting artists by reblogging/sharing and commenting on their art, and more. at the end of the day though we are here because we love ranboo, so by following guidelines like these and putting in the effort, you show ranboo and the other people in the community you care and make everyone proud.

that’s all for now! keep boobing!

#ranboo #not updating ranboo #technically #sorry if any of this is worded weird! i wrote it at 4am

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that---one---kid · 5 months

Text

The cold snow

Coriolanus x Reader

AN: Sorry it kinda progressed really fast and I should’ve wrote him getting gradually more obsessive, but I’ll write another like that. Do yall think reader should relate more to teens nowadays though? Should I put her hitting a vuse in the next fic?

Smut, non-con, dub-con, arranged marriage, dark!Coriolanus, baby trapping, mentions of murder, threatening, reference to domestic violence, drugging, loss of virginity

Not once did you feel love for a man. Not once did you plan on getting married. And not once did you ever consider marrying a man from the capital, they were all the epitome of stuck-up, heartless and cruel bastards dressed up to hide it with a thick veil of elegance, but, alas, when did things you wanted ever go your way. You hide a scowl as the man you had heard far too much stood in front of you next to your father. “..and I'm sure she’s looking forward to the dress!” Your father laughed. “I’m quite sure my cousin is just as excited to help with the design.” The snow-haired boy- no, monster, said, turning to face you, his cold blue eyes look unnerving in the dim light of your dining room. You wondered if he had that same look in his eyes as he came up with ways to monetize innocent deaths. You give a forced smile, directed towards your soon-to-be husband. “I can’t wait to see what she comes up with!” Your voice sounds more strained than intended. Your father's hand lands heavy on your shoulder and he gives you a squeeze before speaking. “Coriolanus, it’s been an absolute pleasure as always, but I hate to keep you too late. University I’m sure is tiring enough and you’ll have Y/N to talk your ear off soon enough.” You shift your shoulder and shake his hand off. Your father gives you a look and Coriolanus smiles before taking your hand and raising it to his lips, bowing slightly he kisses your hand softly, the feeling of his lips on your skin makes a chill run up your spine. “Right again Mr. L/N, but I do look forward to having someone else to talk to aside from Gran’mam and Tigris and Y/N is a wonderful conversationalist.” Your father makes his way to the front door alongside Coriolanus while you snake away as they’re too preoccupied with a conversation of politics and wedding arrangements. You quietly make your way upstairs, narrowly missing a maid in your hurry to slip out of your dress and into a bath, washing the filth you felt from that monster touching you off of your skin. You weren’t naive to Coriolanus Snow. Despite a year his junior plenty of people had talked of the tenth games, of Coriolanus’s ideas, and even reminiscing on it made your blood boil even more so the fact that your father would not only condone his actions but praise them. He talked nonstop of Coriolanus’s genius and innovative brain, paired with an influential name is precisely why he was so eager to offer you up as a bride for this up-and-coming president. A soft knock on your bedroom door alerts you. “I’m in the bath!” You yell. Hearing a soft creek, footsteps slowly follow. “Hello?” You yell, a brunette female avox holding a silk robe enters your bathroom. You shift to cover yourself, despite having servants since childhood you never did get used to their lack of speech and dead stare. If your tongue got cut out you wouldn’t have much light in your eyes either, you suppose. “Thanks, just leave it on the counter.” The silent woman robotically moves towards the counter and places it down before leaving, swift footsteps and a quiet door closing signaling it was time for you to get you. Quickly standing and pulling the drain, the cool air on your skin gives you goosebumps. Slipping on the robe, there's another knock on your bedroom door. “Yeah, just one minute…” You pause, trying to recall the avox’s name, but drawing a blank.

Had even you dehumanized these indentured servants so much that you never learned their names? “Y/N?” Your head perks up from the thought. “Uh, you can come in, Mother, I just got out of the bath.” The door closes and you make yourself decent before walking out into your bedroom. Your mother sits at the edge of your bed, her thin frame barely sinking into the plush sheets. Your mother, although barely giving out any more than the bare minimum of maternal comfort, had always been a confidant for you. Rarely speaking unless spoken to, dressed to your father's liking, and eating the rations for a mouse on your father's request, you had always had a soft spot for her. You knew from a young age you wanted nothing to do with men, and never wanted to be trapped in a marriage like your mother was, loveless and cold it was no wonder you were an only child. She motions for you to sit next to her. “Grab your brush and let's talk.” Grabbing your brush off the vanity beside you, you walk over and stiffly sit next to your mother, handing her your brush. She grabs a lock of your hair and begins working her way through the tangles. This goes on for a few minutes before she breaks the silence. “I know you’re not happy about the marriage.” You roll your eyes and let out a huff. “Forgive me for not wanting to marry the malicious Mr. Snow, I know I’m sooo lucky to get a shot with someone who can make such a spectacle of child murder.” The sarcasm that made you bite your tongue around your father was let loose around your mother She brushes out a knot with more force than she should, making you let out a wince. Sighing she continues on to another section of hair. “No need to be smart.” She puts down the brush and turns you towards her. Her pale, perfectly curated mask of makeup cracks up close. Her tired eyes and creases from many nights of poor sleep cannot be hidden, no matter how much concealer and powders are applied. “I was much more naive than you are when I married your father. I had the stories and the glory days of the capitol, but I was wrong. I know we haven’t set the best example of marriage for you, but please take this away if nothing else.” Your mother looks at you with a stern and pleading gaze. “You need to submit yourself to this fate.” Her voice is desperate and you can only give her a deadpan stare, “I’m not like you, mother, I have no interest in-” A stinging pain floods your senses, your cheek beginning to get hot accompanied by what you're sure is a brilliant red handprint. Your mother composes herself, fumbling with her hands in her lap, a blank stare adorns her tired face. “Unless you want to feel that and much worse from a hand much heavier than mine, I suggest you heed my advice.” Quickly and quietly, your mother stands up and walks to the door while you sit still in a somewhat shocked state from the normally docile woman's slap. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, I don't want you to go through what I did.” And with that she leaves, leaving you to recover and slip into a nightgown before lying in bed, a futile attempt to make sleep come quicker as your head swims through questions, realizations and your inevitable fate of entrapment.

A week comes and goes, you fill your time with work from the academy, struggling to get through dinners and talks with your father about marriage and the upcoming wedding. Your mother, to her credit, uncharacteristically changes the subject from time to time, giving you few and far-between sympathetic glances. You're grateful for that, at least. “I have business to attend to in District Two for a while, your mother and I will be away for at least a week, maybe more.” Your father says in between bites of sirloin. “Will Arthur be coming around?” Arthur was your uncle, a distant relative your father would like to forget, but it was the one fight he lost to your mother, her absolute refusal for him to isolate her completely from her eldest brother was what a majority of their fights were about in your childhood. Despite that, Arthur always made things more lively, less constrictive, and was the rare times you saw your father intimidated. Your father pauses before speaking again. “He is not, I see it fitting that Coriolanus comes and stays with you while we are away. He will escort you to school and come with his driver to pick you up after his university classes.” You clench your fork, and anger and something akin to nervousness twists in your stomach. Steadying your mind before speaking, you look to your mother who sips her wine, refusing to look at you. “Does that not seem improper, Father. I mean we aren’t to be wed for two more months. What image would that look like?” You try finding any loop, using the family image as leverage wasn’t ideal, but it was a last-ditch effort. “Since when have you cared about your public image? It sets a strong front up for the two of you. I want you to be seen with him as a young respectful woman from a strong house, someone the people can see as the first lady of Panem and I trust you will do as told.” There’s emphasis at the end of his words, more like a threat. Your mother clears her throat before excusing herself to the restroom. The rest of the dinner was sat in tense silence.

A knock at the door causes you to shoot your head up from your book in the living room. Your parents had left early in the morning and it was now early afternoon, you tried easing the building nerves in your stomach by reading non-stop since before the sun was up, with time put aside to make sure your hair and makeup were perfect because despite hating you fiance and dreading his arrival, some small part of you still wanted to be desired by him. You set down your book before whispering yelling at the avox passing by. You could see a small glimpse of Coriolanus waiting at the door from the window, but the tree would make it hard for him to see you. As childish as it sounded you asked the avox to wait until she heard your bedroom door from upstairs to close before letting coriolanus in. Like a child caught sneaking down stairs to get a glimpse of Santa, you ran quickly and quietly upstairs, praying silently that Coriolanus didn’t look through the windows next to the door only to see you scampering upstairs to hide in your bedroom. As quickly as you could you make it to your bedroom and slam the door just loud enough so that it could be heard downstairs. From there you crawl into your bed and under the covers of your bed, but instead of hiding from the monsters under the bed like when you were a child, you’re hiding from the monster downstairs, the one who comes to strip you of what little freedom you had left. Hearing the stairs creak makes the dull anxiety turn into panic as the creaking disappears, meaning they’ve now made it to the second floor, meaning they, who you were hoping weren't Coriolanus, were most likely heading for your door. Thinking quickly, you feign sleep, hoping that the oldest trick in the book will work on whoever came to disturb you. A knock on the door makes you flinch, but still you lay as silently as possible, trying to control and calm your breathing. The door knob turns and the door is pushed open ever so slightly. A heavy footstep echoes through your quiet room followed by a closing door.

Glass against glass is heard before being placed by your bedside followed by a weight on the bed and hot breath tickling your ear. “Sleeping at noon? Come on now, Y/N, I’m not an idiot.” Coriolanus’s voice comes out smooth like honey, but cold like the harsh whip of winter air when you first step outside. You turn over, bleary eyed and fake yawning. “What are you doing in my bedroom uninvited?” Your voice is meant to be accusatory and confident but comes out meek and wavering. Coriolanus backs up, his perfectly slicked back hair doesn't falter even when he brushes it back, a smirk that spells nothing but no-good unnerves you. “I’m your fiance, I think we’re past courting formalities, Y/N, plus, I’ve brought you tea.” Smiling Coriolanus gestures to the white porcelain cup. “Thank you, Coriol-” “Call me Corio, please, the formalities and all are far behind us.” You smile, picking up the tea cup and taking a sip out of it to try and fill the awkward silence that weighs heavy in the room. The bitter taste catches you off guard, scowling as you take another sip, trying to gauge what kind of tea it is. “Corio, what is this, it's such a..strange flavor?” Smiling Corio pushes the cup up to your lips again. “It gets better with taste, and old recipe Grand’mam taught me.” Downing it as fast as possible as to not offend his Grna’mam’s tea you feel yourself get light headed as the world gets blurry. “Corio, what is this..” You trail off, your words are slurred and speaking feels like a chore. Your senses are so numbed that you don’t think twice when Corio gently pushes you back against the feather pillows. “Don’t you think it’s funny that we are engaged and haven't so much as kissed yet?”

Even through your haze you can see the way the blonde is looking at you. His eyes are hungry, like a predator eyeing up its prey. “I’ve been thinking about you like this for a long time, Y/N, by my side, taming you and your defiance.” Coriolanus slips off his shoes and begins unbuttoning his shirt as he climbs on top of you. “I’ve been eyeing you up for awhile, Y/N, before the arrangements, at the academy, the way you look in your uniform, the way you think outside of the box..” Slowly he begins shedding his shirt, his hands snaking their way up your thigh, hiking up your skirt. “And I see the way the other men in the capital look at you, young, beautiful, rich, pure as snow…you’re a very desirable girl.” He’s made his way to the top of your skirt, slowly pulling it down, leaving you in your top and lacey panties. Now shirtless, Coriolanus begins working at undoing his own pants, leaving him in nothing but boxers on top of you. You try moving your legs but they give up after a few tries. It takes all of your energy to fight to stay awake,your heads not spinning anymore, but even if you could move, Coriolanus would easily overpower you. “S-stop.” You muster out weakly, trying and failing to push him off you, your weak arms are pinned to your side quickly by his own. “I don’t like the thought of another man but your husband taking you, and I intend to fulfill my role as your husband before you retaliate.”

Using one hand, Coriolanus unbuttons your shirt, button by button you feel your cheeks heat up and a growing arousal in your panties throws you off. You had never been touched like this by anyone other than your own hands in the dead of night before. Coriolanus swears under his breath as he exposes the rest of you, eyes wandering back down to your panties. “I’ve known about you far longer than you have of me, Y/N. I’m ready to have a loving marriage with you, but you just need to accept me.” He trails off as he unclasps your bra, rambling more about how he couldn’t wait and all the long dinners with you were driving him mad. Now fully exposed and more out of it than ever you feel his hands cup your breast. His erection pressing hard against your stomach as he leans down for a desperate kiss. He’s rough, trying to take in as much of you as possible.. Panting, his hot breaths send shivers down your spine, you feel your own wetness as you feebly rub your thighs together, weakly and with as much force as you can you push on his shoulders so he is sitting up straddling you. You tell yourself it’s to get him off of you, but in reality if so he’ll give attention to the rest of your body and not just your now abused lips. Coriolanus has the eyes of a madman as he quickly sheds his boxers and pulls down your panties. Using his thumb to tease your clit, you jolt slightly. Feeling foreign hands on you was a strange yet pleasurable experience. “Corio..” your soft moan of his name made him all the more possessive of you. He wanted to only ever hear you say his name in such a way, and he wanted to hear more of it. Taking out his hard cock, he lined it up with your entrance. Coriolanus leaned back down, kissing you much more softly as he pushed into your virgin cunt. You moan into the kiss as you feel his cock pushing into you. “God, you’re so tight, you were made for me.” He moaned, head spinning Coriolanus wasn’t sure when, but he was holding your hips down as he fucked you, the way your breast bounced and your hair fell in your face as you moaned his name in breathy gasps made his head spin. “Corio-ah, fuck, Coriolanus..” Your meek voice just made him want to fuck you harder, to draw out more symphonies of his name, to make it known to not just you, but the world that you were Y/N Snow, and nobody except him could take you this way. In between moaning your assailant's name and begging for more, you had a few moments of clarity, where you knew this was wrong but your body betrayed you. Moving on instinct you lift your legs towards your chest, begging to take the blondes’ cock deeper into you. In Coriolanus’s mind, you were begging for him to make you his, for him to not just claim you in name, but claim a life, a life that both of you created. Slamming your hips against his own Corio could feel himself coming undone, letting out breathy moans of your name you felt his hot cum spilling inside of you, begging for your own release which soon followed. Coriolanus fell on top of you, feebly keeping himself stable above you before rolling over to look at you. Rosy cheeks and a thin sheen of sweat cover you as your hair curls and frames your face in an almost angelic way. You were exhausted, trying to think but coming up blank, the drug affect starting to weigh on you, you allow yourself to block out the blonde lying next to you and let your heavy eyes close, drifting off to an inviting deep sleep while Corio stares at you, content with himself and that you’ll never be able to leave him now, especially with the child he and you would have, tying you to him forever.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #the hunger games #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #smut

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leafy-m · 5 months

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Because I'm autistic and because I love Witch Hat Atelier Kitchen, I page-by-page compared the recent Kodansha USA English release of volume 1 to its Japanese and fan-translated counterparts.

If you've read the official English translation, you may have noticed that some of the big Orufrey moments are.... a bit underwhelming, word-wise. You may have even noticed that the word "wine" is suspiciously missing from the final chapter's WillowGrape Wine recipe, in which wine is kind of an important and obvious factor in it! And you would be correct!

While most of this manga volume is pretty accurate to the original text, there is absolutely a concentrated effort to tone down the more tender Orufrey moments, as well as minimize the alcoholic nature of the final chapter's recipe and related contraptions.

And that's frustrating!

The entire draw of this manga spin-off is seeing these gay witch dads take care of each other and their four daughters in an idyllic countryside setting while also making yummy food that you the reader can try make too. Why is Kodansha USA trying to no-homo these gays?? (Is this a reflection of how bad things are in the USA now?) And while you might say, "But Jade! Qifrey and Olruggio are not actually dating in canon!" — and I would agree with you! But there is nothing straight about these mens' behavior in this comic, and if Qifrey is going to look in Olruggio's direction while tenderly saying his name in Nearly Every Chapter, I expect to read that in English, dammit!

So I'm activating my autism trap card and presenting ya'll with a thorough comparison of every mistranslated and omitted Orufrey or wine moment, complete with discussion and screenshots from the Japanese, fan-translated, and USA English versions. This post is ridiculously long and maxed Tumblr's 30-image limit so chapter 10's discussion is actually in a reblog (sob sob), so I'm putting it all under a cut (you're welcome), and you can be sure that I'll be doing this again if need be for the translated volumes releasing next year.

For now? Let's go.

CHAPTER 1: pg 10

Japanese: フフ...

Fan translated: Heh heh

English version: Ahh...

This is a small moment, but it's important because it's foreshadowing. Qifrey is "airing out" the kitchen, but what he's really doing is sending those delicious smells into Olruggio's room. He's trying to lure him into the kitchen! And that little フフ/heh heh panel is evidence that he's up to something. If you've noticed in the main series, whenever Qifrey is doing something shady or it has a double-meaning, the 'camera angle' focuses on this side of his face with the dark lens.

But the English version obfuscates this by changing フフ to "Ahh..." like, 'isn't that better,' even though it keeps the ellipsis thought bubble indicating that something is up. Why the mixed messaging?

CHAPTER 1: pg 13

Japanese: オルーギオ!

Fan translated: Orugio!

English version: Excellent!

This is the first of many moments where Qifrey will directly say Olruggio's name, and yet the English version will translate it to something else, or drop it entirely. And no, "there wasn't enough room" is not a valid excuse for most of these. Especially when Olruggio's name can (and often is) shortened to Olly.

Look at Olruggio's little smirk at making Qifrey beam happily like that. My God. Kodansha USA/translator Stephen Kohler, why would you take this from us.

CHAPTER 1: pg 14

Japanese: 二人共今日も一日　お疲れ様でした!

Fan translated: These two people are together tonight. Another day's work well done, you two!

English version: Here's to another long day... ...and a well-earned break!

The omnipresent narrator from the beginning of the chapter is back, and clearly highlighting that 'these two people' are together tonight. And yet the English version removes all that. It may be redundant since we can see they're together in the illustration, but the whole page has that type of text redundancy, like focusing on 'eating that first bite,' or how 'a laugh bubbles up' with Qifrey. And combined with all of the other later omissions, this becomes an obvious trend of targeting these specific types of moments.

Update: Thanks to Farlynthordens for additional insight on this Japanese phrase!:

二人共: (the) two of you [the "tomo" implies the narrator is talking "to" them rather than "about" them] futari-tomo means in a literal sense "(you) two people who are together", but in terms of actual usage/definition it's just identifying a specific pair of people who the speaker is talking to.

今日も一日お疲れ様でした: the rest of this can't really be separated. this whole phrase is meant to be like "good work for all the things you did over the course of this whole day". the fan translation seems to have not understood that the two text blocks were meant to be all one sentence. so if you put this all together, it's like "Good work for everything today, guys!"

Knowing this, I'll still keep it as part of the list because it does omit addressing the two of them in the English version, which follows that trend of minimizing these moments between them. But thank you for the clarity! 💕

CHAPTER 2: pg 28

Japanese:　料理も魔法器も相手のことを一番に考えるのは　君の美德だね　半分ずつだオルーギオ

Fan translated: Whether you're cooking or performing magic, you always think of others before yourself. It just goes to show your good character. We'll share it, Olruggio.

English version: I've always admired that about you. Whether in your work of in the kitchen... ...You always think of others' needs before your own. All right. Let's split it, then.

The English version has two mistranslations here. I'll start at the top. In it, Qifrey is observing how Olruggio puts others first, and then compliments how it shows his good character. The 'good character' bit is changed to "I've always admired that about you," which at first I thought was sweet! Points for Kohler. But now that I really look at it, there is still some shady translating happening here.

In writing and communicating, what is said last has the most importance. This is how people "bury the lede," by hiding important information in the early part of a speech or amid other sentences, and then distracting them with other stuff.

In that English version top panel, even though Qifrey is complimenting Olruggio, by having it be said first it makes the second speech bubble (and therefore Olruggio's flustered response) be about Qifrey remarking on Olruggio's own behavior, rather than Qifrey's nice compliment about his character. Which changes the meaning of what's going on here. Olly is not flustering because he puts others first, he's flustering because Qifrey is saying something really nice about him, right to his face!

And then of course, in the bottom panel, Qifrey saying Olruggio's name is once again removed.

And I have to say, this bothers me not just because of autistic AcCUraCY! needs, but because he is very specifically saying his name. They are the only people in the room, it's very clear who Qifrey is addressing, and yet here he is once again, putting that man's name in his mouth.

It is intentional.

It is heartfelt.

STOP REMOVING IT!

CHAPTER 3: pg 36 and 37

Japanese: (Olruggio): キーフリーそれいらないならこっちに..してくれ (Qifrey): オルーギオ　ひとつおねがい!

Fan translated: (Olruggio): Qifrey, if you won't be needing those, send them my way. (Qifrey): One pot please, Olruggio!

English version: (Olruggio): Mind if I grab those breadcrumbs from ya? I'm gonna use 'em as a binder for the patties. (Qifrey): Could you bring that pot over here for me?

This is a sweet segment because it shows how well Qifrey and Olruggio work in tandem in the kitchen. As someone who has repeatedly failed at working harmonically with others while making food, them being in sync in the kitchen is more fantastical than the actual magic.

And once again, Olruggio and Qifrey saying each other's names are removed. The Olruggio panel translation is also a bit misleading because (as you can see in the larger fan-translated photo), it's Qifrey who is controlling that wind spell! Olruggio is not "grabbing" the breadcrumbs from him, it's Qifrey who is sending them to him. It also lends to the back-and-forth of these moments because as soon as Olly's done with that pot, he gives it to Qifrey to use.

CHAPTER 3: pg 41

Japanese: ありがとうオルーギオ　行ってきます

Fan translated: Thank you, Olruggio. We'll see you later.

English version: Thank you, my friend. We'll be on our way now.

We're now at the part of the manga where Qifrey saying Olruggio's name is changed to "my friend" in the English version. Which is a phrase I'll admit I have some Daevabad baggage with, so idk, is this some platonic ray-beaming or is it code for tender feelings for that person you like but aren't ready to date yet because of trauma and societal complications? Is Stephen Kohler a Daevabad fan? So many unknowns. Still counting it as a wrong though.

CHAPTER 4: pg 56

Japanese: (Olruggio): ま... 眩しくて眠れやしない (Qifrey): がんばれ! オルーギオ

Fan translated: (Olruggio): Really... I can't sleep with all this shimmering... (Qifrey): Do your best! Olruggio.

English version: (Olruggio): Hmph. How's a man supposed to get some sleep with this thing sparklin' away over here? (Qifrey): Keep at it... ...my friend.

Qifrey literally made a bouquet of rose-shaped tarts for Olruggio to cheer up his room, so of course the English translation needs to tamp down that gayness by unnecessarily bringing up Olruggio's manhood when he complains about not being able to sleep from the tarts' sparkling. Even though this chapter's cover image is of Olruggio sitting in a field of flowers, pondering quietly as he holds one in his hand. Maybe later chapters will have Olruggio edited so he's sitting 5 feet away from Qifrey.

And again, Qifrey saying Olruggio's name in the bottom panel is changed to "my friend" in the English version.

CHAPTER 6: pg 95

Japanese: いい出来だろ? 家事の分担が大変だなんて思ってたらこんなものは作れねえぜ

Fan translated: Turned out pretty good, right? If I really thought sharing the housework was a pain, then I couldn't make something like this.

English version: Whaddya think? Not bad, huh? Sorry for leavin' you stuck with all the chores these last few days. I figure this is the least I can do.

Of all the mistranslations, this one bothers me the most. Olruggio is a wonderful malewife! He is constantly trying to help Qifrey out with the Atelier chores, in Kitchen and the main series. And yet the English translation changes the entire context of what these panels are saying.

The right panel is Olruggio proud of how good the soup tastes (it's even in a fancy bread bowl!), and yet the English translation downplays it by saying, 'Not bad, huh?'

Then the left panel, with it's sparkly background and close-up on Olly's face, goes further into how if he thought helping out with the housework was a pain, he wouldn't be capable of making stuff like this. Which is an understated way of saying that Qifrey can rely on him for things like this. (and he says it more outright in other chapters/the main series) But instead the English version is treating this soup like it's an apology for not helping out more. It's also really stupid because Olruggio was not making the soup as 'the least he could do' for Qifrey — he made it because he was hungry and wanted to eat it now! He literally admits this a few pages back!

Olruggio is not someone trying to do the bare minimum, he's someone trying to tell his control-freak of a friend that he wants to share in helping out. And the English version disappointingly misrepresents that here.

CHAPTER 10! Has several issues both Orufrey and wine related, and has several comparison segments. But because I maxed out Tumblr's 30-image limit, I can't include it here and so have to post it in a reblog. UGH. 😔

(Here is the link to the Chapter 10 comparison/discussion!)

In the meantime, image credits! The Japanese scans are from Comic-Days.com, the fan scanlations are thanks to Don't Quit Your Day Job, Robot Garden Scans, Brimhats/Nyaruhodou, and Kirbypoyopoyo, and the English version photos are from my own copy. And thank you AskeFinns for help with reading Chapter 2's kanji 💖

If chapters weren't mentioned, it's because I didn't notice anything significant enough to comment on. But if you know of something I missed, do let me know! And thanks for reading this far!

#Witch Hat Atelier #Witch Hat Atelier Kitchen #Witch Hat Kitchen #Orufrey #Olruggio #Qifrey #Kodansha USA #Jade talks WHA #my posts

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crushedsweets · 9 months

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Can you draw or talk more about Toby and Eyeless Jack or even the X-Virus?

YESSSS i can. heres a lil doodle to get me started.

OKKKK the little concept in my head has slender's MAIN GOAL being to prevent any paranormal/supernatural stuff coming out to the general public. hence his proxies being made to get rid of tapes, evidence, and kill if Necessary. sometimes slender makes paranormal/supernatural ppl help out his human proxies "as payment for refuge" in his forest. SO that sorta explains how toby and jack know each other and why jack helps at all. he can't rlly go out to the public so he's stuck with these assholes. it's not really supposed to be a 'mansion' trope, moreso random cabins and shelters littered about the forest, but it could work in the mansion au too

Imma ramble abt toby n jacks friendship (in my head) under the cut + a random x virus doodle

as for toby and jack specifically. toby is impulsive, aggressive, can't feel pain, and doesn't know what's good for him, so he's forced to get help from jack a good bit. for a long while there was hella tension between them since, again, jack isn't helping these guys out of the goodness of his heart. he's helping them bc the forest their boss resides in is the only place he's relatively safe. jack has a weird mix of a inferiority and superiority complex, since he envies toby's humanity but also feels like he's 'better' due to toby's own . . violent habits. toby thinks jack is pretty cool from the get-go ('wooow ur grey..') but he gets pissed off with jack's questions and demands of 'DONT RIP UR FUCKING STITCHES' and 'u have a concussion don't fucking scroll on your phone for 5 hours a day'.

toby has no idea if these demands come from actual concern or annoyance, and frankly, neither does jack. regardless, toby's with jack a decent bit. partially since jack makes a lot of people really uncomfortable so it's easy to go hang out with jack when he doesnt wanna deal with anyone else but still wants company. eventually theyre capable of some decent banter and conversations. theyre both mamas boys so thats a very weird touchy topic that they kinda dance around but both feel very deeply and know the other relates. THEY MISS THEIR MOMS SO BADLY.. :( mayhaps one year toby helps drop off flowers to jack's moms house for mothers day. jacks way too ashamed to even get within a 10 mile radius of his mom. that's kinda the moment things really shift between them and they actually become friends.

toby also asks abt university. lyra was at community college until she passed, and toby never considered college as an option, so he gets curious on what he missed out on. he also likes to share stuff abt lyra and their old shenanigans. tim and brian have used his childhood against him multiple times before, and it's not like he's gonna trust ben or jeff with that information. jacks sort of like a void he could talk into. jack feels uneasy talking about his life before the sacrifice, since he misses it so unbelievably bad, but toby accidentally got him to talk about it while treating a burn before.

ok and to top this fucking essay off heres xvirus. i had no idea he existed until this year and someone sent me an ask about his updated design, so he's some scribbles for him :9 his concepts super cool tho so maybe ill get more into him later on

#THEYRE BEST FRIENDS UR HONOR...#but seriously thank u for the ask #i love getting to ramble. im still working on the confidence to just post headcanons unprompted LOL #ok i gotta go to class now byyeeeeeeee #eyeless jack #ticci toby #ticcijack #eyeless jack headcanon #ticci toby headcanon #creepypasta #creepypasta art #creepypasta headcanon #xvirus #toby rogers #jack nyras #sweetart #chatterbox #creeped

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muzansfangs · 1 year

Text

Guilty pleasure.

Starring: Muzan x f!reader; Nakime (mentioned), Kagaya Ubuyashiki (mentioned), Shinobu (mentioned), Kanae (mentioned) Enmu, Yoriichi Tsugikuni.

Warnings: nsfw, murder, traumatic events from a child perspective, death, violence, gore, loss of parents, implied adoption, implied stalking, oral sex (reader receiving).

Plot: Talking with his seventh in command, Muzan reminisced about his past, about you and how you had always been his greatest weakness. While a particular Slayer is searching for you, Muzan bent his knee to you and showed you a side of him you, deep down, hoped to see. He cared about you a little more than he allowed you to know, apparently, and you once again feel lost into this crazy whirlwind of contrasting emotions.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

MEMORIES.

"What do we know about her?" Muzan asked, lighting up a cigarette as he stared at the photograph of the purple-eyed slayer who had dared to put your life in danger. She was no different from the other ones they had taken down throughout the years: a prick destined to fall by his hand, a girl whose name was going to be forgotten by the world, once she had exhaled her last breath. Who was she again? A slayer.

Who were The Slayers?

The Slayers, right, a pack of mangy dogs without a life purpose who spent their time trying to get his head, young people wasting their youth to serve that man. Every single time The Moons captured one of the swordsmen, they all said the same thing: "Muzan Kibutsuji is a monster, he deserves to die".

He was not offended. He pitied them, instead. How could they be so blind to see that Ubuyashiki Kagaya, and his father before him, asked them to stain their hands in blood, to commit the same crimes he, the devil himself, the infamous Muzan Kibutsuji, had been accused of? The thing was they surely fought for opposite ideals, but when the sun set, they were the same.

Why? Because two people pointing a gun, pulling the trigger, washing the blood of their victim away from their faces, were always going to be murderers. It did not matter why they did it, or how they dealt with their conscience, they were killers.

Now, looking at that girl, he wanted nothing more than tearing her apart limb from limb, for she had had the audacity of putting your life in danger. You, the girl he was going to marry, the one who had touched some strings of his heart no one had ever found, the good omen in his life. There was only one thing he was absolutely certain about: he would have always protect you.

Even if it meant dying for you.

"Her name is Shinobu Kocho, Master. – the seventh in command cooed – Her code name is Belladonna. Apparently, she is best known for poisoning her victims" he singsonged, drawing another photograph from his folder and sliding it down Muzan's desk.

The raven-haired man narrowed his eyes at the girl portrayed in it. She seemed a few years older than the other Slayer, but she had some physical traits in common with her. Were they perhaps related in some way? He had a feeling he had seen her face before. Those twinkling, kind, pink eyes felt familiar.

"She is the reason why Balladonna attacked Douma and Miss. L/N yesterday—" the Moon continued, only to be cut off by Muzan.

His plum red eyes blazed in a sinister glint, until they almost seemed to have darkened for his evident irritation "Mrs. Kibutsuji, Enmu" he deadpanned, watching the way his subordinate prostrated himself in front of him, his dark bob swinging around his heart-shaped visage.

"I beg your pardon, Master! – Enmu pleaded him, his turquoise eyes transfixed on the polished black derby shoes of the raven-haired man in front of him – I did not mean to offend you and your lovely fiancé" he apologetically cried out, not daring to flick his gaze up to face his cantankerous boss. He knew how cruel Muzan could be, he knew he would have not stopped when blood spilled, or a bone broke. They were nothing more than toys for him. Oncr they were broken, he threw them away without hesitation.

Muzan scoffed, reaching his hand out to put off the cigarette on the silver ashtray "Spit it out then. You are wasting my time, Enmu Tamio. – he stated, grasping the photo and turning it towards the terrified boy – Who is this other girl?".

The seventh in command gulped down forcefully, eyes landing on the the girl's smiling face in the photo, as he nodded his head absent-mindedly "Her name was Kanae Kocho. She was Belladonna's older sister. Douma kidnapped, tortured and killed her in hope she would have revealed her colleagues's identities. She did not say anything, except that her sister would have come for our heads sooner or later. – he explained, a tear rolling down his right cheek – I was there too. I recorded everything".

It was only then, when Enmu mentioned the fact that she had been killed by Douma, that he remembered her. Peony, she was Peony. He had specifically given the order to murder her, after they had reported the news of her being a Slayer and wandering around a certain area of the city: your neighborhood. Her shifts dangerously coincided with your homecomings from the restaurant where you worked.

He could not let you two interact. Not after he had found you again after all those years. You were his greatest weakness, his remorse. His humanity. The idea of having killed you too that night, under the pouring rain, had tormented him for years. He would have never forgotten your big doe eyes filled with tears. You had not changed. The terrorized look you had whenever you were scared was the same you had shot in his direction in the middle of the night, when you screamed out your father's name as his dead body slumped down on the muddy ground.

Your eyes had haunted him for years.

When he saw you all those years later, jogging down the sidewalk, he knew you were not just a random girl. He did not imagine it was you, though. The kid whose life he had crashed the night he officially succeded his father and swore to take the lead of the Country. He had to see you again, he had to know who you were, you had to be his to protect and keep by side forever.

When Douma had showed him the first picture of you he had taken, he immediately focused on your eyes. It was you then. It was the kid he had to kill. It was Y/N L/N.

It was Y/N Ubuyashiki, the sin staining Kagaya's name.

And it was yesterday, when you stared at him in horror, fearing for your life, that he understood that he could not keep the eye-contact with you. He could not keep up with you, he could not see you staring at him as if he was a monster, like you had said that night. Therefore, he had blindfolded you.

If only you knew how deeply he cared about you. He cursed the fate day and night for having made him fall for you, his enemy's daughter. He was going mad. You were a black diamond, enticing him with your attitude and beauty.

You, how dare you to make him fall for you with every minute you spent together?

Muzan scowled, his plum red eyes darting on the display of his phone on his desk. You had apparently texted him a few minutes ago, but he was too busy reminiscing about the past to hear the sound of the nitification.

"Leave" he flatly said, grabbing his phone and turning his back at the knelt man in front of him to make him plainly clear that his presence was no longer required.

Enmu flinched at the sound of his voice and hastily stood up, bolting for the door with his heart thrumming into his chest. A coward, that was how Muzan saw him. A talented hypnotist, indeed, but a rabbit running into his burrow as soon as danger flinged around the room.

Once he was alone, Muzan sat on his armchair and unlocked his screen to read your message. He expected you to thank him for the bank transfer, or asking him more about the plans for the night. What he did not expect was a picture of Nakime, staring blankly at the camera, and your comments below.

YOU: Hi, Muzzie! Care to explain what the fuck she's doing here? :)

YOU: Also, thanks for the gifts and the money but, honestly, I'd really appreciate it if you gave me some privacy back. If I am not mistaken, the fourth clause of the contract specifically grants a car for me to use. Where is it?

Muzan smirked. You were really as smart as he thought you were. But he loved playing with you to test your nerves.

MUZAN: Earn it, love.

You did not take a long time to reply and he found himself smiling at the display once again, eager to read what you had to say.

YOU: How? Do I have to kill for you? Whose head do you crave to use as a footrest?

He would have never ever let you be a monster. You were an angel, a pure soul. He killed in your name, but he would have never ever asked of you to take someone's life for him. You were his pride and joy. Therefore, before going back to work on his pc, he typed a simple reply.

MUZAN: That's romantic, love. But I'm fine. Just get on all four tonight, it will suffice.

♚

Cheeks beet red, nails digging onto the palms of your hands, you stared at your reflection in the mirror. There was no way in the world you were going to wear that thing for him. You liked some good lingerie, but that was definitely too much. You felt naked, the silky black choker around your neck was making you feel like a courtesan. The suspenders, the lace thong and the bra were doing numbers on you.

What did he have in store for you? After all, he had promised you that you would have talked about his bodyguards, about him and about The Slayers.

If he thought you were just going to moan his name all night long, he was wrong. Grabbing your phone, you called him. You were not going to wear these slutty undergarments to pamper his ego. Reaching one hand behind your back to unclasp the bra, you kept your phone pressed to yout ear with the other and patiently waited for Muzan to pick up the phone.

"I guess you've found my gift, haven't you?" his hoarse voice finally pierced your ears after the third ring, earning a sight from you.

"Yes, I have, and I'm not going to wear this shit. I don't care if it's a 'Victoria's secret' limited collection. I still have my dignity" you complied, struggling to get the with the item off of you. As long as you hated it, you perfectly knew that it was expensive and you did not want to ruin it out of irritation.

You heard Muzan humming "It's not something supposed to stay on for a long time, love. – he reasoned, as you finally discarded the bra back onto the box huffing and puffing – What are you doing, anyway?" he curiously asked, making you roll your eyes at his comment.

"Nothing inappropriate, don't worry. I'm just going to take a shower" you replied, settling the phone on the bed and selecting the loudspeaker as you proceeded in slipping your fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear to drag them down your thighs.

However, the call ended with a click but Muzan's voice sounded too close to you "I'm just in time, then" he cooed from the threshold, making an high-pitched scream leave your lips, arms reaching up to cover your exposed chest from his vicious eyes immediately. Zero privacy, as per usual.

You blushed and took a few steps back, your eyes daggers on the man stripping off of his jacket "Hands down, Y/N. It's nothing I haven't seen before" he promptly remarked, turning towards the door and locking it.

"You're a pervert" you spat, averting your eyes from him.

Muzan quirked his eyebrow up, loosening the knot of his tie and throwing it on the floor carelessly, his fingers then working on the buttons of his shirt "I haven't showed you all my kinks yet, love. Don't be so rude. I'm much worse than that" he jested, irking you.

You exhaled through your nostrils and stormed to the bathroom, in hope to lock the door and leave him behind, but Muzan had understood your poor strategy and, before you could reach your destination, he had his hands around your waist. You yelped, your naked back pressed against his firm abs sent shivers down your spine, but the way the way his hands cupped your breasts, replacing your shaking ones, was something else.

"Can we try to get along? – he whispered in your ear, planting a kiss below your jaw – I don't like it, when you're mad at me" he hotly said, resting his chin on the top of your shoulder.

"If you stopped being a jerk, I would stop being a brat" you retorted, trying to resist his charm.

"What do I have to do to make you like me?" Muzan asked, a smug smirk gracing his lips as he rested his hands down your hips and spun you around to face him. Now, staring deep into his eyes, it was hard saying no. It was hard denying him what he was asking of you.

You batted your eyes close for a second, your fingertips grazing the outline of his abs "Show me that you like me too" you said breathless, almost regretting it. Why did you ask him such a thing? He oughted you no devotion, or romantic commitment after all.

You did not expect him to take you seriously. You did not expect him to grasp your chin and capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss again. Yet, when his tongue slipped into your mouth and he softly helped you to lay down on the bed behind you, there was something that made you feel like he was truly trying to convince you of something, of proving his intentions and feelings.

When his lips parted from yours, his hand slipping down underneath your panties, he locked his eyes with yours "Has anyone ever gone down on you?" he asked in a whisper, making your breath hitch in your throat.

No. The answer was no, naturally. You had gone down on someone a few times, but no one had ever done it for you. Not even your ex, Sanemi.

"N-No" you murmured, turning your face to the side in embarrassment.

Muzan cupped your cheek in his hand, his thumb stroking the area above your cheekbone lovingly "May I have the honor to be your first once again?" he asked you, watching the way your eyes widened slightly and how you nodded your head at him. He had asked for your consent. Not that you never had given him it, but it was hot, it was intimate.

"You don't have to, you know?" you told him, watching how he worked on the suspenders and dragged every last piece of item you were wearing down your legs.

Muzan's hands ran up and down your thighs, parting them gently, as he laid his body flatly on the mattress. His hot breath fanned your heat and you bit your lower lip in anticipation, as he placed a soft kiss on your clitoris.

"I want to" he simply said, before he ran his tongue down your slit.

You jolted, sparks of electricity pervading your body as he started lapping up at your arousal with swirls of his expert tongue. How many times had he done it? Probably, too many to count. Yet, you were aloof from knowing that you were the only woman he was enjoying going down to, the only one he had offered his skills to without feeling any kind of pressure.

Why? Because it was you and you were different for him.

His pace was torturously slow, his mouth wrapped around your bundle of nerves, sucking on it, flicking his tongue around it, made whimpers and soft moans fall from your lips as your hands gripped the bedsheets at your sides tightly.

Arching your back, you glanced down at him. Muzan met your gaze, his red eyes pinning you on the spot as he gave you a look of your juices running down his chin, glistening under the artificial light of the chandelier. You blushed and he grinned, grasping your legs and settling them over his shoulders.

"You taste heavenly" he purred against your pussy, before sticking his tongue deep into your clenching hole.

You squirmed, hands flying up to your face to shield yourself from his attentive eyes. You felt ashamed for fhe lewd faces you were making. Did you really miss that much? Or was it just Mr. Kibutsuji talent?

"Muzan—" you whined, tears peeking at the angle of your eyes as your partner's grip on your hips intensified. You felt the a familiar pressure coiling into your lower abdomen and the idea of releasing on Muzan's tongue made you both thrilled and bashful. What if he did not like it? What if he did not want you to cum?

But, actually, the way he stimulated every right spot of your clitoris, the way he held your body close to his face, was a clear sign that he aspired to. He groaned against your entrance, your legs squeezing his head as you ended up climaxing on his sinful tongue.

He lapped away your essence and you trembled under the overstimulation, your chest raising and falling erratically as you stared at the ceiling in haze. What had just happened? Why did he let you enjoy yourself that much? Why did he satisfy your fantasies, if you should have been the one doing it?

You lifted yourself up on your elbows, glancing up at the dark-haired man unbuckling his belt at the end of the bed. The prominent tent in his pants looked uncomfortable and you blushed, crawling towards him with the most grateful and kind expression on your face that made his heart skip a beat in his chest. You could not look that cute and beautiful at the same time.

"T-Thank you... – you whispered, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear – Can I help you take care of..." you trailed off, darting your eyes away from the bulge in his boxers, threatening to nudge at your nose. You had not realised how close to it you were, until you had flicked your gaze up to meet his intense gaze.

Muzan chuckled, his calloused hand ruffling your hair jokingly "You don't have to thank me. – he said, his eyes darkening all of a sudden – But you can follow me into the shower. I feel like if I fucked you right now the way I had planned, you would seriously need me to carry you around for a week" he hoarsely commented, making your heart drop into your stomach.

What was wrong with him?

♚

In the meanwhile, maroon eyes studied your empty house. It seemed like you had not been home for a few days. Everything was perfectly tidy, but the majority of your clothes were gone from the drawers, from your wardrobe. Your books were no where to be seen and the fridge was empty.

The tall man sighed, entering your bedroom in search for any clue of where you had gone. Little did he know where you were, but when Kagaya had called him last night to ask for his help again, he had refused to believe it.

You, the sweet and innocent girl he had rescued that night, were now siding with a monster? How did he convince you to follow him? How could you possibly love him?

Yet, when he spotted a white shirt with a reddish stain on its sleeve, he grasped it. Inhaling the dull track of scent still impregnating the fabric, he cussed. Reality finally dawned to him at the smell of the wine ruining the snow-white shirt. It was a Chianti. He knew exactly who loved sipping glasses of Chianti.

Muzan Kibutsuji had taken you away and Yoriichi Tsugikuni was going to bring you back home.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hi there! I am honored to finally introduce the knight in the shiny armor: Yoriichi Tsugikuni. Now, Muzan and oral sex are something else for me. Y/N is a lucky pal, although her past is … ehm, a little crazy, you know? And there’s so much more to know about it muhahah. I love angsty shit, don’t I?

Anyway, let me know what you think about the chapter and thank you so much for reading this fan fiction 😭❤️

Tag list: @tired-writer04 @hjjks @kakuchosbff @yazzzmints @bookandstar @z3r0art @cherrymanhuas @kazuhasslvt @selenenyx0124 @infinitedilf @yunixkill @shigarakithings @i-loveyou013

#muzan x reader #muzan x you #muzan x y/n #demon slayer smut #demon slayer fanfic #muzan kibutsuji x reader #muzan kibutsuji #muzan smut #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #nakime x reader #yoriichi tsugikuni #yoriichi x reader #kanae kocho #shinobu kocho #kocho shinobu

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