#was there meant to be a comparison image?

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Chapter 1.1: Unfamiliar.

Previously

Gavriel Huffman’s consciousness drifted back in pieces, slowly. The first sensation he registered was the pain. A throbbing, burning ache in his side that shot throughout his body with each ragged breath he took. His hand twitched reflexively, wanting to clutch at the wound, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish.

He groaned, eyelids fluttering open before having to close them as his blurry vision was assaulted by the bright sunlight peaking through the cracks of the window blinds. Gavriel winced, turning his head slightly to escape the light. The movement sent another jolt of pain lancing through his body making him grit his teeth. The pain, though familiar, was sharper now, less numbed by adrenaline.

His instincts screamed at him to assess his surroundings, and with great effort, he forced his unsteady vision to focus. What he saw made him slightly more awake with disoriented alarm.

The room was cozy. Unbearably so. The walls had warm tones of colors that made the room feel welcoming. The bed he laid on was draped in a checkered quilt with a few stitches here and there. It wasn't as feathery soft or as luxurious as the one he had back in his place, but the worn down cheap quality of it only made them feel more homely in comparison. The air was filled with a subtle, comforting scent, and the one Gavriel noticed immediately was the smell of baked goods.

It was the kind of room he had only ever seen through windows in neighborhoods he didn’t belong in.

Gavriel’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. He didn’t belong here. The dissonance between his bleak, gritty world and this gentle, almost absurd comfort was jarring. It made his head spin, not just from the pain.

He hadn't been thinking very clearly then, but he could vaguely recall memories of the rain and the blood soaking into his clothes and him collapsing into unconsciousness, but everything after that was a blur. How had he ended up here?

Where the hell was he? His hand felt heavy as he reached up to touch the wound in his side, and he was surprised to find it wrapped in bandages. The dressing was hastily done.

He pushed the blanket aside, revealing his current state. His torso was bare, the bandages wrapped tight around his injury, and he was wearing pants that definitely weren’t his. The worn, clean fabric was more snug than anything he’d ever put on.

He frowns at this. Gavriel didn’t trust kindness. It's a luxury reserved for people who hadn’t been forced to scrape and claw their way through life.

With a grunt, he forced himself upright, teeth gritting as another wave of pain rippled throughout his body. He braced himself on the nightstand, the wooden surface creaking under his grip, and scanned the room for any signs of danger.

His eyes landed on a small framed photo on the nightstand. It showed a cheerful looking man with a wide goofy smile and a thumbs-up, standing next to… what he assumes to be his family, accompanied with a clean and comfortable-looking set of clothing sitting there waiting for him to wear alongside his glasses.

He reached out for it, seating the frame on his nose bridge and ears. Gavriel turned to squint at the image, something tugging in his head as he tried to place the face of that male toon. Then his mind flashed to the moment before he went unconscious. Someone had crouched down beside him when he was dying in that alleyway.

But why? The idea that someone had helped him, patched up a criminal covered in blood, was almost laughable. People didn’t do that for him- for them. At least, not in the place where he belongs.

Currently though, that wasn't his main concern. His dark eyes narrowed. Where the hell was his gun?

His fingers instinctively moved to his waist, but the comfort of the cold metal wasn't there. Gavriel sighed as a familiar wave of dullness washed over him, pulling him in a state of rumination. He was still hurt, still vulnerable, and that meant he was in danger, no matter how deceptively safe this place looked. He clenched his fists, not even giving a wince at the painful ache in his body.

All of this made him feel rather numb and confused, but it doesn't show on his face which he'd trained to never waver even in danger.

The dull ache of his wounds, the confusion of being in this unsettlingly mellow room, and the disorientation of having just woken up alive when he very well should've been dead in an alleyway somewhere. It all pressed down on him heavily. His mind felt like it was wrapped in fog, every thought coming in with a painful throb. He tried to think, to piece together why he hadn’t bled out in that alley.

He knew that his injuries had been severe enough to be fatal, the kind of wounds that left little hope for survival. A few hasty bandages and dressings wouldn’t have done much to stop the life bleeding out of his dying body.

Yet here he was, hurting but very much still alive. He rubbed his forehead, the motion sluggish from pain as he racked his brain for an answer. It wasn’t until he sat there for a hot minute that realization struck.

Oh, right. He was in a city reigned by the Toon genre.

It was common knowledge to all that the Toons leaned heavily on the whimsical side, or more specifically, it was the environment itself that exuded this sort of vitality. One that let its residents survive otherwise fatal mishaps with only a moment’s comedic daze and maybe a few tweeting birds circling their heads.

He couldn’t be bothered to recite the specifics of it. Something about places in the Toon genre having stronger healing properties or some nonsense like that. But now, in this moment, the absurdity wasn’t so easy to dismiss as it had been the very thing that had led to him surviving his death, a miracle in of itself.

Gavriel’s hand reached up to softly graze the large scar on the side of his neck, healed yet still deep and harrowing, which told stories of a much darker time. Touching it had been a habit he'd developed a long time ago in times of stress or simply whenever he contemplated.

He had no patience for the whimsical workings of this place, no desire to analyze the wonders or whatever it was that had saved him. The only thing that mattered to him was that it had and he's alive because of it.

It didn’t change his wariness though. If anything, it only made him more resolute to understand who had brought him here and why.

Then Gavriel hears the door click open.

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

Jack Desmond stepped into the bedroom, carefully balancing a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a bowl of warm porridge in the other. He didn't have anything special in his kitchen at the moment so he was only able to put together a simple meal, figuring that even the scariest man in the world deserved something warm and filling in his stomach to help him heal. That was, if the food hadn't already gone cold by the time he awoke.

Jack wore his usual friendly smile, ready to show the stranger some hospitality when he froze in confusion the moment he saw that the bed was empty.

“Huh?” Jack murmured, his brow furrowing. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of where the man might have gone, but there was nothing.

"Hugh!"

Coffee and porridge spilled to the ground as the cup and plate he'd been holding came crashing down on the ground, splattering everywhere.

Rough hands closed around his neck from behind. The force of the grip was firm, not quite strangling but strong enough to hold Jack in place.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down his temples, his hair standing on its end. It felt like his heart was caught in his throat, he didn't even dare breathe too hard.

The presence behind him was suffocating, a dense aura of danger which didn't fit with the comfort of the room they were in.

The hand holding him didn’t need a weapon.

It didn't take much for Jack to instinctively realize that he was currently bordering the line of life and death, a primal understanding that this man could end him effortlessly if he choses to.

Jack’s throat bobbed as he tried to swallow but can't, his mouth dry as a desert. It was as if time had slowed down. He could feel his heart thundering inside, each beat thudding louder and louder in his ears as he stood there, unable to do anything but wait.

The silence was deafening. Jack's mind told him to yell, scream loudly for help, but he couldn’t even force out a sound.

Jack felt his breath hitch as the man’s deep, rumbling voice cut through the suffocating silence. The voice was hoarse from fatigue and pain, but it still carried a commanding weight to it as he spoke.

"Who are you?" the voice demanded, each word slow and deliberate, laced with a barely restrained irritation. "Where am I and why am I here?"

Despite the fear pressing down on him, Jack’s mind raced, and something other than terror roused his senses. He sniffs subconsciously, his nose picking up a change in the air. That sharp, metallic tang that made his stomach twist.

"I-I’ll tell you everything you want to know," he stammered. "But please, d-don’t move too much." He could smell it. The fresh, unmistakable scent of blood. "You're hurt, s-sir…"

With those words, the room fell into silence again. The man behind him didn't say anything, as if contemplating Jack’s words, yet the grip around Jack’s neck remained firm. Each second seemed to stretch into eternity, and Jack held his breath, waiting for a response as a cold bead of sweat rolls down his face.

Finally, after what felt like a forever, the grip released. Jack released his breath, silently gasping for air as his feet planted into the ground, trying to steady his balance after that terrifying experience. Slowly, he turns around, stumbling away slightly as he looks up to face the much larger man.

Gavriel stood there, towering over him with one hand clutching his wounded side, blood seeping through the bandages and staining his skin anew. With a shadow cast over his face, his sharp glare intensified.

His dark eyes narrowed, scarred face twisted into a pained look of irritation. Even when injured, such a sight would be enough to intimidate anyone with the sheer menace he radiated.

But as Jack’s heart raced in his chest, his gaze drifted almost unconsciously to Gavriel’s wound. The fear was still there, pressing down on Jack’s chest, but something else was too.

Concern.

The sight of the reopened wound stirred something deeply instinctive and kind in Jack, something that momentarily outweighed his terror. He couldn’t help it. Despite the terrifying glare, despite understanding that this man could kill him if he wanted to, Jack’s eyes lingered more on his injury rather than his scary appearance.

“You’re bleeding again,” Jack whispered, his voice small but genuine, before he presses his lips, meekly looking up to meet the man's eyes. The words had slipped out before he could stop them, his worry winning over self-preservation for just a second.

Gavriel’s glare remained unwavering, burning with a mix of suspicion and impatience. “Answer my questions,” he ordered.

Jack nodded quickly in agreement, returning his focus on the wound, which now had blood dripping from Gavriel’s side, pooling on the floor in droplets.

Jack frowns, a wave of empathy coursing through him, and he took a small step forward without thinking, wanting to help.

Gavriel reacted instantly, his expression souring like a cornered animal. His lips pulled back into a nasty snarl, and Jack immediately froze, eyes darting back to the man's face, his look carrying a clear message.

Don’t come any closer.

Jack was hesitant, but he took a shaky breath and showed Gavriel his palm, trying to show him that he meant no harm. “I just… I just want to help.” His eyes showed nothing but genuine concern, a warmth that was out of place in the tension.

For a moment, Gavriel didn’t move. His gaze bore into Jack with an intensity that made the toon feel exposed but Jack holds his ground, knowing that the man in front of him was in pain and had only been acting out of self preservation.

Jack cautiously inched closer, his hands still raised, palm facing upwards to try and ease the man that he wouldn't do anything bad to him. The closer he got, the more he could see the strain in Gavriel’s features. It was a silent battle between the pain and the effort to appear unwavering.

Finally, he reached the man’s side. Gavriel's eyes followed, but he didn’t stop him as Jack extended his palm towards him. Jack's hand flinches and hesitates for a second when Gavriel's grip on his wound tightened… Jack steels himself and gently touched the lower side of the man's hip, his fingers being stained with the blood that ran steadily down it.

Despite not being injured himself, Jack still winced sympathetically at the sight. Though Gavriel’s face showed no change, Jack didn’t miss the way the muscle around the injury flinched at his touch.

“Okay… okay.” Jack murmured, his voice soft but determined. His mind buzzed with worry, already trying to think of what he could do to keep the wound from worsening.

With a pang of dread, it finally dawned on him in fullness that this was only the beginning of him having to temporarily keep this dangerous man in his apartment.

Oh, boy. This was going to be a long week.

[flockofteeth]

even tiktok lets you zoom in 😭

So the new mobile update sucks a lot.

Please help me tell @staff that the new mobile update fucking sucks and unpleasent to use. Its pulling like instagram/tiktok-esque thing with photos, gifs and videos in terms of ui.

You cannot zoom on in on images anymore, the ui for reblogging, etc is always on and cant be turned off, the videos are cropped, you cant see videos from dash anymore and they autostart in player on mute now, you cannot use the time scroller on videos only scroll left and right on the video itself and when you croll down you get sent to random images, gifs and videos unrelated to the post from people you dont even follow.

Heres an example of an image and a video on dash vs in player

Its downright insulting and extremely unpleasent to use. Reach out however you can, we cant let this update to stay.

[general-cyno]

Despite how wildly Elendira was changed as a character in tristamp she's just. so fascinating to me both bc of her existence as a whole (a human/plant hybrid of sorts that Nai, despite his hatred for humans, for some reason has allowed to exist) and the idea of her being an honest, childish reflection of Nai himself.

There is absolutely no way that Elendira's disdain for humans isn't something she learned from him. And when you compare their expressions and behavior - they are just so painfully similar. From the way their emotions shift so quickly from one to another to how they show so clearly on their faces/bodies,

And how the only way to somewhat (poorly) mask themselves is to physically shift away and hide - which they both do in front of Vash specifically.

On that note, Elendira's reaction to physical pain is very interesting to me too in how it contrasts with Nai's. Whereas she throws a tantrum and cries out about how much it hurts, physical pain does very little for Nai (outwardly, that is) as shown in eps 3 and 12. Even as Vash tries to shoot down his blades or as Nai burns himself alive along the fire of Vash's angel arm, it is the emotional aspect (Vash's rejection) which actually hurts him. It can be heard in his voice or seen in his face and still, he tries to hide that too behind a smile or laugh that always seems awfully close to crying or sobbing.

Ig what I'm trying to point at is Elendira - as a metaphorical and literal reflection of him, since she's implied to be a clone, kinda - being able to voice and act out all the reactions to pain, physical and emotional, that Nai usually doesn't allow himself to show.

Extra interesting to me that she immediately labels Vash a traitor and cries harder when she mentions Nai and how Vash doesn't know.

I think a more literal tl of this bit is something along the lines of "it's your fault that lord Knives -", regardless... what is it that Vash doesn't know or that he's at fault for? Is she echoing Nai's pain, his loneliness? Why does she feel it so deeply?

And did Vash realize? What she is and where she comes from, or why she exists? Is that why he looked so sad at the sight of her? Did he see part of his brother in her too? Did Nai as a kid ever cry like that?

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

Favorite Jason images

Batman #410

His eyes hold galaxies within them but still reflect such pure childhood innocence. Poor kid’s naïveté and trust are going to be subjected to so much exploitation in the upcoming issue and the future in general.

Alfred having premonitions, Bruce projecting and not listening. Why is “child” in quotations … what is that supposed to imply? Despite Bruce’s niceness to Jason on the surface, he says some pretty hurtful things about him when Jason isn’t listening. While this perception does shift when Jason proves him wrong, he tends to swiftly rebound to his preconceptions at the first instance of disagreement between them (or even when Jason makes a valid argument).

No matter how much he told Jason he respects him and how he’s a smart kid, his notion that Jason has to be “corrected” definitely bled into their interactions. Jason running off in aditf wasn’t just as a result of their conflict within that story, it’s a culmination of all of these conflicting vibes he’s felt since he met Bruce. Fast forward to modern comics and he says these things to Jason’s face with the express intent of inflicting pain. Alfred has a point, Bruce … never too late to fine-tune your perspective.

[how-many-marios]

How many Mario’s is the color of the sky?

The sky (2.52Mb) is worth 78.75 Super Mario Bros.

[persephoneflouwers]

It is definitely an UK or working class thing because Liam and Noel Gallagher are still seen as working class heroes and they have been famous since the 90s. It is more of the way they still behave and act like they are close to their roots than them being rich that makes people say they came from a working class family. Still mixing with the locals and not losing their accent etc. Louis is going to have that with him for the rest of his life too.

Sorry if I’m replying only now. I wasn’t ignoring, I just got back home from the hospital. Anyway, I would say that’s possibly what he chooses to be perceived and what he likes to represent. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I have never heard Louis describing himself as a working class representative. He is proud of the places he comes from, he is proud of his roots and he finds that inspiring in his daily life to maintain a connection with his past, I guess. But to me he’s been always pretty aware of his privileged position and conditions. You can see how many of the decisions he makes conciliate with this. You don’t have to defend him from me, I promise. I know Louis as my limited fan experience allows me to know him, I know what they meant with those words, I know his image and I know what they try to do. That doesn’t mean it was a clever way to phrase it. It’s not a complaint or an accusation. In my opinion, if you say something like that, you are going to have people pursing their lips and asking what you mean. If I’m honest to me the way Matt used those words in the caption felt more like an epithet than just description, but this is what it felt to me.

[imsosocold]

Dream looks like if the guy that played Jon Arbuckle in Lasagna Cat and Quinton Reviews had a child together.                                    .     .

[tetragonia]

Please Don't be Afraid of Me

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Arguing with Rafe is your daily meal, but this time he almost did something that could break you for life.

warning: mentions of (Y/N)'s father being abusive, toxic relationship, Rafe almost going a bit aggressive, trauma, no mention of (Y/N)

note: I really need a good angst and why not write one myself? I hope this one hurts you as bad as it hurts me :')

words: 800+

The air between you and Rafe crackled with tension, the argument escalating faster than either of you had intended. You both were standing near the docks, voices rising, cutting through the quiet night. Your frustration had been simmering for days, ever since you caught wind of some of Rafe’s shady behavior again—money missing, deals going wrong. You had confronted him, and it spiraled from there.

“You think you can just keep pulling this crap, Rafe? You think nobody notices what you're doing?” your voice was sharp, each word laced with anger. What you two have was toxic, you knew deep down. But somehow it was very rewarding, all those kisses and makeups you two would do after an argument.

But this one was different.

“Don’t act like you know me,” Rafe shot back, his jaw clenched. “You don’t know half the things I’m dealing with.”

“Then tell me!” you snapped, stepping closer, eyes blazing. “But no, you’d rather lie, cheat, and then act like the world owes you something!”

Rafe's temper flared, his hand instinctively raising mid-argument, more out of frustration than intent. But the movement—sudden, aggressive—made you freeze.

You body reacted before your mind could catch up. You flinched, taking an instinctive step back, your eyes widening in a flicker of fear. In that split second, Rafe’s hand hovered mid-air, his anger dissolving as guilt crashed into him.

He hadn’t meant to do it. He hadn’t even realized how much his action mirrored something... darker, something that triggered a deep-seated fear in you. But seeing you flinch, seeing you step back from him, it hit him like a wave of cold reality.

“Baby, wait—” Rafe dropped his hand instantly, his voice softer, filled with an unfamiliar urgency. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were suddenly wide with regret.

He took a cautious step forward, but you moved back again, your breath shallow, still caught in the reflex of fear.

“I’m not him,” Rafe said, his voice low, almost pleading. “I’m not your father.”

Your chest tightened, the comparison too raw, too close to home. You blinked, fighting back the tears that were threatening to surface. Your heart pounded in her ears, but Rafe didn’t move again. He stood there, watching you, a rare vulnerability in his expression.

“I wasn’t going to—” he stammered, rubbing his hand through his hair. “I’d never... hurt you.”

You didn’t say anything, still processing the way your body had reacted, how automatic the fear was, how much he reminded you of the volatile moments with your dad—moments you spent years trying to forget.

Rafe took another step forward, more cautiously this time, his movements slower, gentler. “You...” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean—”

You couldn’t look at him directly, your mind torn between the image of Rafe you knew and the shadows of the past that haunted you. The tension in the air had shifted, no longer angry but filled with a raw, uncomfortable truth.

He reached out again, but this time there was no threat in his gesture. His hand hovered near you, waiting, offering. “Please don’t be afraid of me.”

You’s heart thudded painfully in your chest, your breathing still uneven. You swallowed, glancing at his hand. You hated yourself for flinching earlier, for letting him see that side of you, but you couldn’t deny that he had triggered something deep. Something you weren’t ready to confront.

Still, there was something in his voice, in the way he had softened so suddenly, that made you hesitate. Rafe wasn’t the man you had grown up fearing, wasn’t the man who left you with scars both seen and unseen. He was a mess, yes, but this... this was different.

Slowly, tentatively, you took a small step toward him, meeting his gaze. You saw the guilt there, the sincerity. The storm in your head started to calm, just slightly.

Rafe didn’t move again, letting you come to him at your own pace. His hand was still there, waiting. And when you finally closed the gap between them, you let out a shaky breath. You didn’t flinch this time as his hand gently touched your arm, his grip soft, reassuring.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice breaking through the quiet.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady yourself. “Just... don’t ever do that again,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, but firm.

“I won’t,” Rafe promised, his thumb brushing against your skin lightly. His touch was tender, so unlike the rough edges of his usual self.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They stood there in the quiet, the intensity of the argument fading into something neither of them had words for. You’s heart was still racing, but not out of fear now. It was something else. Something unfamiliar, something you weren’t sure you could handle.

But as Rafe stood close, his touch warm and steady, you realized that you didn’t want to step back anymore.

[itachiiwrites]

Love me, love me, love me, love me more!

Pairing: Yandere! Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Warnings and Content: MDNI (I'll haunt you, seriously), yandere themes, implied consent, stalking, obsession, murder, gore, sex, delusional satoru, he's unhinged and does not care about consequences as usual, creampies (lots), gojo has a breeding kink, masturbation, perv gojo, sex, fingering. Dead dove.

Plot : Megumi has a new nanny and Satoru is so so..lovesick.

Yandere!Satoru knew he fumbled the moment he fell in love with Megumi's nanny. He had hired you because he couldn't provide for the time and sufficient emotional care that a second grader needed to be a normal person. After all that the boy went through and then being under care of someone like him, Satoru didn't think that his Gumi-chan would ever be normal.

But then he met you, you were everything he was not. Gojo Satoru was impulsive, eccentric, the strongest, he shone so brightly that the sun was put to shame. And you were so normal, so mundane, you simply seemed to blend in with everyone like a lovely, plain chrysanthemum that could mix in with every bouquet.

there was truly nothing special about you in comparison to him.

Perhaps that was why he found you so beautiful. You weren't complicated, you were too simple and perhaps this absence of simplicity was what made his fast paced, glorious life so lack luster.

He knew he had to have you.

One thing you realised about Yandere!Satoru is that, he is a child in a grown man's body. You had seen him being much more petulant than Megumi, but with time your surmises around him had reduced and your edges had softened. You would see the flash of tiredness in his eyes sometimes, something about those azures in those moments would tell you a piece of his story. You didn't ask a lot but you knew. He was tired.

Being a full-time nanny to Megumi also meant, keeping meal preps ready. It had become a habit to put together a few extras after noticing that Gojo would often make it a point to eat them. He probably ate it, dead in the night when he was back from his daily missions. No one witnessed his joy of eating a homecooked meal at 3AM.

Yandere!Satoru who would take the advantage of your softened demeanor towards him and flirt with you shamelessly even after seeing the ring adorned on your pretty little finger. He kept affirming to himself that it wasn't real and whatever he would imagine, would materialize to be true.

"You do a terrific job, looking after Megumi you know?" He'd muse, in the usual teasing tone of his as his hand trails to your chin, gently tipping your head up so you'd look into his eyes and his eyes only, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"I can't help but wonder if there is room in your heart for me too~"

But then his playful demeanor would drop away when his eyes would fall onto that pathetic, miserly looking gold band after you'd tell him to stop flirting with you with finality in your tone. That ring wasn't even high in carats, it was an alloy and yet you would it wear it such pride. It would tug at his heartstrings, his darling deserved so much better.

"I see, didn't realize that, miss.." He lied through his teeth with such insouciance and a smirk, masking his disappointment as if even a petite speck on your arm would be amiss with his six eyes

Yandere!Satoru, who was never religious but started obsessively manifesting you after learning about your husband. What a hassle. Why couldn't he just have you, like everything else in his life?

Yandere!Satoru who would think of you riding him to tears, closing his eyes to conjure the lewd image of your tits bouncing as he fucked you upward, anchoring his large hands on your waist. All while zestfully fisting his cock, wrapped like a gift with your cute pink panties that he quite subtly stole when you were staying over to care for Megumi for a few days because he had to fly somewhere else to tackle off a special grade curse, substituted for the warmth of your velvety walls. For now.

Yandere!Satoru who knew you had no clue that he teleported from the location far away just to steal your panties.

Yandere!Satoru who also knew that you had no idea that he had tapped in your phone, having his hawking watch over who you texted and talked to.

Yandere!Satoru who couldn't be nonchalant anymore the minute he saw you texting your husband as you watched over Megumi, on how badly you wanted a baby after being a nanny to the young boy. That was his job, you were his, afterall.

Yandere!Satoru who felt angry and stupid because manifesting you didn't work. He knew he could never trust the higher powers with the people he loved so he took the matter in his own hands.

Yandere!Satoru who stood over your husband's dead body, ripped to shreds when you returned home. The worries of your husband not texting you back for hours now washed with horror and pain.

His handsome, angelic face was unnervingly calm and composed, his blue eyes amalgamated with mania and hollowness while he held her husband's filthy heart in his bloodied hands, a scowl of disgust washing over his face as he looked at the organ, darting his eyes at you almost pitifully, crushing it in a glimpse before walking to you.

"What a shame..your husband was quite bothersome, wouldn't you say? I had to take out the trash, y'know..got sick of him getting in the way" He'd speak in a smooth, saccharinely affectionate tone that you knew was empty. He ignored the shock laced on your face, the paleness of your skin, the fear in your eyes and your flinch which he found oh so..adorable, as he caressed your cheek with the strong metallic scent of crimson lingering.

"Let's play a game!" He brightly smiled, clapping his hands together which made you furrow your brows, a dry gulp going down your throat. The room only filled with the momentary sounds of his footsteps and your shaky, palpable breathing.

"The game is...name things you love about Gojo Satoru!!" He chimed, so happily that it sent a shiver down your spine, insinuating nausea.

"S-stay away..."

He frowned, titling his head as his empty eyes bored into yours.

"Wrong answer darling..the answer is Satoru, isn't it..?" He leaned in, cupping your face and tenderly kissing your lips.

Yandere!Satoru who teleported you two immediately to his estate as he pulled away from the kiss, your back hitting the silk sheets that screamed luxury.

Yandere!Satoru who would see you giving in to his gentle kisses all over your body, who'd feel your pulsating guilt and shame in your eyes while your pussy pulsated with pleasure having his fingers in your gushing cunt knuckles deep.

"Why did you say no to me, hm..? You're milking my fingers baby..fuuuck...I love you so much.." He whispered while his face nuzzled into your cheek. His hot breath mingled with phrases of love felt so gross, so filthy, so sinful but you saw yourself liking it, even after seeing your husband in such a state.

Yandere!Satoru, who'd dump his cum again in your oozing pussy even when his cock felt raw after kissing your cervix so many times, painting it white. Now finally pulling out with a squelch, he immediately replaced his two thick fingers to push his load back in.

"You're gonna be such a pretty mama baby..I will make your wish come true.."

©𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐢𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬

Plagiarism not authorised. Please consider reblogging and liking if you enjoyed the content :)

More on m.list!

[theartingace]

Been working on some centaur clothes, exploring more options- especially for my much more clothing-focused Mountain Culture and Merchants And then for funzies DRESS-UP DOLL and way too much chatter!

First a couple Runner outfits - first the average casual harness most Runners would wear around home base, allows family members to rider comfortably at any time but more importantly the make and decorations are personal and declare group affiliations. Wearing no harness or at least a girthband basically says you are unridable or unaffiliated with a herd. Second image is an above-average armored battle harness- front end is plated for protection while charging, back end harness is all about additional contact points and stability for the rider to hook a foot in for their acrobatics.

Next, a comparison between Mountain robes and Merchant robes! The first, Mountain robes are heavy expertly woven rugs with lots of fiber decorations and fur and wool linings to keep comfy in their alpine homes- our model is quite a bit lankier than the usual Mountain folk so he gets less coverage but he'll stay cozy regardless. Second is the more svelt Merchant Trader robes! These are more light and loose linen fabrics, meant to block the sun in their more Mediterranean climate and more importantly- show wealth and status. Wrapped legs are common and almost entirely decorative.

And lastly: some assorted armors- this would be an EXTREMELY uncommon sight in my own headworld as the interactions between the metallurgy-rich eastern human kingdoms and the centaurs is usually pretty tense or business oriented at BEST and hostile to exploitative at worst so the chances of them crafting such large difficult pieces of fitted armor for any of them would be rare one-offs at most. But it's still fun to think about!

[neo--queen--serenity]

Flowers are often used as a metaphor for the female characters in the Apothecary Diaries. And for the first time, we, the viewer, are given the direct comparison to which flower is meant to represent Maomao: wood sorrel (also known as “cat’s foot”).

It’s a flower that can treat poisons. A flower that is used to enhance the beauty of the courtesans by painting their nails. A flower with a name associated with cats. A flower that, in hanakotoba, represents maternal tenderness. It’s also one of the flowers that Lakan specifically associates with Fengxian, and by extension, Maomao herself.

In the first opening—aptly titled, “Be A Flower”—the wood sorrel is the only flower that gets special attention. The other flowers are shown together with other varieties, but only the wood sorrel is shown by itself, and more than once.

We see it again in the second opening, with an infant being held by a parent, while flitting between images of Lakan and Fengxian’s backstory.

It’s such a simple flower, too. Small, unassuming, but full of diverse uses and qualities, be they medicinal or ordinary. A very fitting flower for Maomao, and what she brings to the story.

[livelaughlovesubs]

Hatefucking with Sanemi? Hashira reader and Sanemi have a history of tension between each other and reader challenges that he wouldn't be able to handle the strap. He's confident, but by the end of the night you have him flat on top of you with his tongue lolling out while he sloppily rolls his hips into your length

Dammn- alr let’s go I did learn to appreciate him, somehow (also the sub kny fandom is still alive?)

Dom!hashira!reader x sub!sanemi - reader is gn

Warning: pegging (I use dick to refer to it), taking virginity, teasing, a tiny bit dacryphilia, cursing, mind break, I got lazy towards the end

His bad attitude was as infamous as his strength, his very own trademark, a huge part of his image. He was disrespectful towards everyone except the master, and frankly, he seemed to hate you to most. That was half justified, since you’d always bicker with him, taunting him by calling him weaker. Whenever the two of you met, a fight would break out while others shake their head. Today was no exception.

“Fuck, why do you have to keep bothering me?” Sanemi yelled, his hand on his sword, ready to pull it out at any moment. “Bothering you? I just happened to head to the same direction!” You sneered back, pulling a grimace. It was time for another hashira meeting, and just as fate wanted, you bumped into him on your way. “If you want to fight just say so.” The wind hashira glared at you, a vein forming on his forehead due to his anger.

You rolled your eyes, you weren’t in a mood for a barking dog like him, deciding to just ignore him and walk away. To your dismay, he shouted again and grabbed your wrist, “hey! Don’t you fucking ignore me!” You got pulled back by him. Agitated, you decided to not let this slide and yanked your wrist back, causing him to fall into your arms. “Let’s not fight like some brute animals today.” After catching him in an embrace, you clenched his shoulder with one hand.

“Suddenly acting so proper, aren’t you?” He snarled, letting go of you and pulling his hand back. “I just don’t want to cause troubles. How about, if you can take me, I’ll humble myself and apologise to you?” You suggested, then stopped squeezing him and raised both hands up into a surrender position. Sanemi stared at you suspiciously, but this idea of yours wasn’t unattractive in the slightest.

He wasn’t sure what you meant, even so he agreed without a second thought. “Don’t you dare go back on your words.” A cheeky smirk appeared on your lips as you said, “same goes for you.”

Maybe he should have asked what you had in mind despite his temporarily clouded judgement, because this was the absolute opposite of whatever he thought of. And that was very apparent on his face. You did tell him he can still back out and you wouldn’t tease him about it, since you didn’t really expect him to actually heed the promise. But, he was as hot-tempered as he was stubborn and insisted on continuing, mocking you by saying, “are you getting nervous or what?”

Fine, if he really wants to, who were you to stop him. That’s how the two of you got into this mess, this hot and filthy mess where both of you were striped bare on top of the bed, with him straddling your lap. You laid down comfortably while sanemi hovered above you. The deal was for you to not use your hands while he rode you, to see who would give up first. A faint blush covered your cheeks as you stared at him, at his firm muscles and pretty scars. Instead of being intimidated or even repulsed, you’ve always found them quite endearing.

Then your eyes darted back to his face, watching him with the utmost concentration. You were going to savour this moment to the fullest. His eyes were clenched shut, lips pressed into a thin line as he furrowed his brows. In comparison to your face, his was as red as it can be and sweat rolled down his cheeks. With shaky hands, he grabbed the shaft and tried to line it up with his hole, the other hand was clenching your shoulder for support. Slowly, he lowered himself onto your dick, gritting his teeth at each inch.

“You are doing great, sanemi.” You decided to give him an award praise, since you were pretty sure this was his first time. A kind of guilty washed over you for taking that from him over some measly bet. Instead of being thankful he snapped at you, mumbling, “shut up, I don’t need your compliments.” Before sticking the tip inside. And dear lord, the moan that followed was the lewdest thing you’ve heard up until now. “Ah-aAnnNG♡…?!” Loud, high-pitched and sharp, the little tremble in voice as he trailed off was just as lovely. He underestimated how painful it would be, feeling an indescribable pain course through his body along with something akin to lust.

Now he was shaking even more, slumping forward as he gripped your shoulders with both hands, using enough strength to leave bruises. He was thinking about whether or not he should continue, when his body so desperately wanted to take it out. “Uh-urghhh… d-damn it..” sanemi groaned, taking a few minutes to get used to the stretch. In the end he decided to suck it up and keep going, clutching you so roughly that his knuckles turned white.

You hissed slightly at the pain, closing one eye while bearing it. After calming down a little, you joked, “Don’t break my collarbone.” Your own hands were bawled into firm fists and kept next to your body, itching to touch and to feel him. He didn’t react to your little joke, in contrary, he was focused on taking you whole, trying to protect his pride from taking hits. With a swift move, he went down on you. “GuuUUhh..! Ah- y-y/n..” subconsciously, he called out for you, taking his sweet time bottoming out. Your ears perked a little when he used your proper name, surprised at the sudden change in character.

Without much to say, you stayed silent as you watched him pushing the entire length in, observing him overcoming his struggles. His bangs stuck to his forehead due to the amount of sweat coating him, he was still clenching his eyes shut as of now. You traced the scars on his body with your eyes. There were many large ones, turning his entire body into a patchwork. Some were even on his thighs. How you wanted to draw the outlines of them with your fingers and note gaze, how you wanted to tug his hair behind his face, so many things you wanted but couldn’t.

You gulped loudly, swallowing the lump inside your throat as he took half of your cock in. At this point he didn’t seem like the same he was moments ago. All of his movements became sloppy, clumsy even. Everything about him was shaking and you could tell he was at his limit just by his expression. The way he bit his bottom lip didn’t reveal if it was because of the pain or other reasons, but it was very likely. And the desire to just grab him by the waist and have your way with him was strong, but you decided to dispose of that thought.

After a few more minutes, he eventually sat down completely, one hand rubbing his tummy as he felt you deep inside him. “F-fuck…” He whispered through gritted teeth, instinctively trying to close his legs. You could feel his walls clenching down on you, holding you in a tight embrace. His face had a hint of struggle to it and he stayed completely still, probably adjusting to the stretching sensation. With your hands still rendered useless, you waited, observing him and noticing how he got hard.

His precum dripped down onto your stomach, creating a small puddle of fluids. It somehow put your mind at ease, to think that he was enjoying this and not just cursing under his breath. Then you teased him, “oh sanemi~ I didn’t know you liked getting fucked? Do you use your hole often?” The way he tried to slap you but stopped mid track was kind of funny. Due to him moving so suddenly he also moves his hips, causing him to inhale sharply as the pain spread again. “UrgHhh..!” He immediately covered his mouth with his palm, shoulders raised to his ears as he looked away.

“This won’t do, you have to move sooner or later.” You sighed as another idea popped up, raising an eyebrow at him before chuckling, “or is it too much for you? Do tell, I won’t force you.” The playful tone you used ticked him off so badly that he moved up, trying to keep down the embarrassing noises as he said, “you are getting rather impatient, don’t tell me it’s a ploy?” Then he slammed himself down again, and moaned loudly, “ah-aaAAAhH… w-wait..?” The tip hit something inside him that send chills down his spine, making his blush darken by a few shades. “T-the heck was that…” sanemi mumbled, he was kind of curious now, because that feeling was strange.

After that weird sensation coursed through his body, it didnt hurt anymore, instead he only felt a hot, burning sensation spread from there to the rest of his body. Not long after, he began chasing that feeling, bouncing up and down as more perverted noises escaped his tightly sealed lips. “Mhhmm..! Ngh… ah, y-you.. don’t you dare tell a-anyone about it.” He glared at you, don’t wanting others to find out about him enjoying this. Yet it didn’t feel intimidating considering the state he was in, and how adorable his face was.

At this point he was riding you with such fever that the slapping sound of skin against skin filled the room to the brim, echoing off the walls, reaching your ears. The rather lewd squelching sounds that erupted whenever he took you deep inside was not any better. He bit his bottom lips again, opening his eyes as he stared down at himself. This messy appearance of his made him feel humiliated, since he was showing this vulnerable side to you. You could also say he felt ashamed.

His dick twitched happily, bouncing against his own belly at times, creating sticky strings that connect the two parts. You could hardly contain yourself, keeping the promise seemed harder than ever before. Why did you have to propose a deal like that? And his waist seemed so tiny and grab-able in that moment, this was pure torture. Because you couldn’t contribute to making a mess out of him, you resumed to using your words to have some fun, smiling as you asked, “are you enjoying this? Or do you feel like giving up?”

“H-haah… Never, not against you.” He scoffed, giving you a challenging smirk before throwing his head back. Hot and warm walls squeezing you the best he could, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. Though he didn’t cry, he held himself back from doing that, only whimpering more and more with each passing second. “Aw, how cute you are, putting on a show like that.” You continued, meaning every word you said. “But it looks like you are doing it because of self fulfilment instead of the bet?”

He stopped abruptly, feeling his body shake at the sudden loss of pleasure. Wait, pleasure? So he was enjoying it. He did like whatever was going on, with him on top of you, riding you like some cheap whore. A wave of embarrassment washed over him before he craved in to his desires and yelled, “urGhhh!! Shut up! I-I do what I want uHhnng, you hear?!” That boy only raised his voice because he finally noticed, how he fell into your trap. Even if he were to win and you to lose, you wouldn’t have really lost. How sly of you.

“Oh, so you’ve noticed?” You laughed, and put your hands on his hips. “?! W-what are you doing! That’s- hGhhh, again the d-deal!” His voice turned a pitch higher as he felt your hands squeezing his sides, whining quietly. Having you touch him so intimately sure was something new. Without any hints of sadness, you explained your actions. He instantly understood what it meant for him, and he gulped loudly. Though he’d never admit it, anticipating and excitement filled him from the inside. He felt himself on the verge of cumming when he heard you whisper, “I surrender, you’ve won, alright? So, time to get to business♡.”

Needless to say, you two had a great time together.

By the end of the night, you’ve turned him into a complete stranger. Eyes rolled to the back of his head, little pleads for a break and fore more slipping past his previously foul mouth. Body twitching occasionally and limp from overworking himself, slumping down against your chest.But you weren’t quite done now, were you? All you had to do was change the position and command him to spread his legs. Of course your personal fuck toy would listen without hesitation, tongue hanging out as he eagerly waited for you to fuck him senseless. The once proud and snarky wind hashira has been reduced to a little slut. To your good boy.

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 .

# with roronoa zoro.

zoro feared the prospect of sex, for his cock was much too large for comfort. you made sure to reassure him on the contrary.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day two. smut (mdni). cock worship. deepthroat. oral (male receiving). afab!reader.

WC: 2k.

zoro was a sizable man. he was neither towering nor lean, more often than not short in comparison to the opponents he faced in the new world. his height remained above average for a common man, yet it was not length that made him; it was width. one had no need for a ten foot stature if the forethought disadvantage happened to be compensated with strength — and that was the one thing zoro did not lack in. muscles the size of a head and a body made for largeness, it was of no surprise that the same statement applied to his cock.

zoro was not prone to over-compensating competition with other men when it came to size, however, whenever the shitty cook was concerned, he was not beyond it either. sharing baths was a common activity, and he’d be caught dead before admitting to checking curly’s length — but he did. sanji was longer; whereas zoro was larger. he figured the other man’s cock would slide easier, cause less struggle, and when such thought traveled to you, zoro’s mood was quick to sour.

his yearning was nowhere near hidden. eyes trailed to your figure; a never-ending hunger; the redoubled effort to protect you alone. wasted months as a pirate-hunter, previous to the acceptance of an offer that would grant him the iridescent value of life, were but a blur of steel and blood; the meaningless pursuit of foreordained woe. a famished beast wielding sharp canines was unfit to claim the passionate touch of another, for it was meant to maim rather than to sooth. yet, under the golden grace of his captain’s command, zoro had become neither a hound nor a fiend. he was the fierce protector; the shield and the sword that soared above those deserving of his strength.

the acceptance of such character had cost him months of lonesome pondering. yearning for one he could not have; finding himself an ogre daring to dream about a deity’s kiss. being separated from the crew had countless disadvantages, but perhaps distance could present a cure for the enchantment you had placed on him.

he was — as expected — wrong.

the castle zoro had been sent to was one of many hallways and rooms, ensuring considerable privacy if one was to disconsider the ghost woman’s antics. whenever he was spent from training, a phantom at night secured under covers, his hand would trail itself to his aching cock, testing the waters; finding what pleased him the most.

you’d then invade his thoughts as though a promise of heavenly bliss. his hands were rougher; calluses born from a life of sword-wielding. his grip was brutal; his pace relentless. the length not fitting quite well around his palm, inches left uncovered. zoro would lose himself in the image of your struggle — tear-stained face and wide-opened mouth, the recurrent effort of swallowing him whole. he’d picture his hands on your head; your nose against his pubic hair. zoro would then rut his hips, pleasure born from the sound of your gagging, muffled by his cock. you’d whine and scratch at the flesh of his thighs; a trail of thin, pale, rose marking the muscles as yours to ruin. glossy eyes aimed at him, spit dripping down your chin. his bliss thereafter would be thundering, and though his load would cascade from his restless palm to his abdomen, zoro dreamt that it was meeting your tongue and face instead; coating your figure with spurs of white.

the act was recurrent. two years coated in training and masturbating. re-encountering you — the muse whose sacredness he dreamt of ruining —, zoro failed to return to the previous camaraderie. he withstood but six agonizing days before claiming your lips on the crow’s nest, the pent-up desire clouding logic. yet, the you from his subconscious — fucked-up, writhing, struggling — proved to be easier to ruin. zoro struggled to convey the idea of doing it so to the real you, meaning that, while your relationship was anything but cold, it wasn’t as passionate as you’d figured would be.

zoro feared his length to be an unwanted monstrosity; an overbearing amount of flesh. you were eager to prove him wrong.

his usual nightwatch approached, accompanied by guaranteed six hours of alone-time with your swordsman. when zoro reached the crow’s nest, a bottle of cheap sake in hand, and found you sitting the couch with a sly glint to your eyes, he seemed conflicted — both fearful and excited. you tapped on the cushion, and he grinned in faux confidence upon his approach.

zoro’s teeth dug on the cork and he spat it out, drowning his nervousness with awful-tasting alcohol. a solitaire string slipped past his parted lips to drip down his chain, a droplet of it resting on his clothed thigh. your fingers gripped the fabric of your shorts, not quite enough to contain the desire.

“how was your day?” he inquired, amused by your reaction.

“solid, nothing worth-sharing,” you rasped, glancing at his lips. “what about yours?”

“it’s better now,” he answered, intonation carrying a smoothness enough to leave you flustered.

zoro grabbed a fistful of your thigh before guiding your legs to his lap, making himself a tool for your rest. another swig; a renewed cascate of alcohol sailing through the rough seas of tanned skin.

“came to sleep with me?” zoro teased, tapping his fingers on your leg without proper rhythm. it was a double-edged sword hidden amidst inoffensive silk; ambiguous inquiry meant to embarrass, for he had never dared to surrender to lust. yet.

“trying to, but you’re a hard shell to crack,” you blurted, fearing the possible loss of bravery.

the bottle hovered mid-path; damp glass meeting chapped lips. zoro held himself with certain astonishment, unplaced doubt whose roots you could not find. he cleared his throat, perhaps pondering on a suitable approach for subject shift. you were swifter, readjusting the angle of your legs in order to sit on his lap.

zoro’s heartbeat was a wild flutter of butterfly wings under the touch. he shuddered when your lips were dragged through the flesh, tender kisses with warm tongue following-in-suit. you resisted the urge to recoil at the bitter taste of sake, smearing your palate as you wiped his chin clean. you blew a gust of air over his earrings, teeth around cheap gold.

his free, calloused palm gripped the covered flesh of your ass, the back of his head resting on the wall as zoro guided your movements; a grunt at the leisure roll of your hips.

your fingers toyed with the hems of his kimono, parting it open. the sleeves hang on his forearms before zoro freed his upper figure from the fabric altogether, allowing it to pool on his hips. your lips left a trail of kisses in its wake, hickeys drawn from his collarbone to the thin, large, scarred tissue on his chest. zoro groaned, muffling a pathetic moan with the swallowing of sake.

your figure retreated, coating his flesh with saliva, adoring the sword-wound who had once been fresh and bloodied, skin relinquishing to another’s blade. the scar was a symbol of his survival; the token of his dream. zoro had not once seen it past the image of strength, unable to convey it as an object worth-loving. yet, your lips held nothing but fondness, and that had been his uttermost undoing.

zoro’s cock hardened, a constant poking under the weight of your ass. his hips rutted after a particular swirl of tongue around his nipple, and he grew desperate; a tender attempt to nudge you away.

your fists clenched around his muscles, face pressed against his chest. you looked up at him, a voice coated in confusion. “what is the matter?”

zoro’s lips parted, yet his voice was lost when a particular roll of your hips dragged your cunt above his aching cock. his eyes trailed down to the covered bulge, breathless at the idealization of what was to come.

“zoro,” you hummed, brushing your cheek against his muscular frame.

“it’s too large,” he grunted, gripping the bottle. “you will hurt.”

you were confused, biting it down. the frustrating hesitation from his part; the absence of lustful touches. for the briefest instances, you were drawn to believe that he deemed you unattractive. yet, all could be resumed by his fear of bringing you pain. it was adorable, although not what you had the need for whatsoever. for there was a looming beast, starved and yearning for a decent prey.

“of course it will,” you grinned, aiming to provoke the creature under the man. “you would be a disappointment otherwise.”

his demeanor shifted, tenderness vanishing amidst a gust of wind. zoro leaned back, drowning down a considerable amount of sake. he raised an eyebrow; challenging, demanding.

“what are you waiting for?” he grunted, gripping the back of your head; tearing your face off his warmth. “get on your knees and work.”

your legs clenched at the command, and your figure slipped to the ground; knees pressed against the harsh wood. your figure arched, so as to offer him the clear sight of your ass. zoro grunted, pressing your face against his covered member.

“don’t make me spell it out for you,” he rasped, curling his fingers in a bruising grip. “strip me.”

zoro made no efforts to aid you in such a task. you undid the knot of his kimono; tugged on his haramaki; removed his pants and underwear all but enough to witness the sight of his leaking shaft slapping against his abdomen.

he was not one to trim. the extension was curved; prominent veins twitching the second you had licked your lips. the tip was of violent swolleness, urging to be touched. the source of previous apprehension shone clearer, for zoro — although not quite as long —, was far larger; enough to stuff your mouth full.

“done watchin’?” he mocked, wiping a drop of sake from the corner of his lips. “all bark and no bite?”

he was offered a glint of faux innocence, your lips parting to produce yet another provocation. zoro had clutched the opportunity then, shoving his member inside, groaning at the warmth of your mouth wrapped around him.

a snap of his hips had pushed his length further, his tip brushing the back of your throat. you gagged, overcome with shock. tears rolled down your cheeks, and you struggled against his grip, a failed attempt at retreat. zoro pushed you back, suffocating your nose with his pubic hair; halting the flux of air with his cock. you moaned around him, squirming under his strength.

“look at you,” he cooed, caressing your chin with his thumb. “wasn’t i the one at risk to disappoint? can’t handle it, can you?”

obscured spots overcame the crystalline tears, clouded vision and an aching head as you were drawn closer to unconsciousness. zoro laughed, pulling you back. your burning chest filled itself with oxygen, desperate gasps and coughs all but amusing him further.

“open up,” he snapped, inserting a thumb inside your mouth and parting your jaw. zoro angled the bottle and poured sake on your tongue, liquid-fire igniting your throat. once he had enough, he pushed your chin up, forcing your lips sealed. “swallow.”

you obeyed, a slap of his cock meeting the side of your face. he teased his tip on the entrance of your mouth, gripping your nape. you gave him the desired access, and without an inch of hesitation, zoro filled you with his cock. no longer unused to his largeness, you began with swirling movements of your tongue, wetting the twitching veins; hollowing your cheeks to increase the pressure.

zoro groaned with unthought loudness, raising his hips to force himself deeper. one hand massaged his ball; nails dug on his thigh, scratching the surface, fresh blood pouring from the muscular flesh. his tip teased your uvula, returning to the tip of your tongue before reaching the end yet again. the up-and-down bobbing of your head was a constant; repetitive sounds of your gagging.

spit dripped down your chin, the salt of his essence nudging your palate. zoro chugged down the remaining sake, moaning as he glanced at your tear-stricken face; sweat and spit and pre-cum maiming the sculpture of your being.

“ngh— ‘m close,” he warned, snapping his hips and forcing himself further, uncaring as to whether or not you had relaxed your throat to receive his largeness.

you hummed around him, shutting your eyes in order to appreciate the entirety of his bliss. zoro snarled, snapping. “don’t you dare close your eyes. i want you to see me.”

your lungs burned, pooled tears. zoro was but a hazed image, though you could see the pleased glint in his eyes, the face contorting with the thrill of desire.

“you will swallow,” he stated, his head falling into the wall. zoro clenched the muscles of his abdomen, offering you a clear sight of his bobbing throat. “you’re close to passing out, aren’t you? i will fuck you unconscious if you do.”

you whimpered, failing to nod as zoro’s load drowned your throat and tongue. swallowing it all was but impossible, multiple strings of white dripping past your lips; traveling down your chin and throat. the removal of his cock left your mouth oddly empty, and zoro dragged your body to his lap, pressing you against his figure. he placed a hand above your chest, guaranteeing that your heart and breathing were steadying.

zoro’s thumb pushed his essence yet again into your mouth, humming when you offered him the sight of your tongue, stained with his cum.

“not a disappointment at all,” he mused, kissing your temple. “i wonder, does your cunt stretch as much as your mouth?”

— 🐈‍⬛ : zoro fuck my mouth challenge. happy second day of kinktober!

[diodellet]

"bondage" SAY NO MORE VESTIE!!! dare i say my interest is ✨Piqued✨

꒰ The Spider and the Fly ꒱

This is for my hormones every artist/ writer who dragged me into the Miguel O’Hara fandom. Your content is absolutely amazing, and I hope this piece can measure up to the brainrot you’ve given me  ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

Tw:: YANDERE, kidnapping, manipulation, blood, violence, self-deprecation, mention of suicide, bondage, noncon, nsfw, MDNI

Note:: Female reader, double POV, ASTV spoilers, Best Wingman Award goes to LYLA

♡ 7.6k words under the cut ♡

i. spiral orb web

You’ve always been attracted to pretty things, and that includes spiderwebs.

In your eyes, the spider’s craft is the closest thing to art in your everyday life. It is a natural phenomenon marked by intricacy and utility, yet one so easily overlooked due to its associations with pest behavior.

Fortunately, public reception has shifted since the emergence of Spider-Man. It is thanks to your “Friendly Neighborhood Hero” that the spiderweb has been rebranded as a symbol of safety. Be it a weapon or a life-sized shelter, there is a certain beauty to those human creations.

Though the same cannot be said for Miguel O’Hara’s.

Spider-Man 2099’s webs belong to their own category. His are scarlet, bright as lasers, conspicuous and dangerous in equal amounts. When Miguel traps a villain in his webs, one is reminded that a spiderweb is the tool of a predator.

Miguel’s webs are not the only thing which set him apart from the other Spider-Men. He has more inhuman powers—claws, fangs, paralytic venom. His jaded personality and intimidating stature are also far removed from the public image which inspires hope in civilians.

Perhaps that is why you find him all the more alluring. Or it could be simply because he is the one who saved your life.

He’d done more than rescue you. After catching you midfall, Miguel regards you with shock and…pity, you think. It is the only logical explanation as to why he is being so gentle with you when your dimension’s stability is a greater concern.

It also explains why he allows you to follow him into the departing portal. No, follow is a self-preserving term. More like burst into tears, ran after him, then told him your pathetic life story and how anywhere is better than here.

Much to the surprise of his coworkers, he relents.

꒰♡꒱

At first, Miguel thinks you are an Anomaly.

It is one thing to find you in another dimension. It has happened before, and he always avoided your Variants for their sake. But you are inescapable.

Among every version of you, the happiest one was his Variant’s wife. Then there’s you, the one whose life would’ve ended if not for his interference.

He tries to justify his decision. Your departure doesn’t affect the Canon, so no harm will come to your universe. And judging by your personal data, you would be much safer in a different dimension.

His dimension, to be specific. Where he can keep a close eye on you.

He is also logical enough to recognize you as your own person. You aren’t his wife, and his observations support that theory. Your hairstyle is different. You code-switch more often. You sleep and wake up at earlier hours. You’re not as confident in your abilities.

You are alike and unlike her in so many ways, yet he still sees a spark of his sun in you.

ii. funnel web

Since then, you’ve resided in Nueva York.

In return for permanent residency, you are hired as a secretary for the Spider Society. It’s civilian work, nothing dangerous, but more purposeful than what you’d ever achieved in your old job.

Strangely enough, you encounter Miguel quite often.

At first, it feels totally warranted. He is the only person you know in Earth-928, so he guides you through every step of your adjustment. He gives you a Dimensional Travel Watch, shows you around the facility, and instructs you on how not to mess up the multiverse.

After your first week, he invites you to move in with him. Miguel claims that his home already has an extra bedroom, though LYLA’s remarks suggest otherwise. Regardless, you accept since it means a familiar roommate and better living quarters.

How thoughtful of him.

꒰♡꒱

“It’s easier to look after her if we’re under the same roof,” he rationalizes.

“Sure,” says LYLA. She flickers above his shoulder and watches the holographic screens with him. “Are you sure it’s not because she reminds you of a certain someone?”

Ignoring her, Miguel switches to a different camera angle. Peter B. Parker walks past your desk and does a double take, and he is promptly summoned for a meeting.

No doubt, there will be questions about you.

“What about the redesigns?” LYLA pulls up a screen showing two bedroom layouts, one collapsed and the other abandoned. “Should we pick one? Merge them? Think of a new design? Or we can ask for her input, seeing how she clearly has better taste than you.”

One of the monitors catches their attention, announcing an Anomaly in Earth-131222.

“Let’s talk about this later.” With that, Miguel opens a new screen and analyzes the data. On second thought, he adds, “She prefers thin bed sheets.”

-

Later that day, he escorts you home. Your mood has greatly improved since your change in environment, though you’re still quiet around him. LYLA compliments your coat, a purple remnant of her closet which Miguel lent to you, but he ignores her knowing glances.

You wear it differently, he notices. It’s the same article of clothing, but fully buttoned with a silver brooch on one lapel. The effect is significantly less casual.

“So, this is it.” Your expression turns hesitant as Miguel unlocks the front door. “Are you really sure that I can stay here?”

“I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t a hundred percent sure,” he points out.

And it means less time monitoring the CCTVs.

“And you haven’t seen your room yet!” adds LYLA. “We know you’ll love it.”

“I guess it would be impolite to back out now.” You follow him inside and remove your coat. “I’ll try not to be a nuisance.”

He pauses.

That green dress…he could swear that he’s seen it on you before. Many shades lighter, paired with a bright smile, to match the T-shirt of the little girl by your—

“Miguel?” You frown at him, then your gaze flits to your dress. “Is there something wrong with my outfit? I didn’t commit a serious fashion crime in your dimension, did I?”

“It’s nothing,” he says quickly. But upon noticing your lingering anxiety, he admits, “You look good in it. That’s all.”

You nearly drop your coat. “W-What? Are you serious?”

Miguel could swear that you look more shocked than during your first meeting. If he were to come close enough to touch your face, it would surely feel warmer than average.

That’s enough.

“I meant what I said,” he replies, walking ahead. “Do you want to look around or are you just going to stand there?”

That snaps you out of your fluster. You follow him into the living room, a small smile making its way to your face. “The living room is pretty. Was it you or LYLA who designed it?”

The change of topic is a godsend. As Miguel shows you around, you recover from his comment and focus on your surroundings. LYLA is the next to admire your dress, winking at Miguel as she asks about the color, and he takes note of your reaction.

More vulnerable to flattery, regardless of speaker. Extremely happy afterwards.

His wife wasn’t like that. Usually, she’d be the one teasing Miguel with praises, pick-up lines, and inside jokes which he pretended to understand.

Still, it’s nostalgic to sit next to you on the sofa. He could get used to this again.

iii. lace web

In the following months, you fully adjust to your new life.

Your job in the Spider Society is manageable, fun even. Aside from the Spider-Man of your dimension, your close coworkers are kind enough to welcome you into their group. They look out for you, include you in their conversations, and appreciate your hard work.

They even indulge your aesthetic interests! One word from you, and they are already comparing webs. Among the various designs and techniques, however, none have fascinated you as much as Miguel’s.

…You do wish he’d let you roam Nueva York more often.

In case of Canon events, you need to get his permission first. Then you have to wait for him or an assigned Spider-Man to accompany you, and the latter is always a stranger whom you find difficult to bond with. Conversations with LYLA can only do so much.

You’ve recommended your coworkers before, but Miguel doubts their reliability. And every time you invite them to go with you, a new mission cancels your plans. If not for the official records, you’d suspect them of making excuses.

It’s a bit frustrating, honestly, but you know better than to complain.

You should already be satisfied with Miguel. He is an agreeable roommate, he trusts your capabilities, and he acknowledges your efforts. And no matter how closed-off or overworked he is, he's still deemed you worthy of his company.

…He is also very nice to look at. Muscular physique, handsome face, a serious gaze occasionally tinted in red. It’s a shame that he rarely smiles.

In another dimension, a better version of you would have definitely pursued him.

꒰♡꒱

“...and get this, he can shoot webs with stabilimenta. The designs are so detailed!”

“Oh, wow.” Miguel barely looks up from the monitors, grimacing at yet another Anomaly. He quickly sends an alert to the dimension’s Spider-Man. “What else?”

Behind him, you suddenly grow quiet.

“Now that I think about it, you must already know that since you recruited him. Sorry if that wasn’t anything worth listening to…are you sure I’m not bothering you?”

“You’re not.” It comes out faster than intended.

He turns around. Once again, you look surprised by his words, but you don’t ask for confirmation this time. You just nod and return to your digital reports.

Why did you visit his laboratory again? You said it was a false alarm from LYLA, who’d likely sent it on purpose. Lately, she’s been on his case about how rude it is to “avoid” you through extra work. He thinks he could easily do without distractions or triggered memories, however.

Miguel opens a private file and thinks of what you’d just told him. Apart from concerned looks from Jess and Peter B, most of the Spider-Men haven’t given you any trouble. Your colleagues, however, are a different matter.

-

23) ______ laughed because of some stupid pickup line from Web-Slinger. Smiled when he complimented her outfit (purple blouse, black high-waist skirt, favorite heels, pearl hairpin).

24) ______ talked about the other agents’ webs again.* She admires stabilimenta.

-

“You should be careful with your friends,” he tells you. He types a few more observations and closes the screen. “The last thing I need is for you to get involved in their mess. Don’t think that I can’t see them slacking on the job.”

To your credit, you don’t apologize. “Noted.”

“Miguel!” LYLA appears and moves the screens around him. “We have an Anomaly in Earth-65, plus an incoming Canon event.”

Great, another one. With one of the Spider-Men involved in Kingpin’s collider, no less.

“I’m on it.” He types the coordinates on his watch and activates the portal.

“How dangerous is it?”

He stops, just a few meters short of leaving.

You leave your desk, an anxious look on your face. “I know you told me not to worry before, but I really have no idea of what your battles are like. So…will you be all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” he assures you. A hug comes to mind—it always calmed her anxieties—but he instead gives you a shoulder pat. “Don’t wait for me. If it takes a while, LYLA will call someone to escort you home.”

“Okay.” You’re still standing in front of him, but he can feel the tension leaving your body. “It’s my turn to cook dinner tonight, right? I’ll prepare a nice victory feast so look forward to that.”

A few more seconds wouldn’t hurt. “You don’t have to.”

You pout at him. “But I want to. Besides, it’s not fair that you are so good at making my favorite meals. I still haven’t perfected yours.”

Secretly, Miguel thinks your cooking tastes better than his wife’s. But whatever keeps you distracted while he is saving the multiverse.

It’s also…nice to talk about work with you. With her, he had to act normal and make up excuses for his sudden disappearances. It’s refreshing to see your concern and know that you are wishing for his safety. To imagine your relieved smile when he comes home.

“Miguel!” LYLA reappears between the two of you. “I hate to ruin the moment, but Spider-Woman could use some help. I know you’re counting the seconds!”

No more time to waste.

“I’ll see you later.” He lets go of you and walks into the portal.

“Take care!” you call after him.

iv. triangle web

“Welcome home, love!”

As the door opened, Miguel resisted the urge to flinch. The lights were always too bright.

His Variant’s wife wasted no time hugging him. “What took you so long?”

“Something at work came up,” he explained, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Again?” You closed the door behind him, a frown replacing your smile. “That’s the third time this month. Is there a problem in your office?”

“It’s…classified information. But nothing to worry about, mi sol.”

The house felt lively, even with Gabriella temporarily away. Warm lights. Family photos. Personal belongings scattered about. Your cheerful presence leading him.

The TV in the living room was on, paused at the beginning of a new film. Movie nights were an old family routine, he’d learned. The first time Miguel arrived in your husband’s place, you and Gabriella had agreed on a family classic.

“Okay then. I’m just glad your office isn’t in the same area as that crime from earlier. Was there any debris blocking the road?”

“Not much.” And definitely none on the route to your workplace.

Upstairs, Miguel took a shower and contacted LYLA. The Anomaly had been returned to its original dimension. If he were lucky, none would appear tomorrow.

You were on the sofa when he came back. Wordlessly, he sat next to you and you rested your head on his shoulder. The film began playing.

“I called Gabriella,” you murmured. “She and her friends are already planning their next sleepover. I’ll pick her up tomorrow morning.”

“That’s good to hear. Have you gift-wrapped her present?”

A pearl ring glinted above your intertwined hands. “It’s in my closet.”

Note to self: Ask LYLA to record the party. It will be a nice memory to revisit.

He smiled at you. “I can’t wait to see her reaction.”

The movie had a happy ending. It was, in your words, a cinematic masterpiece.

-

“That’s how it ends?”

Your outburst prompts Miguel to face the opposite end of the sofa. In the dim light, he can easily make out the unimpressed look on your face.

“The ending looks decent to me,” he muses. “If you ignore the logistics of their reunion, the film is entertaining enough to rewatch.”

“I think it could be more realistic. And you’re saying that across the multiverse, this is the most common version of the movie?”

“In five dimensions, to be exact. Others have the same ending but different actors.”

You pause. “I’ll admit that Earth-928’s version has superior costume design. But I still prefer my dimension’s neutral ending. Maybe it’s because our societal values are different.”

The closing credits continue, but neither of you leave the sofa. You’re still criticizing the film under your breath, unaware that Miguel can understand every word. He does agree that the happy ending causes a few plot holes.

At least with you, he can adjust the brightness levels.

“We can watch your version next time,” he offers, reaching for the remote with his webs.

“Really? You don’t mind?”

He turns off the TV. “We can do it on my next day off.”

Knowing LYLA, this won’t be the last time she plans a movie night without telling him.

“Well, what else could I do?” she asked after he privately demanded an explanation. “You’ve been working yourself too hard, Miguel. You could really use a break, and so does ______.”

You take the remote from him and untangle the web fluid. “Do you mind if I keep this?”

Miguel gives you an odd look. “For what reason?”

You twist the web in your hands, forming string figures.

“As a decoration, maybe. Oh, and just for the record, I don’t go around collecting webs from your coworkers. I just find yours particularly interesting.”

Weirdo. “My webs are functional like the others’. That’s all there is to it.”

You look him in the eye this time. “Hey, you should give yourself more credit. It’s my belief that every spiderweb is a work of art. And before you call me overly romantic, there have always been artists who thought they were worth noticing."

The web loops around your ring finger, in the place where her wedding ring used to be.

He averts his gaze. “I don’t see it that way. But whatever works for you.”

Another moment of silence.

“There is another reason,” you add softly.

He side-eyes you. “Is it about that day? You don’t need to keep thanking me for saving your life. As I said, I was doing my job and anyone would’ve done the same.”

“I wasn’t talking about you catching me.”

Oh, you meant that.

The web tangles in your hands.

“Listen.” You take a deep breath, eyes on your lap. “I know you’ve been avoiding this subject. Maybe it's so I don’t feel indebted to you or pressured into reliving bad memories. But…I just want you to know that I’m glad you foiled my plans.”

…It would be best to let you finish first.

Your voice shakes. “I mean, you’re smart, aren’t you? Even without my meltdown, you would’ve figured out that my fall had nothing to do with the Anomaly in my dimension.”

He did. And that was precisely why Miguel mistook you for one at first. It wasn’t just your identity but the fact that you were found in danger after the Anomaly had been captured.

Ten minutes post-battle. The undamaged state of the nearby buildings. The passive acceptance in your demeanor.

He can vividly recall the rest of that day. Those hours spent studying your personal data, identifying every action and condition which diverged from his wife's path.

A loud sigh. “I just—I couldn’t take it anymore, okay? I thought it would be easier to put an end to my mistakes, then you had to show up. And thanks to you, life has been great! I like this world, I’m not alone, I still have my personal issues to work through but I’m trying to do better. But yeah…I’m just sorry for forcing you to get involved.”

“It’s not your fault,” he insists. He scoots closer to you and puts his hand on top of yours. “I made the choice to bring you here. And I couldn’t exactly leave you, knowing your situation.”

That is a lie. Rather, half of his thoughts were about his wife and how he’d been able to sustain her happiness. How that farce proved he could do the same for you.

“Either way, I’m grateful.” You look up, your lips curving into a shy smile. “I’m really happy now, Miguel. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I’ll never regret my decision to follow a cryptic stranger into a portal. Even if it meant learning that the multiverse is in constant danger. Or that my favorite film has an alternate ending which makes no sense to me whatsoever.”

Has his wife ever looked at him like that? There is a soft brilliance to your gaze, wholly reserved for him. It triggers a warm feeling in his chest.

The moment is quickly ended when you cover your face with a cushion.

“Anyway! If you don’t mind, I’d really love to move on and talk about something else. How was your mission earlier? Is Earth-199999 still giving you a hard time?”

You’re still seated next to him, legs touching. Your tone leaves no room for objection.

He lets go of your hand. “You would not believe what kind of shocking messes we’ve had to deal with. We are never recruiting Dr. Strange or his little nerd.”

“You can tell me all about it.” You untangle his web from your hands; it loops around your pinky finger this time. “I’m here for you, okay? For as long as you’ll have me.”

v. mesh web

There have been more Anomalies lately.

You walk past the detained villains, silently counting them. Their increase in numbers has kept the Spider Society on high alert for the past weeks. While it means more documents for you, the effect on Miguel’s stress levels is concerning.

Come to think of it, has he returned from his mission yet? If not, you hope the cafeteria’s takeout boxes have a self-heating function. As you get closer to Miguel's laboratory, you hear the door open. The sound is followed by two sets of footsteps.

“Do you think it’s healthy for him?”

“I’m more worried about ______.”

You stop walking.

Is that Peter B and Jess? Why are they talking about you?

Jess’s tone is reproachful. “The poor girl has been through so much already. It’s not safe for her to be here, at least in this facility. He knows that she is a different case from Gwen.”

“You know how Miguel is. I’ve already asked about her, and he won’t tell me anything new. Not even my Super Adorable Mayday album could convince him.”

“I don’t like this, Peter.”

Their footsteps become louder. You go back to the entrance of the hallway, just within earshot but hopefully far enough to evade their Spider-Senses.

“Neither do I. But you should’ve seen him when he lost their daughter, Jess. Now think of his wife: He never got to see ______ before she disintegrated. Then one day, out of nowhere, after staying away from countless Variants, he finds a version of her who needs him.”

…What the hell are they talking about?

The walls close in on you. You take a step back, followed by another.

Then, at the sound of a sharp “Is someone there?”, you drop the takeout box and run.

Their daughter. His wife. A version of her.

You already know that Miguel lost a family in another dimension. It was briefly mentioned when he warned you about Canon disruptions, but he refused to share the details. Is this why?

This whole time…you are a Variant of his wife?

You aren’t followed. Your coworkers cheerfully greet you, but you ignore them and return to your desk. It’s arranged the way you like it, complete with personal decorations. The drawer holds a stress ball in your favorite color, a gift from Miguel of all people.

You never did tell him that it is your go-to stress reliever. Was it the same for her?

You squeeze the ball and take deep breaths, but the action does little to calm you.

It all makes sense. Why else would Miguel take an interest in you?

Your gaze lands on your Dimensional Travel Watch before you remember that the idea is futile. Yours is only a modified version which prevents glitches but can’t be used for travel. And the Go-Home Machine would require Spider-Byte’s help.

…Why are you even wasting your time on an escape plan? How are you sure that you won’t mess up and make another mistake?

“______?” LYLA appears in front of your face. Her greeting sounds different.

He knows.

You force yourself to answer. “Y-Yes?”

“Miguel is back.” She flickers as usual, but it doesn’t change the nervous look on her face. “He wants to see you.”

꒰♡꒱

Peter B will be dead when he gets to him.

Several screens surround Miguel, each playing CCTV footage. He focuses on a live recording of you on your way to his laboratory.

At least you are complying with his orders.

The platform is fully lowered by the time you get there.

“Hey…welcome back,” you stammer. “How was the mission?”

“It was fine,” he replies brusquely. “Jess and Peter B spoke with me as soon as I came back. I was just confirming the status of Earth-67 when I checked the CCTVs. Care to explain?”

A heavy silence falls between the two of you. LYLA is nowhere to be seen.

Your panic is evident. Your gaze wanders, at everything but Miguel, until it stops at the dented takeout box on his desk. “Is that…is the food still warm? Or have you already eaten in Earth-67? I forgot to ask in advance.”

He glares at you. “Are you seriously worrying about my lunch right now?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to say?” you shoot back. The anger in your tone is unmistakable. “‘Hey, Miguel, when was I supposed to know that we were a family in the dimension you accidentally collapsed?’ Does that sound any better?!”

“Believe me, I was going to leave you alone at first.” He grips the edge of his desk, resisting the urge to raise his voice. “But how could I do it after the way you reacted?”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? You could’ve easily said no! This whole time, I wondered why you were so willing to help me. I thought you were being nice, that you believed giving me a better life was worth all these risky accommodations. Was…was I wrong?”

Your voice cracks at the last part, and you hastily wipe your eyes. It’s reminiscent of your first meeting, the distressed shock which Miguel had never seen in his wife. Only that time, you had sought out his comfort.

“Tell me, was it because of her?” you whisper. Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill. “Is that all you’ve ever seen in me?”

“You have the wrong idea.” Miguel approaches you, but you instinctively back away. He raises his hands in a placating gesture. “If you would just listen to me—”

“How can I?!”

Your hand settles on your wrist, unconsciously fiddling with your Dimensional Travel Watch. The clasp loosens, and his reaction is immediate.

He grips your arm. “Don’t do that! You’ll get yourself—”

“Let go of me!”

You pull back, clawing at his wrist, but Miguel's grasp only tightens. His other hand taps the watch’s controls to activate the Lock feature.

“This is for your own good, ______." In the split second that he releases you, his webs shoot out and bind your limbs together.

“No!” You collapse onto the floor. The scarlet threads dig into your skin, emitting a harsh glow in the dark. “Please, just let me go!”

After everything he’s been through, he is not losing you again.

Ignoring the stab of guilt, he picks you up and salvages what is left of his composure.

“You see, this is why I didn’t tell you.” He sighs, already feel the beginnings of a headache.

You’re still shaking in his grasp, tears rolling down your cheeks. “I…I’m not—”

His kiss easily silences you. It’s far from intimate but the sensations are familiar. Warm lips. The scent of your perfume. The addictive rush of euphoria. Physical and chemical reactions which couldn’t be adequately explained in words.

And the whimper that escapes your lips when Miguel pulls back to press a light kiss to your forehead.

“We can continue this conversation when we get home.”

vi. cobweb

Your days in the Spider Society are over.

Not permanently. Miguel says that you can resume work once you’ve calmed down, but you doubt it will happen under any pretense of freedom.

Since your confrontation, you’ve been confined in his home. As it turns out, Miguel had already prepared for this—locks, alarms, hidden cameras, a comprehensive speech which only elevates your horror.

“She wouldn’t want this,” you keep insisting. You writhe against your restraints, but the webs remain taut against your skin. “How would your ______ feel if she knew?!”

“She’s not here anymore.” Miguel looks away from your face, as though the reminder physically pains him. “What matters now is that I have you. The both of us can start over.”

“How can you say that?!” At this point, you’re on the verge of hysteria. “You…you don’t actually love me. You’re only doing this because I’m the closest you have to getting her back!”

The hand on your cheek makes you flinch. The gentle caress does little to soothe you, not with the underlying threat of his claws. His eyes flash red in the dim light, brimming with—what do you call it? Grief? Desperation? Obsession?

You can’t tell, not when those sentiments are for someone else.

“You only say that because you don’t know any better,” he says softly. His lips meet yours, trapping you in an open-mouthed kiss. “Now get some rest, mi sol. It’s been a long day, and we know how you get when you’re stressed.”

My sun. What a lie. Since when have you done anything to deserve such a title?

You can’t bother to fight back. You’re too tired to think, to resist the kiss, to move an inch as Miguel undos your restraints and tucks you into bed.

Instead, you close your eyes and retreat into slumber. But even in your last seconds of consciousness, his gaze is strongly felt.

-

As it turns out, Miguel really did consider all possibilities. Your Dimensional Travel Watch has an exclusive Lock feature, should you ever be tempted to escape him through death. It can only be removed during your scheduled baths, with LYLA acting as your timer.

You rarely talk to her, either. She clearly feels sorry for you, but not enough to help. She monitors your daily activity, keeps you company when Miguel is away, and tries to cheer you up. She has yet to accomplish the last task.

Against your better judgment, you ask her about your Variant. She is resistant at first, knowing the negative outcome, but you are persistent. In the end, LYLA decides that it’s better to show you a few videos than for you to ask Miguel directly.

…Your Variant is perfect. Pretty. Carefree. Successful. A calming presence. You can see why Miguel would fall for her, with how she effortlessly puts a smile on his face.

Among your Variants, isn’t there one who bears a closer similarity to her? Or were they too important to leave without disrupting the Canon? Is that why he settled for you?

“You have a better sense of style,” LYLA offhandedly mentions. “It was Miguel who said that. And do you know that he calls you one of our best workers?”

It doesn’t make you feel any better. “I see. Thanks for letting me know.”

As LYLA predicted, the information only makes you feel worse. You can’t stop thinking about your other self. How did she turn out like that? How did she succeed in your failures? How has Miguel perceived his moments with you, as new memories or a replica of lost time?

You don’t want to ask him. You’ve had enough disappointments for one lifetime.

Neither do you make an escape plan. On the low chance that you succeed, you don’t have anywhere to go. The Spider Society, or most of them, is loyal to Miguel. And it’s not like you’d be better off in your dimension, back to your empty home and dead-end job and daily reminders of your insignificance.

At least here, you can feel valued. Even if you owe that to someone else.

꒰♡꒱

“I hate to say ‘I told you so,’ but I told you so.”

Miguel doesn’t look up from the screens. “Now is not the time for this.”

LYLA is anything but smug. ”Are you sure? Because you said that when I asked if you’d ever tell her the truth, and look where that went. A civil explanation might’ve been nice.”

“How is she?”

“No better than with you.”

The CCTV switches to the kitchen. By now, you've established a new routine—lie awake in bed, rearrange your room, watch TV, cook your own meals. It's repetitive but easy to follow.

He zooms in on the ingredients. “Do you see anything suspicious?”

“No potential poisons,” LYLA responds, equally focused. “Oh, is she cooking dinner again? Last night’s meal looked really good.”

“It probably helps. Gives her something to preoccupy herself with.”

In the end, you’ve chosen the docile route. You’re still tense around Miguel, but your behavior can’t even be counted as malicious compliance. You just go through your new routine, trying to create some semblance of normalcy in confinement.

Though internally speaking, he has no access to your thoughts.

“She’s quite different from his wife, isn’t she?” asks LYLA. “I like this version of ______.”

Miguel zooms in on you this time. In your current state, you’ve revealed more contrasts to his Variant’s wife. It actually doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

When did his feelings for you begin? Was it when he saved you? When he saw a spark of his beloved in you? When that spark turned out to be your own brilliance?

All he knows is that you’re the one who consumes his thoughts nowadays. Your distinct preferences, your little quirks, your quiet words, your uncertain expressions, your attitude towards him and no other Miguel.

...There must be a way to persuade you. If Miguel was able to play along with his Variant’s family, to the point that his love became genuine, the same can be said for you. He just needs to prove that you can and will be happy together.

The only thing missing would be Gabriella.

vii. sheet web

You’ve been promoted to Miguel’s bedmate.

His room isn’t much. It is dark, minimalist, often empty due to the nature of his work. There are zero mementos of his lost family, not even a framed photo or something of her influence.

They’re probably hidden somewhere. How considerate.

On most nights, you act oblivious to your new sleeping arrangement. You just say good night to Miguel, lie down on your side of the bed, and try to fall asleep as quickly as possible.

…That turns out to be more difficult than expected. Try as you might to feign sleep, you can’t relax in Miguel’s grasp. He holds you tightly in his sleep, your back pressed against his chest. You wonder if it’s a familiar position or a means of keeping you close.

Lately, he has switched tactics. Movie nights have become a regular pastime. You’ve received permission to work from home, sans contact with the Spider Society. The two of you have even gone outside for a few dates, though his grip on your hand discourages any escape attempts. Awkwardness aside, he’s been more physically affectionate.

It’s absolutely jarring, but you’re somewhat grateful for the added comforts. If your choices are different from his wife’s, Miguel doesn’t seem to mind.

This should be fine. It’s better than when he was acting like an overprotective control freak…those methods had left no speculation as to who the intended receiver was. With this approach, you can never be sure if Miguel sees you or his wife in front of him.

You try not to dwell on it more than you already have. You’re still here. Your living conditions have marginally improved. Miguel doesn’t expect you to be more like her.

You just need to keep it together, like you always have.

That is what you keep telling yourself, up until the night Miguel asks for your thoughts on starting a family.

-

“No. Please, stop!”

Red. In the dark, all you can see is red.

The lurid color wraps around you, binding your wrists to the headboard. The webs are taut, no-frills, effective in their sole purpose of keeping you trapped.

No, what’s worse is Miguel. His gaze is trained on you, scarlet orbs alight with crazed desire and your own terrified reflection.

“Stop struggling,” he sighs as he pins you down. Blood decorates his bare arms, from where your scratches have already healed. “You’re only going to get yourself hurt.”

You continue, anyway, only to scream as he leans down and sinks his fangs into your neck. It hurts, the flesh burns, everything feels heavy—

You can’t move.

It doesn’t take long for the venom to kick in. The numbness spreads throughout your body, leaving you dizzy and helpless. Your limbs won’t cooperate at all.

Yet despite the paralysis, the pain stays with you. It’s the only sensation you can feel—the sharp ache in your neck, the chafing around your wrists, the sting from where Miguel accidentally scratched your thigh while tearing off your clothes.

“Mi sol, you are still tense,” he mutters. His lips remain on your neck, administering light kisses to the fresh wound. A clawed hand presses down on the bed, puncturing the fabric, to support his weight. “You need to calm down.”

You can only bite your lip as he moves on to your chest, tainting the skin with love bites. His other hand retracts its claws and strokes your stomach, tracing—are those patterns supposed to be her stretch marks?

Of course he memorized them. She must be on his mind right now.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but the ministrations continue. His thumb strokes your hip, eliciting a stifled moan, and the self-inflicted darkness gives way to the sight of Miguel’s irritated expression.

“You’re not listening to me, ______.” His eyes flash, daring you to try again. The sight of his exposed fangs, speckled with your own blood, triggers another wave of dread.

Should you even be surprised that he knows your sensitive spots? He already made it clear that any form of escape is in vain.

It's pure torture. It would be much easier if he would just have his way with you, use your body to his heart’s content, leave you to your thoughts. But no, he is taking his time and making sure that you physically enjoy this. Ensuring that you will be ready for what comes next.

“S-Stop.” Your lips are still numb, but you manage to form words. “I said…I don’t want this! I’m not ready!”

“Shh.” He silences you with another kiss, his palm pressing down on your stomach. “You’re just saying this because it’s our first time. You have to trust me.”

It’s hard to believe him when you know that his composure is slipping. What is he trying to hide? His ragged breaths? The hardness pressed against your inner thigh? The urgency with which he lifts your legs up onto his shoulders?

“You’ll understand once our child is here,” he says. He breaks off the kiss, his voice hushed to a reverent whisper. “We will be so happy, happier than you can ever imagine.”

“You’re lying…I can’t—!”

You can’t stand to look at him. His gaze is so cruel, clouded with love, adoration, hope. Skies, he looks so hopeful. You don’t want to wait for the day he looks at you differently.

Was this how he looked at her? How did she return his gaze? It must’ve been passionate. It must’ve been romantic. It must’ve been so promising.

“I can’t give you Gabriella!”

The world stops as soon as those words leave your mouth.

“...What did you just say?” Miguel stares at you, eyes wide.

Of all Variants, why did it have to be you?

That is when you burst into tears.

How humiliating. It’s hard to breathe, it must be an ugly sight, and you can’t do anything to cover your face. But it’s enough to make Miguel stop and listen to you.

“I can’t give you Gabriella,” you repeat in choked sobs. “It requires an exact time, specific cells and DNA. And even if we succeed, I can’t raise her into the child you knew. I...I can’t restore your family. I can’t be her.”

In the end, you will only disappoint him.

“______…” He raises his hand to wipe your tears, but you interrupt him with a glare.

“Honestly, why did it have to be me?!” you shout. “Why couldn’t you have found a better duplicate of your wife? This wouldn’t be happening if you’d chosen the right ______!”

He doesn't respond.

For a few seconds, all you can hear is your own pitiful weeping. You vaguely register the feeling of your legs hitting the mattress, of the absence of Miguel’s touch, but you keep your eyes closed. It’s easier that way.

Suddenly, there is the sound of threads snapping. Then the sensation of strong hands coming under your back, lifting you upwards, pulling you into an embrace.

Your eyes fly open. “What—”

“Ya, calladita.”

Miguel…is he hugging you? He holds you tightly, repeating the words in a hushed tone. The message is followed by a string of curses which, judging by the way he turns away from you, must be solely directed at himself.

Paralyzed, you can only stare down at your lap. At his webs, still wrapped around your wrists but no longer connected to the bed. “What are you—”

“Could you let me talk for a second?" he snaps. He tilts your face upwards, allowing you to take in his glare. “You are my first choice. Not the version of you from Earth-67, Earth-138, or any other dimension in the multiverse. It doesn’t matter that you are different from her.”

This can’t be true. “Still, I—”

“As for Gabriella, you’re right." There is a flash of resignation in his gaze, so sorrowful that it clashes with his words. “I knew that from the start.”

“...Then why?”

Your head spins. His hands are still on you, caressing your cheek and keeping you in his grasp. The numbness gives way to warmth.

“Well, it doesn’t change the fact that any child from you will be ours,” he answers. His voice softens, as does his gaze. “Just as you are mine and I am yours.”

The words get stuck in your throat. “Are…are you sure?”

How can he say such a thing? Your sense of hearing must be damaged. It is the only logical explanation as to why—

The look in his eyes leaves no room for doubt. “I promise.”

...What else can you possibly say?

Your vision blurs. Miguel is still speaking, another quiet reassurance from the sound of it, but it’s all static in your head.

What the hell are you supposed to do with this information? It’s beyond your comprehension, too subjective and unproven for the likes of you. And yet you feel…good. Happy. So, so happy despite everything you have been through.

Skies, you are truly pathetic.

No, what’s more pathetic is the way you cry harder and melt into Miguel’s embrace. It’s the way you listen to his remaining praises and beg him to keep talking. To list everything about you that is good and faultless and desirable to him, everything he thought was worth noticing.

And when he kisses you, you willingly reciprocate.

-

The darkness is soothing.

The dim lights cast the bedroom in shadows. It’s a blessing to your dizziness, your eyes tired from crying. With this obstacle to your vision, you can pretend that the previous hours never happened.

Almost. The soreness, the deft hands tending to your injuries, and the immense euphoria are impossible to ignore.

It’s also painful, unbearably painful now that the venom’s effects have fully worn off. You can only sit up and wince as Miguel disinfects another wound.

He looks up in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I am.” You give him a weak smile as he bandages your thigh and mumbles a second apology. “I feel better already.”

His own injuries have already healed, from your hesitant love bites to the scratch marks on his back. As guilty as you felt, you could only say so much before Miguel silenced you with a withering look.

…You will make it up to him tomorrow. If you are still capable of walking.

The thought leads you to cry into the pillow, muffling your curses. If Miguel can understand you, he doesn’t say anything. Rather, he closes the first aid kit and holds your hand.

“I’ll draw a bath,” he tells you. “Can you wait for a few minutes?”

Your thumb brushes against his pulse point. His heart rate is frustratingly calm, perhaps slightly above average if you are to flatter yourself. Maybe you can count the number of beats and ask LYLA tomorrow. She will be happy to confirm it.

You meet his gaze, intertwining your fingers with his. “Sure.”

You’d like to think that his last kiss is another promise.

With that, Miguel stands up and leaves the room. As for you, you lie down and go back to screaming into the pillow. Tired as you feel, you haven’t felt this thrilled in years.

Then the spiderwebs catch your attention. They’re still stuck to your wrists, albeit frayed. There are loose threads from where Miguel broke them.

Red. Illuminating the dark, holding you close, keeping you safe.

Carefully, you pick apart the threads and twist them around your hand.

No string figures this time. Your technique is clumsy, irregular, lacking beauty and order. Nonetheless, you continue until your left hand is covered in a glovelike pattern.

The final knot is above your ring finger. It’s a perfect fit.

It is the prettiest thing you have ever seen.

♡

Author's Note will be posted soon for those curious about the writing process!! ^o^

“I’m just going to write a short post to purge my brainrot,” I say, shortly before Miguel O’Hara unlocks a core memory of me reading The Spider and the Fly and inspires me to write 7.6k words with literary references.

Thank you so much to @diodellet for beta-reading this and @yanmaresu for helping me with the Spanish phrases!! As for my readers, I hope you enjoyed my take on Yandere! Miguel and his darling. Do entertain me with your comments and brainrot ⸜(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)⸝

Tag a Miguel O’Hara enjoyer!! @kocherry @yandere-romanticaa @yandere-daydreams @bweoo @h2o2-and-baking-soda @ansy-tea @yandere-wishes @weebsinstash @curesi @robindere @crystalcrynight @mrlidocaine @handsomeunderwear-art @blughxreader @chiikasevennn @fortheloveofleon

[celaenaeiln]

I want to talk about Dick Grayson's beauty, sex symbol status, and how it all connects for a moment.

This is a prelude to an upcoming post but I needed to include this separately because the other was getting too big.

First of all Dick Grayson is a beautiful man.

And you're probably thinking "well, no duh. Everyone knows that." but what I mean is Dick Grayson was intentionally made to be beautiful.

For a little historical context, around the late 1950s the culture in the US was changing. It was around this time, that people began exploring and accepting what they called a "feminine man".

This was really taking place in cinema and stuff where they began to show softer versions of men doing "typically female roles" as heroes.

One example is the movie "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance", a 1962 Hollywood film. In summary, it takes place in the midwest and is centered about Cowboys, gunslingers, the shebang. But the point is, there are two male leads in the movie - Ranse Stoddard (played by Jimmy Stewart) and Tom Donophon (played by John Wayne). Ranse and Tom are both the heroes in the film but with a key difference. Tom is like the sheriff of the town, loved by all and focusing his time on practicing his gun skills. The savior of women and normal people, he's the typical masculine hero. His face is rough and handsome. Ranse however was the new wave. He doesn't care about carrying the gun, he thinks it's uncouth and focuses much of his attention on sending the evil guy (Liberty Valance) to jail through laws. He doesn't want to kill and he takes a more advocative approach. He is also loved by everyone despite not being super masculine. Ranse's face is clean and almost dainty in comparison to Tom and Liberty Valance's.

Despite the complete opposites they are, both men are considered heroes. On one hand, you have the very male typical hero but on the other hand, you have the feminine male hero. At one point the evil guy laughs when Ranse walks in wearing an apron because serving tables is a "woman's job", but Ranse doesn't let it bother him.

How does this connect to Dick Grayson?

Dick Grayson is the feminine hero of DC. DC jumped on the pretty boy hero train.

That's also why in the Teen Titans (1966) comics, Dick keeps being referred to by endearingly feminine pet names by the titans which they seem to only use on him.

Standard gender roles: Men were expected to be strong, aggressive, and bold while women were expected to be polite, accommodating, and nurturing. Sound familiar about a certain duo?

But Dick? He plays both male and female gender roles in a time period where it wasn't socially acceptable to do so.

So my point is, Dick was created to blur the lines between gender and the way his character has progressed - he's meant to be the definition of a man opposite to male toxicity.

He can cook and do laundry whereas Bruce, the image of male dominance cannot.

This also falls into another role of Bruce and Dick's but it applies here as well in hindsight.

One thing people need to understand is that Dick was created to be the antithesis of Bruce Wayne. For all the gloominess that Bruce is Dick was meant to be the joy. He is the light to Bruce's darkness.

Which is why Dick often acts as the loving mother to the batfamily while Bruce acts as the stern father. Because Dick was created for the female role.

Part of the reason why I love Dick and Kory is because they do this at a time where girlbossing and malewifing wasn't a thing. Kori is consistently the dominant one when it comes to love in their relationship while Dick plays a softer, more "wife like" role. The way Kori is taller than Dick and buffer than him ✨

He is quite literally a queen consort - that is the role that Kori begs him to take after she is forced to marry someone her father picks out for her. But Dick refuses in tears because his morality cannot bear becoming a mistress and ruining someone else's marriage.

I know this is a long tangent but here's where the sex symbol comes in. Dick was created to be the most beautiful figure in DC but him being beautiful is not supposed to be confused with him being objectified.

Being beautiful is just something he was born as. What people do as a result has nothing to with DC

Take this for instance

He's literally just showering and comes out of the shower to find a random little girl singing about his and batman's identities. Creepy? Yes. Very much so. So he chases after her and finds her gone. Well there's nothing he can do now, he needs to go back and analyze what's going on and contact the other titans-

Crap.

Look at all the women that are ogling him, and even the ginger looks as if he doesn't know if he's jealous or wants to join - but there's nothing Dick did to make them do that. He's literally minding his own business and got caught outside. Did he hit on the women? Did he seduce them? Did he purposefully show off and make a loud commotion because he wanted the attention? No!

Arguing that Dick Grayson shouldn't be a sex symbol just seems wrong to me considering that it's not a fault of his.

It's like telling Kori not to have large breasts and telling Dinah not to wear fishnets.

People still ogle them regardless of how they dress because they're just that attractive. You can't tell someone to look a different way because you don't like the attention they're receiving...that's literally the opposite of everything people should be fighting for

Arguing that Dick Grayson being a sex symbol is a problem because he's too beautiful and blaming the actions of other characters for thinking so is just...

it's wrong.

He was created to be beautiful to fight male toxic masculinity. He's woman coded for a reason.

We should be embracing him. He represents everything male freedom should be about. He constantly placed in a female role, in female positions-

In queer positions-

He's acrobatic, slender, and sensual. He's gentle, loving, and beautiful.

When has the beauty of a person ever been a reflection of their character? The way fandom is going, it's implying that because female characters make sexualized comments about Dick's body, it's somehow Dick's fault for looking that way. We're blaming him for his "womanizing" ways as if he hasn't put his heart and soul into every relationship he's had. And while we're busy calling him a womanizer, we conveniently forget that the women he's in relationships with have significant personalities of their own. We inadvertently reduce their beings to plastic bags, ignoring that they have broken up with each other because of being unable to resolve conflicting beliefs, different career paths, different lifestyles, and more. It's not a one way road with our treatment of Dick. It's a two way street because we're harming both Dick and strong women like Kori, Barbara, Bea, Shawn, and Helena by pretending what they believe in and live for is unimportant in love.

Instead we should be exploring how the objectification might have an impact on Dick's mental health rather than blaming DC for using characters to describe how hot Dick is.

All the beautiful traits of Dick Grayson - his ambiguous sexuality, his overwhelming love for people, his affection for his friends, the way he cries and feels for others - all of it is beautiful, is it not?

From his very creation Dick was meant to be someone who breaks gender roles. The constant attraction he receives from both men and women in all of DC's media is evidence of that. The Grayson comics push the boundaries of his sexuality as much as DC will allow. To be queer without coming out with it. He is the feminine hero.

Everyone seems to hate that he's being called a sex symbol but why does that bother you? Dick Grayson IS the pretty girl of the comic universe. He IS the babygirl of DC.

DC has created the perfect view of what it's like to be a woman through Dick Grayson and we're spitting on the most accurate representation of a female that comics have ever created by blaming them for expressing what it's like to live as a woman.

[delta-orionis]

How Big are Iterators?

One thing Rain World does very well is portraying a sense of scale when it comes to iterators. They're massive superstructures large enough to have entire cities built on their roofs, and their processes are literally so powerful that they alter the natural environment around them.

I think in-game they're kind of meant to be unknowably huge, especially since the player character is literally a small animal who can't possibly fathom an iterator's entire extent. Despite this, I decided to try and figure out exactly how big they are.

Just a warning, this post is a bit long. I really fell down a rabbit hole here.

In-Game Clues

Five Pebbles and Looks to the Moon are the only iterators that the player can explore, but they're so huge that it's impossible to see exactly how big they are from so close. The only glimpse we get is from atop the big tree in Outer Expanse, where Five Pebbles' superstructure can be seen in the distance.

He's so big that his entire can doesn't even fit on the screen.

(Ditto, minus the clouds)

With nothing else close by to compare him to, it's almost impossible to tell exactly how big he is from this image.

However, we can see the entirety of other iterator cans in the distance from atop The Wall.

Here's what they look like not obscured by clouds:

The Speculation Zone

I made some assumptions about iterators to make my calculations easier.

An iterator's can (the large rectangular section) is 2 times as wide as it is tall.

Their legs are 1/2 the height of their can.

Their can is half obscured by a relatively uniform cloud layer.

These assumptions might not be entirely accurate, but they make the math easier.

Cloud Layer Height

At first I was tempted to try and estimate iterator height based on the cloud layer surrounding them, but I made the mistake of assuming the cloud layer is made up of rain-bearing nimbostratus clouds (which can reach up to 5km in height). This would make them literally taller than Mt. Everest. Iterators are big, but I don't think they're that big. I think it's safer to assume that the cloud layer is made up of low-lying stratus clouds that form a thick fog.

The way iterator rain functions could be an entirely different discussion, but I personally think it's caused by a sudden expulsion of large quantities of hot water vapor which very quickly condenses into rain clouds. A topic for another time, maybe. The takeaway is that I think the weather created by iterators doesn't have a clear analogue to real life weather, and it's misguided to assume that they function the same way.

Skyscraper Height

One thing that iterators have that can be compared to real life, however, is cities.

The largest buildings in these cities can be seen at a distance.

This in-game iterator sprite is 122 pixels tall, and the tallest building visible is 20 pixels tall. This means the top of this iterator's can is 5.6 times as tall as the tallest building on its roof.

We can compare these skyscrapers to the largest buildings on Earth. This requires some additional assumptions:

While the civilization that built the iterators is likely able to create skyscrapers much taller than the ones humans have created, I'm going to assume that the ones visible here are comparable in size.

I'm also going to assume that these skyscrapers are residential buildings, built to fit a high population density on top of an iterator. The tallest buildings on Earth tend to have very tall antenna spires which add to their overall height but are not inhabitable. Residential skyscrapers tend to be significantly shorter, so I'm going to use them as a comparison rather than the tallest skyscrapers on Earth in general.

According to Wikipedia, the current tallest residential skyscrapers range from about 300 meters to 475 meters tall. I'm going to assume the one in-game is 400 meters tall, as a nice even number.

5.6(400m) = 2240m

This would make an iterator's height, from ground level to the top of their can, about 2240 meters (2.24 kilometers, 1.4 miles).

Here's a diagram comparing that to the heights of some of the tallest free-standing manmade structures:

And here's a size comparison between a typical iterator can and Mount Everest:

Smaller than a mountain, but still huge.

Conclusions

Based on these estimates, I think typical iterator cans are about 2 kilometers (1.24 miles) in height.

This would make iterators significantly taller than anything created by humans, but I personally think an advanced society like the one that created the iterators would have no problem creating a structure this tall. (They canonically created thousands of iterators, after all.)

This estimate is also much shorter than my misguided original calculation, which made them taller than an entire mountain. While I do think iterators are meant to be unfathomably huge, I don't think there would be enough material on the planet to feasibly create thousands of identical mountain-sized superstructures. The player is also able to ascend from the ground to the top of Five Pebbles in just a few cycles (if they're quick), and I think it's much more feasible for an animal like a slugcat to be able to ascend a height of ~2km in a couple of days than to climb up an entire mountain. But again, this is pure speculation.

I made a ton of assumptions and rounded a bunch of numbers, so I could be completely wrong. There's probably other ways you could try to estimate an iterator's height that I haven't explored here. Let me know what you think; I love hearing about other people's ideas and theories.

Thank you for reading!