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mxrecg · 10 months

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True Love vs Infatuation | Gojo x Reader

Summary: Gojo loves nothing more than spending time with you, even if it only consists of doing the most mundane of things. It wasn't until today, you realized just how much Gojo Satoru loves you.

Pairing: High School Gojo x YN

Genre: fluff, established relationship

Word Count: 2.4k

A/n: Imma be so honest idk wtf this is but I wrote it a hellaaa long time ago. So bc JJK s2 is out I thought why not post this drabble I wrote a long ass time ago. I also genuinely think this prolly isn't how canon Gojo would act but bruh I tried!! Anyways enjoy

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Incandescent fireflies painted the dark sky with small flakes of light, creating an enriched serene atmosphere for reading.

So there you sat cross-legged, outside your balcony, fully engrossed by the book you were reading.

You slowly became hypnotised by the words allocated within the pages of the novel you were reading.

As your eyes further loomed through the pages and comprehended the context, your eyebrows furrowed in irritation and cuss words occasionally left your lips.

Lost and captivated by the words decorating the interior pages of the book, you paid no mind to the snoring boy who laid down on your lap.

You continued reading the story. Book in your dominant hand; whereas, the other one gently massaged the scalp of the teenage boy on your lap.

Page after page began to turn, and soon enough you’ve reached the final page… to say you were disappointed was an understatement.

Angered at the ending, you immediately slammed the book down on a coffee table and debated on whether or not you should ignite it on fire for illustrating such a realistic yet heartbreaking ending.

Your sudden outburst lured the teenage boy out of his sleep, and he groaned, carelessly rubbing his eyes during his tired state.

“Did one of your favourite manga boys die again?” he asked, now fully sitting up and stretching his arms.

“You’re not entirely wrong,” you aggravatedly muttered.

“Then tell me what’s aggravating your pretty self and giving you wrinkles,” he stated and you didn’t even bother showing your irritation to the latter comment.

You took a deep breath, turned your head and he watched as your eyes became livid as you recited the vast difference of each character’s milieu and how their fate perfectly intertwined with one another.

Your hands doing all sorts of motions, in an attempt to exemplify your extreme dislike and sadness of the poetic story you read.

A story involving two individuals who unconsciously were ameliorating each other’s lives.

“It’s infuriating Satoru!! Did these two airheads even love each other?? It hasn’t even been like 24 hours and the girl is already marrying the man who was bawling his eyes over another girl- love of my life my ass,”

Satoru listened to your outburst intently, smiling at the sounds of your melodic voice.

You let out a small huff of frustration, before finally ending your rant and the tears suddenly cascaded down your pale skin, “That being said, the author is able to write damn well.”

Satoru only laughed quietly, wiping away your stray tears with his right hand, “I thought you hated sad romantic books? Why would you willingly choose to read Shakespere? At least watch the movie instead,” he replied and began playing with your hair.

His reply caught you off guard and you tilted your head in confusion, staring at him with wide eyes.

“You know what book I’m talking about?” you asked incredulously.

“Yes… why do you look so shocked?” he asked, continuing to brush the threads of your h/l h/c hair, “It’s Romeo and Juliet, how could I not know? I swear Shoto was straight up fangirling about the movie actor-Da Vinci!!”

“Da Vinci?” you replied, flicking his forehead and trying to hide your growing amusement, causing the man to pout his lips, “How the hell would a painter act? A dead painter at that.”

“No- no Leonardo Da Vinci the actor-”

It took every fibre in you to not burst out laughing at the moron in front of you, “My love, listen to me carefully- it's Di Caprio. Da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa.”

The man in front of you scoffed at your reply.

“Da Vinci. Di Caprio, who cares. They’re both Leo’s involved in the art industry of the world. You must admit though, neither of them compare to me!” he said proudly.

“I don’t know…. Leonardo Di Caprio does seem to have a lot of fangirls right now…. I mean have you seen him in Romeo and Juliet? Or better yet, Titanic?”

The man only poked the interior of his cheek with his tongue, scowling at you as you laughed.

“The real question is though- did you read the book?”

“Yes,” he let out, not missing a beat.

“The Satoru Gojo reads? The world must be ending,” you teased, clasping one of his hands and using your other hand to caress his cheek.

Satoru didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned into your hand and softly smiled.

His eyes soon twinkled into amusement, as an idea struck him.

Noticing the change of his behaviour, you lifted an eyebrow to display your confusion. Satoru remained silent and instead flipped you over, so that your back was pressed against the couch.

He smirked, straddling your hips and began tickling your sides.

Squirming under his touch, you burst into fits of laughter, “T-toru…. S-stop….” you tried to breathe out, “Gojo- p-please hahahaha.”

Your pleas only encouraged him to tickle you faster, and you soon began to kick your feet, thrashing beneath the man as if your strength could overpower his.

“Say Gojo Satoru is the strongest person in the world,” he smiled, continuing his attack.

“I’d rather die,” you said in between heaps of laughter.

The man poked the interior of his cheek before smirking at you, a playful smile adorning his face as he continued with his attack.

“Being tickled to death. Hm that seems new, I’ll discard your body so don’t worry, suit yourself,” he replied and grazed his fingers at your newly exposed skin, since your shirt slowly began to ride up above your navel.

“Ok ok… Gojo… is the… strongest person….”

“Go on, continue,” he encouraged.

Despite the laughter escaping your lips, forcing your eyes shut, you already sensed the cockiness behind his words and you immediately laughed harder when you thought of something that would catch him off guard.

“Gojo- i-is… the… strongest….” you stuttered out.

“Altogether, now, state the full name,” he stated. Although, it seemed more like a command than a request.

“OK!! Gojo Y/n is the strongest person in the world,” you spurred out in one quick breath.

Impressed with the turn of events and his lack of words, you could not help but smirk- considering you made this cocky guy lose his demeanour.

His tickling immediately ceased, his irises resembling a deer caught in the headlights, and his mouth slowly falling open.

Gojo was in disbelief, as he tried to ensure his hearing wasn’t deteriorating and the words that escaped your mouth not too long ago were not a part of his mere illusive imagination.

Before he could recover and say some snide snarky remark, you grabbed Satoru’s shirt, pulling him down with you against the cushions of the couch you resided on.

The action took him by surprise, but he didn't refuse and instead grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him, with his arms eventually caging you beneath him.

He licked your bottom lip, and you found yourself parting your mouth slightly, both your tongues intertwining with one another.

Caressing your cheek, he then began to angle your head more towards the left, and did not hesitate to bite your bottom lip shortly after.

You hissed at the new sensation, and Gojo immediately attempted to alleviate the now burning sensation on your lips by running his lips over the new forming bruise.

You were the first to pull back to breathe. As the both of you attempted to even out your breathing, one of your hands caressed his dusted pink cheeks, while the other one removed his sunglasses, revealing those piercing icy blue eyes you fell in love with.

He looked at you with such love and adoration that you could not help but feel butterflies swarming around your stomach.

Your e/c eyes looked up at his illuminating bright blue ones and you smiled, “I’m the strongest person in the world, Toru.”

“That you are,” he replied, kissing your nose.

“You’re not even going to rebuttal and be the cocky bastard you usually are?” You questioned him, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re the strongest… The strongest doesn’t necessarily mean having the most power. It’s your character. Plus you got me… not just anyone could make me fall in love with them. You have my tall ass whipped around your finger.”

You stared at your boyfriend, in awe and bursted out laughing. “We’re both strong. How about that?”

“Mhm. We’re the top two strongest special grade sorcerers to exist, and for the next century to come” he muttered and buried himself into your neck, as he was now fully lying down on you.

You laughed at his reply, “Your best friend might not like that statement so much,”

“... I mean you’re also my best friend and technically you’re stronger than him, not by a longshot but still stronger nonetheless… and I couldn’t be more proud of you,” he mumbled and kissed your neck.

You quietly hummed in reply, and began to softly hymn the songs of a soft lullaby.

Satoru was still lying on top of you, and as the melody escaped your lips, your fingers threaded his soft white hair.

Gojo Satoru was at peace. This cocky bastard was like putty in your hands, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

To others his exterior forecasted a childish, arrogant and conceited individual. One who would blatantly show his dislike to those who he did not give an ounce of care for.

And to the shaman and other sorcerers who only knew his name, he was a force to be reckoned with and feared.

But to you, he was only Gojo Satoru.

“Y/n?” he called out softly.

“Yeah?”

“You know, I love you, right?” his face may have been hiding in your neck, but you could feel him smiling.

You raised an eyebrow at his sudden comment, but even you couldn’t stop the smile threatening to form, “I know. And I love you too, forever and always,”

“You didn’t lie though earlier,” he randomly stated, “One day, your new name will become Gojo Y/n.”

“Satoru…” you whispered, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall.

“One day, I’ll marry you… and when we’re older you'll become the mother of our children.”

“One day Satoru, one day,” you replied, kissing his temple. “By the way, since when did you even read- romance books?”

You felt his breathing hitch and he slowly pried himself off of you, aimlessly scratching the back of his head.

“Uhm… like two years ago?”

“Why though?”

“About two years ago, there was a new transfer student. I noticed she was eloquently spoken, especially in English-”

“Eloquently spoken??” You asked, trying to suppress your laughter.

“Shut up and let me finish,”

You covered your mouth and smiled.

“Anyways, I was coming back from a mission and stuffing my face with an assortment of sweets. Then I heard you and Shoko talking about romance novels, and how you liked guys that read… so the first book I picked up was some corny romance manga and then I read Romeo and Juliet. Shitty book that I barely understood but happy ending I guess.”

“So you only started reading because you overheard me talk about it?” you pinched his cheeks, “Aw, first year Gojo Satoru was so whipped and in love, how sweet”

Satoru only rolled his eyes at your statement, and you bursted out laughing as you remembered his attempts to woo you back in your first year.

“I thought you barely had any hobbies?” you asked.

“I don’t. Because I’m good at everything.”

“Yet you still chose to pick up reading of all things?” you slightly laughed.

“I would pick up any hobby if you asked me to, honestly.”

“No offence, but if that is where you got your romance from you did a shitty job, love.” you giggled.

“Ouch,” he replied, “But hey it went pretty well, you’re mine now anyways.”

“That you are,” You replied, kissing his nose. “So if you read the book and I assume you also watched the movie, do you understand my pain?”

“100% Romeo is an airhead. He was probably just horny and infatuated with the first female he saw,” he bluntly stated and you couldn’t help but laugh out loud, Satoru joining in on your laughter.

As your laughs began to die down he continued, “On a serious note though… Whether or not it was love, their actions prove that they did love each other. I guess love really does make you blind, their suicide only proved that.”

“Tragic ending?”

“Not really… in a way, I believe it’s a happy ending- that is, assuming those two airheads were actually in love with each other.”

“Did you not hear me muttering cuss words when reading and slamming the book? If you asked me, that book was nothing but aggravating and sad.”

“Sad as their death was, it was a happy ending. They claimed to have met their soulmate and the love of their life before they died. Not everyone gets that luxury you know?”

You looked at your boyfriend with both amazement and confusion, “Since when were you so wise?”

“I don’t even know, love. But I’m not wrong…. Our story would be much happier though, because neither of us are gonna die.”

“You spoke nothing but the truth,” you quietly replied and the two of you began leaning into each other once again.

“Who knew Satoru could be such a wise lil baby,” said a voice, laughing.

The two of you immediately pulled away, and looked up to see no one other than Geto Suguru, the poor third wheeler of your relationship.

“Suguru… how long have you been there for?” you asked.

“Enough to know that this man loves you way too much… to the point where he knows his feelings for you aren’t infatuation but solid feelings.”

While you were a blushing mess, Gojo only smiled and smacked his best friend on his back, “Okay enough chit chat, why don’t we all get something to eat, yeah? I suggest-”

“Steak. We’re eating steak tonight at that new restaurant. You both are paying. It’s the least you could do for making me witness such crap.”

“You’re just mad because you’re single, bro”

“Ain’t that the truth,” you agreed.

“Shut the actual fuck, both of you lovebirds.”

The three of you then laughed and made your way to the restaurant of Suguru’s choice.

A/n: So any thoughts? I hope you all liked it <3 Ngl, this does have another part to it, but idk if I'll ever post it tbh. Follow me on my ao3 account I have other ffs there too @idekmxre

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen #yn #jujutsu sorcerer #fanfic #character x reader #fluff #jjk fluff #established relationship #fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujustu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen season 2

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unboundprompts · 10 months

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I don't know if you've done it yet but could you do hazel eyes, preferably hazel green?

No rush though, love your page 💞

Different Ways to Describe Hazel Eyes

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

His eyes made them think of the woods behind his old house: not just the green of the leaves but the rough brown bark that used to scrape his hands as he climbed the trees as well.

Their eyes were the color of spring and the memory of autumn.

She had the most interesting eyes he had ever seen. They held the sweetness of honey and the softness of pastures after a heavy rainfall.

The brown elements in their hazel eyes were more dominant, complimenting the freckles that dotted their nose.

His hazel eyes had never held such hatred until now.

She had soft, hazel eyes. A warm brown with an inner radiating golden sun.

Their hazel eyes were both the sunlit branches and the moss that clothed the old oak tree.

Her eyes reminded them of spring. Irises like the forest floor that stretched over the roots of trees and the plants and flowers that sprouted from between the cracks.

He had eyes like the sea and the wet, sharp rocks that lined the edge of the cliff. The center was all rock, a harsh brown that spread out to waves of greens and blues under an angry sky.

Their green eyes were flaked with gold.

She hated to admit that he had beautiful eyes. They were a soft hazel, with waves of browns and greens and golds that mesmerized her. The warmth of his eyes however, did nothing to change the impression she had of him.

Behind their hazel eyes, he could tell they were hiding something. It reflected in the greens and golds of their irises.

Her eyes were the same colors as the bracelets on her wrists. He watched the golden metal with the blue and green gems clang against one another as she talked with her hands.

They had never imagined that hazel eyes so beautiful could look so sad.

His eyes mirrored the ground of the cemetery and the blue sky that looked down on them.

She had eyes like watercolors, blues and greens and browns swirling together to paint an incredible scene.

They had eyes that painters could only ever dream of capturing in their art.

Words could never describe the incredibility of their hazel eyes, but he was damn well going to try.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

#ask box prompts #writing prompts #dialogue prompt #otp prompts #soft prompts #prompt list #rp prompts #writing prompt #romance prompts #dialogue ideas #writing ideas #love prompts #character description

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seekingflowers · 1 month

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Future Husband Pick a Card (1-3)

I'm sure you all know how it works! Just relax and let your intuition guide you to choose your pile 🌕. Take what resonates and leave the rest. I am very honest and will not sugar coat what I see. Please don't hesitate to tell me what resonated with you! I welcome all to interact 🤝

Hello everyone! Welcome to my tarot blog. This is my first post ever, and a pick a card reading (1, 2, 3- cards) 🥰😍🥀

Pile 1:

Page of Wands

- First and foremost, it COULD indicate he's younger- if not, he may seem younger with his demeanor. More than likely, he may have approached you first. He'll be the first you one hear when you walk into a room.

In the beginning stages, this person will feel like a breath of fresh air. They are lively and outgoing. Always inviting you to join them on outings with friends or see and experience new places.

They are very social and ready to be on the go-go go. If you're not, it doesn't matter. They'll go because they're ready. Decisive and quick. However, it may not always be thought out. This person tends to be optimistic and may seem naive, but do not berate them. Sharp and witty, they stand their ground. They do not like to be held back and smothered. They seek fun and spontaneity, keep them on their toes. At times, you may feel like this man flakes out on you because he is so quick to do other things or entertain himself with others. He may forget things easily, such as planned dates or activities, anniversaries, or make sudden changes.

Their curiosity and openess will show you how to appreciate the moment and accept changes. It's okay to experience new things. If something is wrong, they will confront you, and they will expect the same from you. Be open and honest, and communicate with patience. They're not afraid to voice their opinion and say it how they see it. Friends and family love and adore their presence, which brings warmth and laughs all around.

Please remember, we all change with time, and some things may remain, but nothing lasts forever. Take what resonates and leave the rest.

Pile 2:

King of Wands Reversed.

- He's definitely the one to approach you. Could be someone older or someone in an authority position.

This man may appear aggressive, often displaying signs of frustration or impatience. Can be very controlling and dominant overall. He has natural charisma and a fiery intellect, making it difficult to get a word in with him. Stubborn and hot-headed, he will likely dislike opposing views or opinions. People's views of him are black and white. Few understand him. There could be a problem with respecting those above him or taking consideration from others in general. There are few to maybe none that he cares for, but if he does care, he is fiercely protective over them and will come to their side to defend them. Even blindly.

About action, he's the one to get it done and have a go get it now attitude. Either do it or don't. Prone to impulsiveness and hypocrisy, his actions may bring upon consequences he isn't ready to handle and will break down in a tantrum.

Not afraid to approach others, he is relentless with his pursuits. On the good days, his humor and smiles are a sight to see and hear. Captivating and charming, people are drawn to him or are intimidated by him. His humor isn't everyone's cup of tea. It may be crude.

Highly competitive, spats between him and others are frequent. He hates losing and hates being wrong.

To be with this man, thick skin is needed along with groundedness. With you, he can be very loving, but ill tempered and stubborn.

He's very likely a traditional man who wants a traditional wife and family with him as head of the household. Although earlier in life, he may have had a desire of the opposite for the short term.

Please note that the future is not set in stone. Take what resonates and leave the rest.

Pile 3:

Ace of Cups

- This man off the bat is an emotionally intuitive man. More likely to be reserved with his words, but expressive with his love and affections. Expressive eyes with intent prying into your soul. He enjoys private moments with you and goes out of his way to get you alone. It may seem unintentional, but it's not. It may be a love at first sight, or rather, when they fall in love- they fall hard.

There could be this feeling of a deep connection between the two of you that feels familiar yet so foreign. However, do not drown with the feeling. Learn to swim with it, or it will create false imaginations of the other person. You open up this person's inner world, and they want to pour into your cup endlessly. Sometimes, feelings can become intense, and a struggle to sort through emotions with each other can be difficult. Therefore, there can be spurts of emotional outbursts. Clear communication is very important with this man.

Being one to love deeply, he can hold a grudge and keep score of what wrong he thinks you've done to him. He might think he loves you more than you love him. This man wants you to be open with your love and reciprocate his feelings with the same intensity. When you are in an emotional frenzy from work or a bad day, he's the one to comfort and feel you. He'd go out of his way to make you feel better. If he can't, he will beat himself up for it. People close to him are few, even if it seems like there is a whole crowd around him. He's the go-to therapist or listener for folks, and it may get to him from time to time, so please allow him some space when needed.

Some days, he may seem hot and cold, but that's just likely because he isn't feeling anything that particular day or hour. Or he is in his head thinking about anything. As all humans do.

Love each other truly and not just love itself. It is easy to get lost in love and forget the person. Take what resonates and leave the rest.

Please remember, take what resonates, and leave the rest. One card does not describe everything about a person, and it is not the end all be all. Nothing is set in stone. People change - we all change.

Once again, please let me know what resonates and tell me what'd you like to see from me. 💫

#psychic #tarot cards #tarotblr #pac reading #love tarot reading #tarot reading #divination #tarot blog #seekingflowers #tarotcommunity #tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #love reading #future husband

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dduane · 12 days

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Of parsnips and parsnip soup

So the question of parsnips, and particularly parsnip soup, came up secondary to this quote from an interview with Terry Pratchett. (Thanks to @captainfantasticalright for the transcription.)

Terry: “You can usually bet, and I’m sure Neil Gaiman would say the same thing, that, uh, if I go into a bookstore to do a signing and someone presents me with three books, the chances are that one of them is going to be a very battered copy of Good Omens; and it will smell as if it’s been dropped in parsnip soup or something in and it’s gone fluffy and crinkly around the edges and they’ll admit that it’s the fourth copy they’ve bought”.

And when @petermorwood saw this, he immediately reblogged it and added four recipes for parsnip soup.

These kind of surprised some folks, as not everybody knew that parsnips were an actual thing: or if they were, what they looked like or were useful for.

The vegetable may well be better known on this side of the Atlantic. (And I have to confess that as a New Yorker and Manhattanite, with access to both great outdoor food markets and some of the best grocery stores in the world, I don't think that parsnips ever came up on my personal radar while I was living there.) So I thought I'd take a moment to lay out some basics for those who'd like to get to know the vegetable better.

The parsnip's Linnaean/botanical name is Pastinaca sativa, and in the culinary mode it's been around for a long time. It's native to Eurasia, and is a relative to parsley and carrots (with which it's frequently paired in the UK and Ireland). The Romans cultivated it, and it spread all over the place from there. Travelers who passed through our own neck of the woods before the introduction of the potato noted that "the Irish do feed much upon parsnips", and in the local diet it filled a lot of the niches that the potato now occupies.

You can do all kinds of things with parsnips. The Wikipedia article says, correctly, that they can be "baked, boiled, pureed, roasted, fried, grilled, or steamed". But probably the commonest food form in which parsnips turn up around here is steamed or simmered with carrots and then mashed with them: so that you can buy carrot-and-parsnip mash, ready-made, in most of our local grocery chains.

It also has to be mentioned that most Irish kids have had this stuff foisted on them at one point or another, and a lot of them hate it. (@petermorwood would be one.) I find it hard to blame anybody for this opinion, as one of the parsnip's great selling points—its spicy, almost peppery quality—gets almost completely wiped out by the carrot's more dominant flavor and sweetness.

Roasting parsnips, though, is another matter entirely. They roast really well. And parsnip soups are another story entirely, as it's possible to build a soup that will emphasize the parsnip's virtues.

So, to add to Peter's collection, here's one I made earlier—like yesterday afternoon, stopping the cooking sort of halfway and finishing it up today.

I was thinking in a vague medioregnic-food way about a soup with roasted bacon in it, but not with potatoes (as those have been disallowed from the Middle Kingdoms for reasons discussed elsewhere. Tl;dr: it's Sean Astin's fault). And finally I thought, "Okay, if we're going to roast some pork belly or back bacon, then why not save some energy and roast some parsnips too? The browned skins'll help keep them from going to mush in the soup."

So: first find your parsnips. I used four of them. You peel them with a potato peeler...

...sort of roughly quarter them, the long way...

...then chop them in half the short way, toss them in a bowl with some oil—olive oil, in this case—spread them on a baking sheet, and season them with pepper, coarse salt, and some chile flakes. (I used ancho and bird's-eye chile flakes here.)

These then went into the oven for about half an hour, and came out like this.

While that was going on, I got a block of ready-cooked Polish snack bacon out of the freezer.

On its home turf, this is the kind of thing that turns up (among other ways) sliced very thin on afternoon-snack plates, with cheeses and breads. But we like to score it and roast it to sweat some of the fat out, and then use it in soups and stews and so forth.

So I scored this chunk on most of its sides, browned it in a skillet, then shoved the skillet into the oven for twenty minutes or so. Here's the bacon after it was done.

While it was cooking, I made about a liter of soup stock from a couple of stock cubes. If you can get pork stock cubes, they'd be best for this, but beef works fine.

This then went into the pot and was brought up to just-boiling while the bacon and the parsnips were chopped into more or less bite-sized chunks. After that, the meat and veg were added to the pot and the whole business was left to simmer for a couple of hours while I went off to do some line editing.

Finally I turned it off and left it on the stove overnight (our kitchen is quite cool, it was in no bacteriological danger from being left out this way) and then finished its simmering time around lunchtime today.

And here it is. (...Or was. It was very nice.)

...Anyway, this is only one of potentially thousands of takes on parsnip soup. Recipes for more robust versions—based on mashed parsnips and more vegetables, or different meats—are all over the place.

Meanwhile, as regards how much damage this soup could do to your copy of Good Omens if you dropped yours in it, I'd rate this at about 5 damage points out of 10. ...Call it 5.5 if you factor in the chiles. Soups along the boiled-and-mashed-parsnip spectrum would probably inflict damage more in the 7.50-8.0 range. But your results may vary: so I'll leave you all to your own experimentation.

#parsnips #parsnip soup #Good Omens #Terry Pratchett #Neil Gaiman #recipes

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writingforatwistedworld · 1 year

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Self-aware isekai'd househusbands, what a great idea that was. The Vil piece was so fun that I wasn't more!

Can you write Riddle as an isekai'd househusband? Thank you!

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, blood, murder, death, violence, stalking, unhealthy relationship, obsession

Your totally normal isekaid househusband

Imagine, you are the male equivalent of a magical girl in villain version who got isekaid into the normal world

One would think that world domination or something to that would follow, right?

Well no.... said magical girl is right now starting holes into a cookbook

And he kinda likes it- no, he loves to study the culinary arts

Not just for anyone of course

Riddle has become a little helping hand in your home after you found him one day drenched to the bone outside of your little safe haven

But at this point the two of you might be married with you being the breadwinner

In the morning he wakes you up, makes you breakfast, hands you your lunch when you are heading out, cleans the house, spends his time doing... things, greets you when you return gives you food and does more things that would stereotypically be considered as stay-at-home-partner activities

How calm... how sweet... how-Riddle, what are you doing?

Riddle wakes up one hour before you usually do. So what does he do in that hour?

So, half an hour before you wake up he prepares breakfast but the thirty minutes before...

Well he is just standing there, staring at your sleeping figure

Ok. Creepy but at least the time from breakfast till him being done with chores is normal

So uh... remember those “things” I mentioned earlier? Well...

There are those noisy neighbors everyone has, right?

So uh... please don't mention them annoying you in any way. Please don't. Just don't. Oh why? Hehe... don't think too much about what I just said, yes?

When you return Riddle emerges from the kitchen, asking you if everything is alright

Following to that he scolds you for staying out too late

That crazy maniac is running freely out there! All those poor souls lost to them

Your neighborhood might have a... uh... “spontaneous death through decapitation” problem

The crime scenes are clean or rather they are until you enter the room in which “that” happened and you find a surprisingly clean you-know-what sitting there in a chair with their you-know-what laying in their lap, a white rose tucked somewhere in that meat pile as well

Of course Riddle knows that his actions aren't good in any way but when you good him that the old creepy neighbor next door had been scaring you for so long he saw red and...

Let's just say that magic makes it incredibly easy to leave a crime scene without any trace

Ah yes, roses! Let's talk about something easier on the stomach!

Riddle plants of course roses. White ones

Sometimes you even get a few of them, them now being red

You once asked why the roses are red considering that he always plants white ones which he answered with him painting them red just for you

Ah yes, you totally forgot that little thing about his dorm. And isn't it cute? Such a pretty red as well... although the paint is a bit fragile and falls off in flakes if you aren't careful

His pastries are a bit dangerous to eat, he adds sometimes odd things because someone wrote a tip in a baking forum as a joke, but his lunches are pretty good

When you try to help him though he is strictly against it. Especially when it's about doing the laundry

Meh. Probably nothing. Although... you have found splatters of that red paint once or twice on a piece of clothing of his before... probably go it on there the last time he painted the roses red

Though, you do wonder... where is that cleaver that had been missing from the kitchen?

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millysastroblog · 1 year

Text

🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄

SHAKING MY HEAD ASTRO NOTES PT.4

# unpopular opinion !!!!!

🤦🏾‍♀️Venus in Libra, Venus conjunct Mars, are u guys talking to me or flirting with me. Because HONEY it is hard to differentiate, with yall charming asses. You all make my heart and mind hurt , chile. #Stop it 😏😍!

🤦🏾‍♀️Moon/- Lilith hard aspects = sexsist in WORST CASE (extreme ,out of ordinary views on females, womanhood, and female roles)

or the complete opposite being a hard core (feminist) but bashing men for literally existing.🤥 ! # In Worst case ,have seen it in many ppl charts!!

🤦🏾‍♀️Jupiter in the 3rd talk aloooot to the point of making my ears hurt, like 1000 words in 1 min is to much for me girl! # chiiiiiiiillllew

🤦🏾‍♀️Uranus in the 11th switing friend groups every new season of the year. These are the friends that you wont see that much because of how unpredictable they are ! like can yall settle down for once and not flake on people!

🤦🏾‍♀️Same with Uranus in the 7th in parterships they come and go like the wind blowing !

🤦🏾‍♀️Cancers placements and their victimization complex,

🤦🏾‍♀️same goes for pisces placements !

🤦🏾‍♀️cancer mixed with libra not showing ppl that they dont like them at all, holding a lot of resentment, and anger towards people # babes this is not helathy!

🤦🏾‍♀️the award of the attention whore of the zodiac goes tooooooo leo and LIBRAAAAAAS

🤦🏾‍♀️libras can sometimes rely to much on other people to the point of codependence! Wanting their friends partners pick and choose everything for them # i aint your mama babes!

🤦🏾‍♀️Opposite goes for Aries and Taurus placemenrs SUPER independent avoiding and rejecting help from others. #Hating to ask People for shit!

🤦🏾‍♀️Aquarius placements and their sometimes ultimate, god complex, wider than the univers EGOS , everytihing i say is and must be right (mixed with gemini, virgo, or mercury dominance) , get on my motherfucking nerves# somebody needs to check yall asses 🙄 !

🤦🏾‍♀️mars - uranus/mars- jupiter harsh aspects men are so fucking reckless , two steps away of putting yourself in a sticky situations #be carful, dont be breaking no windows, doors and unless u want to go to jail,

🤦🏾‍♀️12th house stelliums/Pisces Stelliums not living in the Moment at all. These are people u gotta call their names 5 times until they´ll catch up and wake up from lala land!# Practincing midfullness might solve the maladaptive day dreaming, # i suffer from ths shit to !! 🫤

🤦🏾‍♀️Virgos having this inner need to be perfect, babes u are fine just the way u are !!

🤦🏾‍♀️Down side of their internal perfectionism is that they mirror that back on to others. Being very critical and nitpicky about the smallest things !

🤦🏾‍♀️Lilith in the 5th/ Leo are over board scary party animals 🤠☠️ literally wanting to party and be drunk every fucking day #yall need to slow down and chiiiiiiiiillle

🤦🏾‍♀️Saturn in the 5th you guys despise children. Children for them are these scary little monsters !

🤦🏾‍♀️Venus sqaure Uranus/ Jupiter, Jupiter / Uranus in the 7th have or had a lot of suitors, relationships but sometimes they take them for granted, not taking them seriously because they have lots of options, Thinking it is all games ! # LUST before actual LOVE ! #beginning stages, # underdeveloped

🤦🏾‍♀️Venus- Mercury are dangerous charming motherfuckers hyponotizing you with their words, can use this power to take advantage of other people if not evolved, like manipulating, scamming, lying especially with Pluto and neptune prominence in Chart # siren voices 🔊

🤦🏾‍♀️Chiron in the 1st house, Chiron - ASC hard aspects are prone to pay a lot of attention to the physical appearance of others . Like having a pimple, thin hair, etc, theyll analyze your whole body and you wonder WHY??? # mmmmmhh, y’all guess? 🤔😐

🤦🏾‍♀️DARK: Mars in the 10th, Lilith in the 10, Pluto in the 10th, Neptune in the 10th, Chiron in the 10th, 10th house stellium if afflicted might be addicted to fame, success and high social status, selling their souls/ authenticity, exploiting other ppl, doing the most random insane shit , only for them to be at the top. #power greed, politicians, social media, celebrities!!

———————————————————————----------------------

*******{NEW ! ⬇️} Solar Return Chart Series: PT. 1/PT.2 *******

SHAKING MY HEAD PT.5/SHAKING MY HEAD PT.3/ SHAKING MY HEAD PT.2 / SHAKING MY HEAD PT.1

#astrology #astro observations #astro notes #astro placements #astro community #astroblr #astro posts #shady #mean girl #bitchi notes #astroloji #astrology asteroids

1K notes · View notes

kombuuuu · 10 months

Text

Saviour of Mine.

Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

“You want stitches, big boy.”

“You gonna' stay on top of me?”

“No, but I'll make it hurt real nice.”

warnings : a little jealousy, not enjoying the spiderciety, a tad angst, more medical stuff i don’t know shit abt, misunderstandings, creepy obsession by a teacher, it gets better at the end promise,

requested by @viozxe :3 my boy my love i love him (gatekept this image for like two weeks but i finally have somewhere to use it)

For a man so true to his word, Miles had a thing for flaking on you.

You hadn’t seen him in around six hours. The event he had fled from leaving you dressed in your nicest clothes, looking like a sweet mess surrounded by family members not your own. After the first forty or so minutes, you had politely excused yourself from his Mama Rio and Officer Jefferson — Who both insisted you refer to them by their first names — , and booked it out of there.

You'd assumed he'd ran off with his little spider-clique. Something you'd rather not join, considering your particular distain for the man in charge. Who so happened to have quite the distaste for you, also. Avoiding the mirage of spider people had been relatively easy thus far, with the multi-versal gaps and all. But when Gwen Stacy had started to come see Miles more often — You would have to either sit through the excruciating task of listening to them talk. Which involved a lot more intimate moments than you were comfortable with being witness too. Or leave whilst she was there, and presumably not talk to Miles for a few hours — or.. days. Depending on wether he ditched you for her or not.

Having your best friend, of which you had fallen infatuated too, try and get with another girl right on front of you, any time they were together? Not the most ideal of situations. So you went home.

—

You cradled the led pencil on your dominant hand, other tapping to the beat of the song playing through your headphones. Sweet R&B to soothe your woes, whilst you focused on the homework in front of you.

You grabbed the rubber, sighing in exasperation and starting to scrub at your page, getting a little too frustrated and tearing the flimsy paper in the process.

You stared at the tear for a moment before borderline yelling, a tearless sob escaping you before you dropped your head against your desk. Slumping down into a flopped position.

You had to complete this by Monday, you knew that. Mr. Warren was the nicest teacher at your school. He’d helped you when you parents couldn’t. Taken you in — you’d even told him about Miles. He didn’t seem to like him very much, said it was a shame they shared a first name. You thought it was a crazy coincidence.

You slowly slid off your chair, pushing it back on its wheels as you went until eventually you were rested lying on the ground, staring at the window of your room.

Golden light shone through your curtains in a bright calling, basically signalling your escape as it sung to you.

You stared for another solid minute before groaning, Mr. Warren could wait.

Avidly ignoring the ache in your chest at the thought of finding Miles with the current focus of his interest.

You crawled to your closet and reached for the handle, still on the floor — before remembering your Van Der Waals and just using the tip of your fingers to lazily pull it open.

You snorted at yourself, before shuffling through the box at the bottom of your closet and pulling out the sleek spider suit.

The next minute was spent trying to energetically shuffle on your suit, and get your adrenaline running. Which proved working when you were rather excited — or antsy — to swing your way around the city.

You closed your window behind you, crawling up your building and letting the cold air force you more awake.

You backed up, jumping a little hop as you did. Bouncing on your feet before you ran, leaping off your building in a refreshing spin.

An excited yelp left your mouth before you shot a web to the next building over, using the top of a bus on the bust Brooklyn streets to boost your momentum, gradually gaining speed as you swung through the city in a series of twists and flips. Graceful swinging amidst a series of fumbling and laughing to yourself, still somewhat new to the spider-person talents.

You pulled out your phone, the small thigh pocket you had specially designed for your suit making it easier to carry your essentials around when you were in no need for over coats.

You stuttered in your swings, a small squeak escaping you when you almost hit a bird, yelling out a “Sorry!” to the poor thing.

The thwip of your web attaching to a near tall building sent another rush through you, curving yourself between two structures and landing on top of a bell tower. The same one you and Miles had been visiting together for the past year. You tripped a little over your own feet before righting yourself, smiling under the mask.

You didn’t need those other spider people, didn’t need a “Community to fall back on.”—, as that Miguel had put it.

You had yourself, Miles, and a teacher that supported you. And that’s all you needed.

—

You dialled Miles’ number. The irony of your inner statement making you cringe a little. You inner voice convincing you that literally no one else can hear you be embarrassed. You were speaking in your head. Your other—, more combative, inner voice— saying otherwise.

You willed them both quiet as your phone rung.

Miles’ cute face being showing on the profile photo, you stared at it as you waited, foot tapping the cement bell tower.

His face was in your hands, and smiling that charming smile he always did. His cheeks were squished in your hold as you kissed his cheek, holding the camera.

It was a romantic photo, if not for the fact you were best friends. You found yourself getting jealous of your past self. Chastising her for not relishing in that moment further.

Your phone beeped twice, signalling the call ringing out. You stared at it curiously, Eyes of your mask tilting into confused slants.

“C’mon man, pick up.” You whispered to yourself, glaring at the device in your hands and trying again.

When he didn’t pick up then, either — you had started to get impatient. And ended up rolling your eyes at him.

Muttering curses along with phrases of envy under your breath.

You had nothing against Gwen, in all honestly, she was a perfect fit for him — charming and troubled just like he was. Able to bond over their shared issues and shared interest.

Like each other.

You scoffed and shoved your phone back into your pocket, before angrily shooting a web, and slinging away.

Going to a bodega you knew always cheered you up to get rid of the mood you had out yourself in.

—

You walked out of the bodega with your bag in hand, your other waving joyfully to the owner, Hoa, the sweet lady you had met three weeks after moving here. Who made the best Bánh Mi you could find. You pet her cat on the way out, the sweet Turkish Angora purring as she nosed along your hand.

Hoa yelled out for you to “Come back whenever, Spider. On the house, next time.”

“Never on the house, Hoa.”

Her annoyed grumbles fades the farther away you walked. Skipping a bit as you pulled out the food, crisp bread with all the fillings you loved making the first bite look heavenly. You had the urge right then to pull up your mask in front of every flashing camera just to taste that home made bread.

You sighed your compliments instead.

“She never misses.”

“Who never misses?”

You startled at the civilian that had approached you, his tall stature and spiky nature making him stand out so much you wonder how you hadn’t noticed him.

Maybe your spider senses were distracted with your food.

“Oh— uh..,” You sucked your teeth for a second, eyes darting curiously around, wondering why he wasn’t just like the other civilian. Taking photos and videos of you as you walked past — ever fascinated by the new “Hero” around. You would barely call yourself that, but it’s what the people deemed you.

“My.. Friend.”

The man bent down by the waist, hands behind his back as he started walking with you.

“Name’s Hobie. Guessin’ your ‘friend’ made tha’ sweet lookin’ sandwich, mm?”

“Mm.. She uh— Oh, I’m —!..” You paused, tripping over your feet and scuffing your shoes. You cringed under the mask, stuffing the food back into your bag.

“..Spiderwoman.. She makes good food. Yup.”

Hobie snorted at how quick you were about to reveal your identity to who you assumed to be some confident civilian.

You awkwardly walked with him, every now and again glancing longingly at your sub as he leisured in his pace. Taking his sweet time walking who knows where whilst you begrudgingly accompanied the stranger — or not stranger. Acquaintance.

“Ya’ real confident for a Spidey.” Hobies’ sarcastic voice drawled, sniffing and scrunching his eyebrows before his face relaxed into a teasing smile again.

You side glanced him, otherwise focused on trying to leave the conversation. “Well considering there’s only three — two, of us.” You giggled nervously, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Rest in peace, Spidey-1.” You — somewhat — joked.

Hobie let out a snort and choked on his breath, laughing at your awkward nature.

No wonder Miguel hadn’t let anyone even mention your lack of inclusion to the Spider-force.

Not after the first day of trying to convince you, anyhow.

It would have been utterly humiliating to be bested by someone who couldn’t hold a conversation for the life of her.

Hobie had a lot of respect for you, right off the bat. He knew the moment that Miguel (and Jess) had come back from Miles’ universe — pissed off and *alone — that you hadn’t been persuaded. And considering Jess and Miguel had a rather unique skill with their convincing, feeding off vulnerabilities in younger Spider-people to be the lack of parental figure in their lives, or elder — to have relatability in their pains. It wasn’t technically ill intended, but Hobie thinks it’s more than a little manipulative.

So to have you — someone he’s seen is vulnerable, hurting, easy; not fall victim to the duos tactics, and actively *berate them for it.

He was well awed.

And his brotherly instincts kicked in terribly fast. He thinks he sees a lot of himself in you. Awkward and growing into yourself, struggling against the high standards you were held to as a spider. And fighting from that box people tried to put you in.

So yeah, well awed would be an understatement. Proud would be a criminal understatement.

So when he had been looking for Gwen, trying to show her some stupid thing Pavitr had sent him just to show her — and realised she was gone. He checked his watch, lo and behold, she was in your universe.

Meaning she was with Miles, who rather actively tried to steer you away from his spider drama. Right now, though? He was distracted.

And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He walked with you for a while longer, letting you both get comfortable in the silence of a stranger.

“This ain’t weird f’ you, mate?”

You had both ended up at some alleyway, filled with stalls of food and bustling people pausing in their tracks to stare at the oddly placed pair of Hero and “Random Punk?”

“Not quite. I’ve had weirder interaction with weirder guys.”

He nodded in acknowledgment.

“Yeah, Guess ‘m not as weird as some villains.” The brit droned, dropping down to your height and eyeing the stalls as you passed, pocketing some things from stores he knew as bigger organisations.

“I was talking about regular people, but yeah those too.”

He laughed, grinning at your dry humour and nodded again, leaning into your view and smirking at your adjusting lenses.

You reached the stall you were looking for, the girl greeting you with a smiling “Hi, Spidergirl!”

Your eyes shrunk, “Spiderwoman, Spiderlady, Spider — and you chose the most demeaning.”

“Well, you are built rather girl like, young and spry and — oh, is that Hoa’s Bahn Mi?”

You nodded enthusiastically at Avanti, dropping your hand into the bag and pulling out a cookie you’d saved for her.

Hobie watched the interaction from stood behind you. Slipping in a “You had a spare cookie this entire time?”

You snorted and Avanti handed you a peach ice tea and a couple of her home-made desserts in a Spider-man themed lunch box. A note reading “Got this just for you — brin bring it back!!” placed on top, you glanced up, putting the lunch box in your bag as you did so and thanked her before you and Hobie were off again. “Seriously, the whole walk. No cookie.”

You laughed at his pouting tone, “I’ll get you one, next time, big man.”

He draped his arm over your shoulder, leaning some weight on you and started talking about random things he could think about during the trip back to your apartment.

You’d grown to enjoy his company, the older man — and his lack of filter — being oddly entertaining. You quipped, and he quipped back. Not enough for you to really trust him seeing your apartment, but enough that you set the boundary on your block.

“Hey Hobes, this has been a really good talk—,”

“Gotta ge’ back to ya’ Spiderin’, aye?”

You smiled up at him, lenses sliding into a pleased expression. “Yeah, real difficult stuff y’know? Saving the city and all that.”

He nodded along with you, right as his funky watch (that did not at all match his outfit, but looked to be bedazzled with a series of metal spikes) beeped. He brought his arm up and checked the small screen, face morphing into one of annoyance. “Aye’. Right timin’ mate, cause I just got a call from HQ.”

“Ahh.. Big cooperation?”

“Not in a million years, brutha’. More like a socie’y.”

He looked up at you and grinned. “Miguel really don’t like when I flake out on ‘im.”

You paused a second while Hobie fiddled with his watch, reaching into his back pocket while checking for anyone around. When he found no one, he slipped out his spiked mask and slid it on.

You stared, dumbfounded.

He clapped your shoulder again, scoffing amused at your wide-eyed expression.

“Was this —“

“A ploy f’ you ta’ join the Spider socie’y? Not a’ all, mate.” He sniffed, itching his head through his mask and squeezing your shoulder.

“I right respect ya’ f’ not joinin’. Wish I woulda’ had ya’ will at my age.”

“Oh… Thanks…”

He nodded at you, Lenses squinting.

“Yeah but, I gotta dip, Gwen’s not distractin’ Miguel with sneakin’ off no more. He pro’bly realised I was gone too.”

“Yuh huh…”

“Bye, [Name].”

You blanched one last time before he shot a web onto your neighbouring apartment building, opened a portal mid-air, and flung himself through.

“What the fuck..” You whispered to yourself, perplexed at the interaction that had just occurred.

“What the hell.”

—

It was two hours later, when you were full of Bahn Mi, Pastries and Ice Tea, rethinking everything he’d said; when his last words caught up to you.

Gwen’s out of this universe. Not in the figurative sense — Although she is everything everyone wants to be, but you’re gonna ignore that — So where the hell was Miles?

It was late now, Moon shining a casted light through your living room drapes just as the Sun had onto your bed hours prior.

You gradually dragged yourself from your couch, reaching over your coffee table with great effort to reach your charging phone.

You huffed, giving up and snatching your web slinger from the floor by your feet and shot a web to grab your phone, tugging it off the charger. The thicker part yanked out the wall instead, landing hard on your torso with a dull thump. You scrunched your face up and grumbled, cursing at the thing while you pull your phone off the now useless charger and throw it on the floor.

“Fuckin’ asshole…”

You flipped your phone, eyes widening when your lock screen lit up with a series of notifications. All getting progressively worse. Your spider-senses growing in alert.

miles (o O) 7:42 PM

haiiii

gwen left

u should’ve hung w us

haha

get it \(^ W ^ )\

hung

cause spider

i’m comigg to home now

yoii r home

soffy swinginf

waiiiiiiiiiixixiiixkm jjj fd

bab guy ine secon

The messages abruptly stopped, being replaced entirely by a series of calls. Some left voice messages, some not.

You clicked on a recorded voice message.

(miles (o O) Left a Message at 7:46 PM.)

“Hey, [Name]!” Miles’ cheery voice rang out through the speakers, bringing a lovesick smile to your face despite the off feeling you had in your chest.

“Just gonna — Oof, hey man! Not cool. — Gonna take care of this guy before—,” A pause and a grunt. “,—Before I come home to you, yeah? Pick up soon I wanna know what you’re doin’.” A begrudged shout sounded far from the speaker. “Are you on call right now?”

“It’s important!”

“We’re fighting!”

“I have a life loser—“ Three harsh beeps rung out, signalling the end of the voicemail.

You clicked on a few more, just quick tidbits of him complaining you not picking up, and fighting an unknown villain. Also complaining how he missed you and “This guys is not goin’ down!” He shouted louder; “C’mon man! I have somewhere to be!” “Suck my dick Spiderman!” “Woah—! Well don’t get angry now, asshole!”

“Hypocrite!”

“Am not!”

“Are too—“ Three beeps.

You clicked again.

“[Name], Please pick up! This guy can— Fuck! — You dickhead!” A beat played and a cough was heard. Your frown deepened.

“I’m at the—“ Cut off.

You checked for another voicemail, one continue the one left off. A worried scrunch in your nose. There wasn’t one.

Right as you were going to call him back, his profile photo popped up again, you pressed answer with a lip between your teeth.

“Miles?” laboured breathing came through the speakers, wet gasps and sniffled coughs every now and again. He was silent for a full minute before answering you.

“Hey, [Name]..” His voice was gravelling and deep, sandpaper against softened lips.

He sounded tired, and your heart rate picked up in fear, almost like he could hear it. “Fuck..,” He whispered into the phone, groaning. Holding the phone loosely on his end, as apposed to the anxious grip you had on on yours.

“I’m.. Stuck in some construction site.” He gasped. “Miles what the hell—!”

“Mi Vida, please. The guys not—“ A loud crash made the speaker in your phone crackle. A whispered “Shit.”, before he hung up.

You wanted to call back, but from his whispering, and panicked tone, you could only guess he was trying to hide.

Whoever this villain was, they weren’t giving up.

—

You followed his tracker, the location he was pinged at getting closer by the second. You breathed hard against the force of wind, dropping down into a run on where the location was set to be.

“Fuck, fuck— Miles where are you?..”

Your footsteps were light, crouching under concrete slabs and tip toeing around loose gravel. Red light was cast along unfinished floors and crumbling walls. Shadows reaching towards you from the corners of your eyes. Your spider senses were on high alert, at a constant buzz. They suddenly upt in pitch and you flinched around, almost screaming at the hand covering your mouth. Pressed harsh against your face, and another around the back of your head so you couldn’t escape. Your hands gripped the wrists of the stranger before you heard an incessant shushing.

“Conejita, quiet.”

You relaxed instantly, the eyes of your mask downturned in fearful stress.

His hands were shaking against your head, figure hunched and body scratched up. The tears in his suit spanning across his right shoulder and chest. He slowly removed his hands, bringing a lone finger to where his lips would be in his mask in a ‘hush hush’ manner.

Coming in closer to you, leaning down to where your ear would be and whispering “He’s still here.”

You grabbed his forearms, leading him deeper into the site, away from the reddened lights and into the creeping shadows.

He breathed heavy behind you, throat wet with his own blood, he grunted and tried to help you in walking with him, good arm thrown over your shoulder as you dragged him. “C’mon, just a little farther.”

“What’re you…” He cut himself off, heaving. You set him down in the quiet corner, tucked behind two large concrete sheets and some large bent up pipes.

“Just—, sit here Miles, okay?” You brought his head up to yours, still talking in a quietened voice. Hands on his face and crouched in front of his slumping form.

“I’ll be right back, don’t move.”

You stood from crouching, hands slipping off his face while he dragged forward to stay in your grasp — mumbling something like a plea for you to stay.

You turned from him, dashing away in silent movements, slinging yourself up onto high ground and turning back to make sure he wasn’t visible unless you truly looked — he wasn’t.

You lept off, disappearing from his sight with a yank against your webs.

He mumbled, shifting closer in your direction as the exhaustion hit him. Huffing, he leant back. Letting his head hit the wall and focus on keeping his eyes open.

"Quédate despierto.. No te muevas..."

“Stay awake.. Don’t move…”

He heaved again, the heaviness in his chest deepening.

“Stay…” He closed his eyes — for just a second, just for the relief — Dragging his hand up to rip the mask off of him, and forcing himself to open them again, to watch the Moon.

“Awake.”

—

You creep around corners, listening in and honing your senses to a point. For anything, a trip, a movement. A breath.

You whipped your head to the left, following the sound of light breathing.

“Come out little bunny.”

You tensed, he’d heard you.

“Ah, don’t worry, honey—,” You heard him creep forward, closer to you. He didn’t know where you were, obvious by the hesitance in his steps, but he had the right direction. You can move now, he would hear. And with how he’d heard Miles’ mere whisper before, you suggest maybe he had an ability similar to your own. “,Not him I want, anyways.”

That made your shoulders loosen a little, but you never rested. Who knows whether he was lying or not.

You shot a web, hitting the pipe of your aim and jumping from one to another, using your webs to steady yourself. You heard him huff a laugh.

“I heard that.”

Your eyes slanted, crouching into a spidered position. You crawled, using the stick of your fingers to steady across the pipe, sticking to it and trying to find the mystery man in the sea of red the warning lights casted.

Your spidey-senses went haywire and you jumped from the pipe in less than a second. Right as you did, a bang went off and you stumbled forward, landing in rubble and groaning. Rolling before you steadied yourself and jumped up. No rest until your opponent is resting in Death.

You finally saw him. What looked to be some guy in a green fuzzy suit.

“My girl..”

“Wha— *Are you a furry?”

He groaned, and charged for you, right hand outstretched and left in a clenched fist. He swung for your head, twisting his body as he did. You shot a web on his abdomen, pulling him towards you and jumping to slip under his arm, using his prior speed to throw him into a block of concrete, just missing a pole from stabbing him through the chest. He glanced at for a moment and grabbed his head — which had taken quite the hit.

“Seriously what type of Grinch cosplay is this?”

He growled again, like a man with rabies.

“C’mon dollface, don’t fight me here.”

“You hit first, asshole — Also what the fuck, i’m not your ‘doll’.” He shot for you again, throwing a bomb behind you to throw your body forward, you tried to grapple for stability, webbing to anything in reach. But he gripped your waist and held you against him.

“[Name]…”

You froze, body wanting to gag and shed your own skin at the same time.

You swung for his jaw, knocking him clean off you with a disgusted hand.

“Who the fuck are you!?”

He held his jaw and you stumbled farther from him. Hands held beside you, ready to attack if needed.

He grinned at you, blood seeping onto the green fur of his face, you felt sick.

“Oh, come on, babyface.” His jenky voice was digging into your skin, peeling it up and stabbing into your muscle. Twitching into your flesh and making your body hurt, making you hurt.

You ripped your mask up and hurled, spitting nothing but bile onto the ground below you, the burn of stomach acid sitting heavy in your throat and you felt like crying. Your breath heavy and gasps painful.

“What the fuck.”

—

You smiled at your professor. Waving back at him from the other side of the lecture hall. Miles come up behind you and hooked his arm around your shoulder, swaying against you as he chatted with you about anything that had happened in the time he hadn’t seen you. You snorted, chatting back — Forgetting completely about the other Miles.

You dropped your shoulder and your Miles stumbled, grumbling up at you before you gripped his forearm and dragged him to sit with you at the back of the hall. His mood changing in an instant as he followed along like a lost puppy, gawking at you with a dopey smile plastered across his face. His canines exposed, charming and boyish. How he always is. You sat him down, and sat next to you, and he dragged your chair a little closer, grabbing you leg and placing it over his.

He started laughing again at the eye roll you gave him, and you cracked — smiling and giggling with him.

What you hadn’t seen, was the glare settled on the two of you. The way Warrens previous smile had dropped into a snarling frown, hands gripping the pencil he had been holding in a death grip. He jumped at the sound of a crack, the pencil had snapped in his hands and he got even more pissed, about to scream at the *other Miles to get away from you. To get his hand off you.

That kid didn’t deserve you like he did.

You loved him like he loved you, he knew it.

You had too.

He watched you laugh and his heart fluttered, angry at who you were laughing for but still — you were so pretty.

You wouldn’t be laughing like that if he wasn’t here. You loved him.

—

“Mr. Warren?”

“How many times have I told you to call me Miles?” He slipped out of his own head, breaking from the stare he had on you.

You laughed sweetly, eyes shining. “How many times have I told you I already *have a Miles?”

He watched your smirk as you quipped back at him, a jealousy brimming in his chest. He chuckled, a heartless sound to no one but himself.

“Ahh, How many times am I going to forget?” He tapped his pencil on his desk and tried to focus on you instead. He watched you go back to your work, so intelligent, mature.

You shaded in the answer on the sleek sheet. You were right, of course.

A hair fell from behind your ears and he wanted to tuck it back, wanted to give you straight A’s for nothing despite knowing you would get them anyways.

You threaded you hand through your hair and if he wasn’t focused on how beautiful you were — maybe he’d be disappointed it wasn’t his own.

He watched you, forgetting the papers he was grading — he was focused on something else, now.

—

He was standing when you turned back. Hunching over his injuries and staggering towards you.

“Mr. Warren?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You gagged again, and he looked sad at the act.

“Please, baby—“ He stretched out his right hand, pleading with you.

“,—I know you love me too. I know that fucking Spider is taking you from me.”

He stepped closer.

“I know it.”

You stumbled back farther, wiping the spit from you lips and pulling your mask down, you went to shoot a web, to get away. But he was on you before you could, the hand not outstretched revealing a cloth covering his palm. Sodden and dripping a clear liquid.

He gripped your suit and dragged you forward, shoving the cloth closer to your face.

“Stop fucking resisting.”

“Get off!”

You gripped his forearm and bent it back, far enough you heard a snap. He yelped out. The sweet smelling cloth dropped from his hand and his other lost grip on your shirt. Taking the opportunity you dropped down, crouching on one leg and using the other to swipe the things legs from under him.

You watched him fall and grabbed the cloth. Hearing his pained groans as he tried to scramble up again.

You kicked a leg over him, straddling his chest and bringing your free hand back — swinging down on him with anguished cries.

He tried to raise his hands, you pinned them down in his own chloroform ridden cloth. He called your name, endearments that made you skin crawl. Tried kicking you off as his body grew weaker. Pleading with you, using his remaining strength to yank at his own arms.

He wrestled against your hits, face bloodied and nose broken. You hit again, watching his disgusting face whip to the side, blood leaking from his mouth as a tooth went flying.

Tears breached the edge of your eyes, frustration of every kind tearing your skin anew, your knuckles pouring the hurt you felt. Blood mixing in a sickening spill of feelings, an obsessive love — something cruel and harsh. And the injuries you’d sustained from it, equally as such cruel.

You’d spent *months trying for a man in love with someone else. And this man you had confided in, who had been a mentor in your trivialities — had taken advantage of that, of you.

He disgusted you.

You kept swinging.

—

Miles jerked awake, gripping the hands that were on his shoulders in an instant, the figure flinching back at his strength.

“Miles! Just me—,” He opened his eyes further, pain ringing through his body as he loosened in your hold.

“Just you.”

He took your appearance in, the blood coating your suit, that hadn’t seemed to be your own. The thick liquid shining on your hands and forearms, crudely splashed onto your mask — like something out of a horror film.

He reached up slowly, pulling off you mask with great effort. His own sitting next to him. You were on your knees before him, bathing in red so deep it could have been mistaken for black against the reddened light. He groaned when you touched his chest, coughing a little at the pain.

“Sorry! Sorry — I’m so sorry.” You quickly retracted your hand and gasped. Apologising through near tears. He wet his lips, watching your tear lined eyes in worry.

“Hey— Conejita, what— what happened?”

Letting his hands rest on your cheeks, carbon fibre wiping at soft skin.

You sobbed, gripping his wrists and moving his weak hands closer to you. His brows furrowed further.

“I don’t — I don’t know, he —,”

You breathed fast against his palms, crying to him. Miles straightened himself up, ignoring the pains shooting up his body and trying to comfort you, shushing your cries and cradling your face.

“Mr. Warren he was —“

Miles’ eyes widened, finally letting the familiarity in his voice click. That was who it was, who was so mad at him, disgusted by the Spider.

Miles shuddered, thinking back to the off feeling he’d always had around the older man.

How he was always around you.

“What did he do.”

His eyes darkened and you cried harder, Miles had completely forgotten about his wounds, shifting to get up and find the fucking bastard.

You gripped him tighter, “Miles. He’s not —,”

“Where is he.”

“Dead.”

His breath escaped him, the blood made sense now. He got closer to you and slid his hand around your head, pushing your face into his good shoulder.

You cried again, shaking form cradled against his own weakened body.

“Shh, Mami. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“We’re alright, I promise.”

He hugged you closer, pressing a haste kiss to your forehead.

“You’re safe.”

—

You helped him home, having to hold him up and swing at the same time, which wasn’t much as a hassle as you thought it would be.

You both sat on your couch, him lying down with you sitting on his thighs.

He watched you work, suit and mask discarded somewhere in your living room and clad only in a pair of loose joggers you had found for him.

Your face was pinched into a frown, eyes still puffed from crying and a brows scrunched unpleasantly.

“Stop moving.”

“I’m not.” He threw his head back, rolling his eyes at your complaining.

“See? Moving.” You poked his chest and he winced.

“Okay! Okay— Damn, chica.”

You smiled at his tone, a small, timid thing. And he pushed down the fluttering in his stomach.

“You’re lucky you don’t need stitches.”

“Lucky? Havin’ you here longer would make me lucky.”

You grumbled, pouting at him angrily. “You want stitches, big boy?”

“You gonna stay on top of me?”

“No, but i’ll make it hurt real nice.”

He snorted, shifting to look at you better.

“Then, nah.”

You kept at your work, patting him with antiseptics and making him hold an ice pack across the forming bruises.

And he admired you, the streaks of light from the window falling against your face. A city ridden with crime making you so, so pretty.

“Why’d you come for me?”

You gave him a curious look but continued to patch him up. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I?”

He sniffled, averting his gaze. “I dunno I just— didn’t expect you to show up.”

You shook your head a little, understanding his fears.

“I’d always show for you, Miles.”

He hummed, flustered at the thought.

You moved up to his face, gently patting away blood with a warm hand towel, your other hand holding his face towards you. Fingertips brushing his cheeks in a hold so caring he might’ve fainted if it wasn’t you holding him. He’d stay awake for you this time. He’d protect you this time.

“I love you.”

You froze, towel stuck in the air and your eyes locked onto his.

Miles held his breath, waiting for your reply as he watched you clock the words.

His nerves got to him quick, spouting out whatever he could in your silence.

"Estaba hablando con Gwen y me ayudó a darme cuenta, ¿sabes? No paraba de decir que estaba enfermo de amor, yo no lo entendía y pensé que quizás debería..."

“I was just talking with Gwen and she helped me realise, you know? Kept saying I was lovesick and I didnt get it and I just thought maybe I should—“

“I love you too.”

He snapped his gaze back to you. Hope colouring his eyes a sparkling gold.

“You do?” He whispered, an intimacy running through his bloodstream. Heart pumping too fast in haste of the pure admiration he held for you.

You nodded, and your hands splayed out further, cradling the edge of his lips.

“I do.”

He tried to sit up, abs clenching under effort to get closer to you, you let him drag you forward. He ditched the ice pack and settled his hands on the crest of your thighs, rubbing his thumb over your hips.

“Say it again?”

He whined, begging you. He wanted, needed to hear you say it again.

“I love you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, forehead pressing against your own. You followed.

The things he felt for you were too much, too much. His chest was heaving again, but not from pain. This was love he hadn’t experienced before, this was anything but painful.

"Dios, también te amo."

“God, I love you too.”

Your hands slipped from his lips to the back of his neck, scratching gently along his nape and he shivered.

“Let me kiss you? Please?”

He whispered again, voice cracking. Chapped lips brushing against your own softer ones in a featherlight touch. He was holding off, not letting himself the pleasure without you wanting him back — he wanted to know you wanted him back.

“Please.” You were sure, certain — and it was all he needed.

He kissed you sweetly, letting himself indulge in you without restraint.

He hadn’t known what he’d been missing out on — but now he does. Know he knows. And god, if he hadn’t felt more full in his entire life.

Everything had been bland compared to you, had been bitter and dull against the sweetness of your lips. Smooth against rough skin and he’d never felt something so soft before. His hands gripped you harder for just a moment and you pulled back merely an inch to catch your breath. He opened his eyes and watched your lips sparkle in the same light he’d admired minutes before.

“I love you too.”

You smiled at him and he pulled you ever closer. “I know, Miles.”

—

“I fuckin’ told ya’, mate.”

“Wh— I never said otherwise!”

“Yeah but ya’ neva’ agreed either, aye?”

“I never disagreed.”

“Pff, whateva.”

Gwen rolled her eyes, scoffing at the brit next to her with a smile on her face.

They watched you both as Miles nervously introduced you to Peter. A sort of Spider-convention was set up. And the invite was — begrudgingly — extended to you.

“They’re cute, though.”

“Bloody oath.”

You offered the older man with a warmed gaze, turning to the kid in his arms and cooing. He smiled at you, being one of your favourite spiders had its perks.

He was one of the only ones who never tried to make you join the society, so he got a pass from you.

Miles held your hand and smiled, chatting with Peter excitedly once he realised the lack of tension.

“Do you want to hold her?”

“Do I—,” You looked up at him hopefully. “Yes! Uh— Yeah. Yes please.”

You dropped Miles’ hand and he pouted, watching you take the baby from Peters arms, the early father fretting as you waved him off, insuring him you knew how to care for a child.

Peter relaxed and stood next to Miles as you rocked his baby gently. A rather fond feeling overtaking them both — leading Peter to take a photo of you with his kid, and Miles to shyly ask him to send it to him.

The look of you with a kid? It was way too early in life for baby fever.

He huffed when he heard people making kissy noises behind him. You too preoccupied with entertaining the kid to realise it.

He turned to the trio of teens behind him and flipped them off. Pavitr gasped offendedly at him and Hobie and Gwen laughed, causing Miles to roll his eyes and snort.

“Assholes.”

You gently passed MayDay back to Peter and gave a quick kiss to her head. Peter going off to get her a bottle.

Miles came up next to you and you smiled at him, watching the skyline from the buildings rooftop.

“[Name].”

You huffed and rolled your eyes at the voice behind you.

Way to ruin a moment.

“Miguel.”

You turned to him, Miles cringing quickly as he turned with you.

“Hey— Miguel! Crazy seein’ you here, haha! Insane.” Miles nervously laughed, his voice deepening on the last word and you coughed a laugh, agreeing with him.

“Uhuh, crazy.” A sly smile adorned your features and you grabbed his hand again, interlocking your fingers in a foxy movement.

“You weren’t invited.”

“Huh? Of course I wasn’t!—“ Your smirk grew bigger. “—I’m a plus one.”

He glared down at you and it only felt all the more justifiable, he opened his mouth to talk before Peter was dancing over with MayDay held out.

“Here take this, thanks!”

He quickly handed her off to Miguel and spun him around by his shoulders, continuing to walk with him in the other direction. “She needs a sleep. Rock her to sleep.”

“Wh—“

“Rock her.”

—

Miles gripped your hips, swaying gently with you to the soft music playing in your kitchen. Your Ma had left two weeks prior for a month long work trip, and he couldn’t stay away. The domesticity he had built with you reaching an all time high as he watched you cook.

He rested his head on your shoulder and you both continued to sway a little. Moving his hands past your hips to lean his hands on the bench you cut your food on, caging you in slightly. You hummed, reaching for a tomato and placing it on the board.

“I love you.”

You giggled — a sweet, girlish thing.

“Love you too, baby.”

“Love you more.” He smiled against your shoulder.

“Pfft, yeah okay, big boy.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, and his heart fluttered again.

—

GOD DAMN AS ALWAYS WAY OFF THE RAILS

lovely translator @sataraxia

(literally my bf the delusions are getting worse he’s my bf guys!!! ⬇️)

#across the spiderverse #miles morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #spiderverse x reader #miles x reader #miles my beloved #miles morales x you #atsv miles #miles 1610 #miles x y/n #miles x you #miles morales x y/n

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

Note

OMG! I’m so happy for you, 5K is so exciting and you deserve it so much. I (live laugh) loveeeeeee your writing style so so so so much and I’ve just about read every fic you’ve made like 30 times over. I have an idea for a Soap nsfw fic that I’ve been wanting to submit since I found your account and I think this is the perfect time.

Rivals to lovers? Soap and reader were cadets together during their training/pre-selection days of the SAS, they were both top of their “class” and would often try to one up one another? Despite that, they would have one another’s backs. Eventually, after SAS selection, they parted ways and maybe a few years later (just after the events of MW2 2022) they reconnect as they’re both assigned to a mission. Sexual tensions high after years of not seeing each other? and goes sideways and they have to end up staying at a safe house (One bed trope?) and then things escalate from there?

Thank you for opening your requests for this momentous occasion! I’m so so happy for you and I’m so so excited for the next work you put out!

—Still The Same Fools

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [There was always a rivalry between you two - that hasn't changed even if both of you have. Years later, the boiling point is finally met.] ❞

“I told you it was a bad idea,” you tilt your head, tightly wrapping your left thigh; bandages you pull harder, grunting as the flow of blood slows.

The safehouse is cold—and it’s snowing outside worse than a shaken snow globe on a massage chair, flakes as big as your hand slapping the window.

Johnny’s trying to start a fire, shoulders all wound up as you stare at his tension-ridden back.

“MacTavish,” you call, glaring. “I’m talking to you.”

“Aye,” he grunts, flicking his lighter three times before the smallest of flames sparks up—he quickly moves it to the dry logs, letting it take to the kindling. “I have ears.”

You grimace, shaking your head.

The history between the two of you was long—dating back to the days when you’d both signed up. You’d bled together, failed, and won together, even if the tensions were visible in the air as much as the long glances were. SAS selection had been the point where your clashing attitudes had been put on pause; things were getting more serious now—there was no going back. Only a year in you’d both seen the last of each other.

Or, you thought that at least.

A mission—Norway during a blizzard. Full coverage and the means of a Capture-Or-Kill.

“You want to explain to me why you still decided to rush in like that?” You push, voice digging.

The room was weighed down by heat—not from the now sizzling fire itself but from the stiff look that’s passed your way. You blink, Soap’s blue eyes darker than they had been. With a low grunt, the usually sarcastic and blunt man stands, beginning to stalk over with hard steps. Bodies layered with sweat and grime, you release the shreds of the bandages around your bare thigh; pants half down your legs.

Frowning, you ignore the soar in your heart rate and let him move up to the rickety chair you sit in, his hands coming down to lean into the armrests on either side of you.

You hold back a gasp as his face is shoved into yours.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he utters, accent stiff, and both of your eyes battling one another for dominance that neither wants to give up. Two feral wolves at each other’s throats. “Maybe it was to make sure the old Hen of mine didn’t get herself killed.”

You snap back immediately, faces closer and breath puffing over skin. “You don’t trust me?”

“Never said that,” he grunts, stubble shifting into a frown.

You scoff, nose brushing against his as heads tilt. “Prove it. Because right now, I’m hearing a lot of bullshi—”

Lips smash into yours.

The affair that night was a rabid tangle of shed clothes and loose limbs, bare skin bloody and sweat-stained long before any action had even been taken. The wound at your thigh was of little concern as the fast shove of Johnny’s pelvis sent his cock dragging along the walls of your cunt.

“Fuck,” you gasp, head tilting back to connect with the floor as the fire spreads light over the safehouse. “God, right there. Right there, Johnny.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, a thin stream of crimson moving down your flesh as the sound of slapping wet skin echoes over and over again. Like a loyal dog, the man smirks into your neck as he bites, sucking and groaning all the more as you tighten around him with a shiver of electricity working its way down your spine straight to your core.

You whine as he grabs your chin, glaring weakly until your glossy eyes blur the space behind his head.

“Like that, do you?” He teases, hand firm and unyielding. “Tell me you like it, Dearie.”

“Go,” you pant, fingers digging into his mohawk and pulling. Johnny’s blown pupils widen even farther, hips thrusting harder and making you moan in his hold—him doing the same, with a more cut-off version that would make a pornstar blush. You force out, “screw yourself.”

He feels you tighten even farther around him, his jaw clenching as his abdomen bunches, trying to hold off his approaching orgasm.

“I think I’m enjoying this more, see,” he sloppily kisses the side of your mouth, licking at the skin. Everything about this was pent-up lust—messy sex in both the literal and metaphorical sense.

His tip caresses your womb, pulling almost all the way out of you before jerking forward and grinding moments after. His pelvis massages your clit, textured walls like a noose trying to keep him in. Your fluids leak out to coat his thighs a nice shiny clear. Muscles glide over yours, the dip and swell of flesh addictive.

A growl is sent into your face.

“Pull my hair again.” You do so, listening to the animalistic groans as your body moves up and down on the floor, cutting off exhalations of air puffing out from open mouths.

“Harder,” your gasp, “fuck me harder, Sergeant.”

A hand slams into the wood beside your head, the other moving to press into your stomach. You nearly cry when you can feel his cock hammering against the thin flesh of your abdomen.

You tighten around him and arch your back, lips brushing against his as you strangle down a loud plea for release. Your fingers latch and twist Johnny’s head to the side as the cord in your snaps.

“Fuck,” Johnny draws out the curse, eyes rolling back as you bare down on him ruthlessly, thighs tense and stained with blood and cum as your orgasm seeps violently down the swell of them.

He follows with a loud gasp, letting you feel the gush of his spend as it fills you to the brim, leaking out with every failing cant of his hips into yours.

The man loosens and lets his limp head hit your shoulder, body shaking as he stays above you only enough to keep his full weight from crushing you. It’s a long time before either of you find the words to speak.

“Round two?” Johnny asks.

You blink and feel the small sparks of pain in your thigh. It was nothing serious.

“Yeah,” you shrug, voice breathless and cunt spasming. “Why not.”

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sopeiism · 11 months

Text

“JUST LIKE THAT.” : MIGUEL O’HARA !

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀“OH, VAMOS, CARIÑO.”

⠀IN WHICH .. miguel has a rough day at work and just wants to be intimate with his significant other, the two get down to business; however, it’s unlike anything anyone would’ve guessed the two to be.

⠀GENRE .. slutty!miguel xx dominant!reader. established relationship. smut. drabble (0.7k)

⠀CONTENTS .. mdni. nsfw. no plot/plotless. unprotected sex. pegging. overstimulation. hair pulling. praising. dumbification. crying. begging. pet names (cariño & baby). malebottom. femdom.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀VIGOROUS SOUNDS .. of skin clasping together ricocheted off the bedroom walls, intertwining with the creaks and rocks of the bed frame that moved along with it. If it weren’t for the industrial screws that were drilled into the beams of the wood, the entire bed would’ve been scattered about all over the floor.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Scratch marks were carved into the headboard, almost like they were engraved into it. Bits and pieces of the semi-shattered bedpost fell onto the mattress with every thrust that was rutted. The desperate grasps at the mattress sheets were also taking those same pieces in; the man far too lost in the pleasure to even realize the irritation of the wood flakes.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Each time his precious lover hit just the right spot— the same spot that would make his legs grow weak, hairs stick up, body become limp— his eyes would roll back entirely, the only visible part being the sclera. Sultry whimpers would exert his locked jaw that was helplessly falling open with every hip curl [Y/N] gave him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her actions; how she grazed her calloused hands all along his large brawny shoulder blades, the tips of her acrylics causing cold shivers to travel up the man’s spine— left the man an utter and complete disaster beneath her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Miguel was entirely unaware of exactly how overpowering his beloved girlfriend could be. Never in his life would he have expected to be left hopeless due to her dominance. She was an arrogant one, a stubborn one to put nicely, yet she was still smaller than him in size rather than height.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He was glad that he was larger than her in muscle wise due to their obvious height differences; [Y/N] non stop teasing the man about having to look up at her, or ask her for guidance on getting things off tall shelves.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Yet now, she was even taunting him in bed, something that should’ve been his specialty.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Oh, vamos, cariño. I know you can handle it” ( Oh, c’mon, darling. ) her low and raspy voice allured into his ear, fingers grazing his scalp with her opposite hand placed gently along his slim waist.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her deathly slow and coordinated strokes were torturing the poor man like no other, his sharp fingers scratched and pulling at the seams of the pillow his face was buried into.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“O-Oh- please- A-Ah Shit! Oh please, please fuck me harder, baby. Please” the man felt as if he were grasping at straws with his fist burying deep into the mattress and his other delving into the sheets.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The moment she heard his croaked voice spew out whines of mercy, a sly grin marred the woman's features. She adored it entirely how he was practically begging on his knees for her, wanting her to ruin his perfectly broad body.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Dragging her fingers down his back, she swiftly slid them along his hips before realigning her own. Miguel was amidst taking a deep breath before yet another loud and obscene groan of pleasure dripped off his tongue, [Y/N] once again rutting into him with her strap-on.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her pace this time was more frequent, not allowing the man to catch his breath before more moans found their way into the air. She loved how each time she gripped his waist harder and the tip of the strap-on hit the right spot; Miguel shoved his head deeper into the pillow.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀One of [Y/N] hands traveled down his thigh, the man’s quad tensing at the feeling. She curled her fingers around the base of his dick, stroking it slowly and causing more cries of satisfaction to tumble from his quivering lips.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Each time her thumb nail would caress his tip, his body would tremble and bottom lip would be locked between his teeth. Going at the same pace with both was treacherous for Miguel, the man struggling all too hard to not let loose on the spot.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀However, he was no match for the bone chilling euphoric pleasure he was enduring, broken gasps and ragged cries trickling from his trembling mouth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“F-Fuck, baby, I-I-I’m gonna cum. S-S-Shit! shit shit shit” Miguel mewled out with his eyes rolling back yet again, white liquids sputtering out from the tip of his erections whilst [Y/N] continued to pump him through his climax.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Yeahh, Just like that, papito. Déjalo salir todo.” ( Let it all out. ) The woman cooed into Miguel’s ear, watching with delight flowing through her veins as he melted beneath her simple touch; becoming a heaving and panting mess all over the mattress.

#♱ JLT. miguel ohara #spiderman across the spiderverse #spider man #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara x reader #spider-man 2099 #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman2099 #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader

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97keanu · 5 months

Note

john wick and reader’s first christmas together 🤩

*˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ I just love this idea! Thank you so much for sending it in ❄️.*ㅤ

Premise: John wants to give his wife the best Christmas he can. He decides to surprise you by taking you to a remote cabin he owns(typically used as a safehouse from his work if need be). Features John who tries to finally let his guard down and relax, hot cocoa kisses, and sexy times by the roaring fire ♡.゜

Tags/CW: FLUFFY, domestic bliss!John, loving husband!John, some much needed down time for the Wicks, blizzards, cabin in the woods, eventual smut, soft but still dominant!John, pretty tame but sensual smut, you learn things about your husband that you never knew, you see a side of john you never thought you would, daddy kink, spanking, commanding John, p in v, doggy, edging.

The roads twisted between thick fur and pine trees of the deepest and most vibrant hues of green your eyes have ever seen. You're used to your concrete jungle, the city life of New York being all you've ever really known. You had never taken a camping trip before John, let alone a getaway in some private cabin up in the mountains. You didn't know there were even mountains near where you two usually lived, but with the secret blindfolded plane ride, you're not sure you're even in the same state anymore.

John's large hand rests on your thigh, giving little squeezes every so often and warming the skin there. His other hand keeps a hold of the wheel, driving the slick black-as-night car. He had trade in for the SUV styled vehicle instead his usual Mustang so that you two could make it through the snowy terrain. The visibility is getting less and less as the darkness of night begins to settle in and the snowflakes blasting against the cars windshield get bigger and thicker by the minute. You're grateful for how warm the heaters are keeping you, your short skirt and leg warmers no match for this weather, but you had wanted to wear something cute for your getaway trip and John had only said it was a "little chilly". You curl up in the giant black leather seats of the car, sleep wanting to take you after so much traveling. You spy John peeking over at you, and hear him speak for the first time in a few miles.

"It won't be long now," He let's your thigh have another reassuring squeeze. "We'll be away and in the warmth of the cabin soon. I had it prepped for our arrival, so it should be nice and toasty when we get there."

You hum a small response, eyes wanting to shut so badly. Your head leans against the seatbelt, letting the thick strap cradle it.

The trees grow thicker and seem to be devouring the car as the road turns into a tiny trail. You wonder for a moment how or who John would send to keep the cabin prepped. You notice how the trail has been plowed already, and slowly but surely a warmth of yellow glows as John turns the last corner towards the cabin. You see the large structure, it's windows vibrantly orange against the cold whites and blues of the winter forest around it. The chimney already billows with smoke, lazily getting pulled away by the wind. It looks expensive and inviting.

John gets out of the car first, the wind blowing in flakes of snow already, melting on the warm leather seats almost immediately. John spies the chill that shakes through you from the sudden cold, and takes off his warm winter jacket. He walks over to your side of the car, opening it, that burst of frost blasting you once more. He helps you out, wrapping you tightly in his jacket, his warmth radiating into you through it.

John carefully takes you inside, careful of any ice that may be lingering. He opens the wooden door of the cabin, and you can already feel the warmth on your cheeks once more as you step inside.

"Not so bad, huh?" John says with a small smile, rubbing up and down your arms to try to keep you warm.

"Yeah, but I would have dressed warmer if I'd know there was a blizzard waiting for us!" You say with false concern, not really that upset when you're in such a luxury cabin as this, and all the thought that John put into it apparent to you.

"The storm wasn't supposed to set in so quickly, that was my mistake of underestimating it..." His voice remains brighter, but you can tell he wishes he had calculated it better. That sort of thing means a lot to him.

You pull your loving husband in, taking his bearded face in your hands and planting a long, soft kiss on his lips. You pull back and look into those deep brown eyes of his. For the first time in a long time, he looks content, excited, happy. There's a significant lack of the usual worry there, but even so, his dark brows always show a hint of it.

"Listen, why don't you take a moment to warm up by the fire in the livingroom, and I'll start getting our things inside..." He is obviously up to something else, you can always tell, but you have an idea of it either way.

You shrug off the jacket he gave you, his masculine scent of pine and mint cologne going with it, and give him a kiss on the cheek as you do.

"Keep warm out there..." You whisper to him, a hand pushing one side of his long dark hair back behind his ear.

"Always..." He returns the kiss and slips out the door, snow billowing in onto the hard wood as he does, and the wind being extinguished as he closes the door once more.

For a moment, you glance out the window, fogged up by the heat of the inside fighting the cold of the wilderness. You check the car, where your husband should be, and see nothing, thinking he's disappeared into that dark winter night. Then, you catch a glimpse of him moving past a different window, farther from the car than he should be if he were to be unpacking.

Checking the perimeter. You've known him to do this when you two travel. No other man you've dated has done such a thing, but no other man was John Wick. You still were unsure about his work since he kept you at such a distance, but you could take a few guesses at this point. You don't like him being out in the cold like this, but if it makes him feel better, maybe takes his mind off everything so that you two may enjoy your Christmas vacation together, then you'll let him do so without bringing it up.

That was your duty as a loving wife. A loving wife who didn't ask questions. Who knew but said nothing of it. Who doted without wanting to know more. And for now? That was enough for you.

You know it will be a second before he gets back, so you decide to take in the cabin while he's away. You look at the grand living room area you're standing in, two massive staircases encircling the largest Christmas tree you've ever seen, twinkling with a million tiny lights. The dark wood of the enterior is rich and inviting. To your right, a fireplace, couches and seating around it, the mantel hung with green garland and deep red bows. In front of the fire rests a white bear hide, you wonder if it's real or not, but you don't think you've ever seen John hunting. Animals, that is.

Beside that are the largest windows you've ever seen, over looking the forest and you think a lake if you can spy that correctly out in the mess of the blizzard. It makes your heart tense to think of John out there in that, but he's a grown man, he can make his own decisions, you tell yourself, as the good, loving wife you are.

You walk there, looking out, seeing all the freezing cold that you're happy to be away from dancing out there beyond the thick trees. You turn towards the fire, walking over, letting the bare of your legs and arms get warm. Your thin little scarf did just about as much as you tiny skirt and white fluffy leg warmers did to warm you, but a lively fire should do the trick. You close your eyes, hands out and feeling the warm down to your bones, listening to the wood crackling and dying inside the flame.

After a while, you end up curling yourself the coziest and plushest couch you've ever been in. It's deep brown in color, and has the feeling of soft leather, the kind that still has a bit of fur on it. The crocheted cream blanket hung over it quickly becomes yours, and you watch the fire as your eyes slowly drift closed, and the flames twirl behind your eyelids.

❄️.*ㅤ

You're not sure when you fell asleep, or for how long, but when you feel cold lips kiss upon your cheek, your eyes flutter open to meet John's. The fire behind him has significantly died down.

"Sorry to wake you sweetheart," his voice is hushed and soft. "I finished unpacking for us. I started our late dinner as well, so that will be done soon if you're hungry."

You hadn't really thought about it, but as John mentions it, and you smell that delicious scent of a home cooked meal, your stomach growls despite yourself. John smiles at the response and stands up, holding a hand out to you. You take it, enjoying the feel of his rough hands engulfing your tiny soft ones for a moment.

The two of you go towards the left of the cabin, through two double doors grand with subtle embellishments, and the wonderful smell of the kitchen grows larger as you walk through. You see the brightly lit kitchen before you, the appliances a mix of modern and old styled, the color of them all deep greens and brandished golds. A small, simple chandelier hangs down over the middle of a black marble island in the center of the room. There are nice, large, comfy stools made of wood and black leather waiting for you there, the high backs of the stools perfectly curved to lean against. You take seat, and John opens the oven to check what's cooking in there.

"I always forget how good of a cook you are." You say with a soft smile.

"I don't do it often, but I hope you enjoy it when I do." He responds with a small chuckle, pulling a chefs apron in black off a golden hook on the wall, and wrapping it around himself so he may continue cooking.

He gets out a medium golden saucepan, opening the old styled fridge and getting out cream and milk, mixing them into the pot. You watch with fascinated eyes as he does so, then spotting him open the pantry door and seeing it fully stocked with snacks and goodies.

"You really had this place set up, huh?" You comment as he takes out a hefty bar of high quality dark chocolate from the pantry.

"Only the best for my wonderful wife..." He says with that small smile of his, walking over near you and setting up a cutting board.

"Do you wanna learn how to make homemade hot chocolate?" He continues, bringing a sharp chefs knife with him.

You're actually really interested, you've never had John 'teach' you anything so far, so you wonder what kind of mentor he would be.

"Yes, I'd like that."

John nods, and begins to show you and tell you what he's doing. First, he takes the chocolate bar, then sets it on the cutting board. He then explains how sharp these types of knives are and how you have to be careful, showing you how to cut with your knuckles out instead of your fingers.

"Always cut away from yourself..." He explains as he does so himself, chopping the chocolate into finely shredded pieces. "It's kind of hard because you don't want the chocolate to melt too much from your hands, so you have to work fast."

You watch a few more times, a question or two being answered with patience and honestly, and finally you feel your ready. John comes behind you, his hands guiding yours to the right places, then traveling up to your shoulders. You shiver from his touch.

He watches carefully as you cut, making sure to tell you if you're getting too close to your knuckles. You work slower than he does, the chocolate beginning to melt and stick to your fingers, but he doesn't stop you. He wants you to be able to make mistakes and figure it out on your own.

He pulls his hands down to yours a few times when you ask for help, his hands helping yours to get the motion. You feel a blush settling in your cheeks as you think about how close he is, his scent easily inhaled from this distance. You know you're already married to the man, but you can't help but retain that crush you've had on him since the very beginning. He had such a way with being suavely romantic like that, as if he wasn't even trying to do so.

Finally, all the chocolate is cut, your chunks not nearly as fine as John's, but he reassures you it will all melt the same in the end. You both move to the pot of milk that's on the stove, John igniting the gas and the blue flame rising to meet the bottom of the pot. John let's you carefully brush the chocolate off the cutting board into the pot.

He then opens a nearby cupboard, bringing out spices and such.

"I like to put vanilla, cinnamon, and a bit more sugar into mine..." He admits almost sheepishly.

You have to agree, it's interesting to see John, his buff arms on display from his dark undershirt, scars here and there, in a chefs apron talking about his favorite way to prepare hot cocoa. It's not that he can't do such a thing, John could do anything, you know that. It's that he's usually never allowed to be so tender, to have such opinions, to show off this side of himself, even to you, his wife. You're already starting to cherish these moments of bliss with him.

He let's you add the other ingredients yourself with the help of his verbal instructions, and you're happy he does so. You may be his wife, but he knew when he married you that you didn't sign up to be the cook in the family. And you're glad that he never pushed that, but right now, you're enjoying creating something with him, even if it is a recipe.

"So, where up here for 5 whole nights, what do you have planned for me, John?" You say over your shoulder as you stir the heating liquid on the stove.

John is taking what's in the oven out as he responds, the delicious smell of roasted chicken and vegetables filling your nose.

"Oh, a little of this, a bit of that," he plays coy then continues. "Would you prefer if I don't keep it a surprise?"

You think about his question, asked in ernest, and consider it.

"No, but, I guess I'm just excited since what you've already given me has been so wonderful..." You smile and glance at him, watching as he prepares two plates for the evening.

Even this, he does with precision.

"If I didn't know any better, I would have thought you were a real chef." You comment on his culinary skills.

"Ah," he says with a sigh as he wipes clean a spot of loose sauce on the sparkling white plate. "Perhaps, in another life..."

You know John doesn't speak of his work often, but every so often you get a glimpse into his true thoughts and feelings about it. You go back to finishing the hot chocolate without a word.

❄️.*ㅤ

Soon, the two of you have dined and enjoyed your delicious meal, lazing on the livingroom couch together with a mug half filled with cocoa each, the whipped cream all gone.

You lean into John's form, enjoying the feeling of his body against yours, the way the curves fit just perfectly. You listen to Christmas vinyl, all instrumental pieces, softly playing on a record player in the room. You watch outside as the snow piles up and drifts against the room filling windows, letting it block the two of you in here alone with ease.

"Aren't you worried we'll get snowed in?" You whisper to your husband, voice languid and relaxed.

"Not one bit," John chuckles softly in your ear, playing with a strand of your hair between your fingers. "We have more than enough food and resources to last well over a month. Besides, I'm used to the cold."

He kisses your cheek with the last word, and you can't help but smile back.

You bite your lip, thinking about what you want to say back, what you dream of asking, but you know you're not supposed to ask questions into his past. That's not what you're meant to do as his loving wife.

A few moments pass, and you just can't help yourself.

"Where did you grow up, John?" The words fall from your mouth, and you feel the muscles in John's chest tighten, almost reflexively.

He doesn't say anything for a long time, then a breath he seems to have been holding slips out low and slow.

"I grew up as an orphan." He says it slowly, and your eyes widen when you hear, you're grateful your back is against John so he can't see your surprise.

You say nothing, digesting the words, having learned so much from so little. You can imagine that it wasn't at all easy growing up as an orphan, but a part of you wonders, no hopes, that the story has a better end.

"I was born in Belarus," he continues. "And stayed there until I eventually made my way to New York."

Shadows, once again, from your husband. There is so much he's omitting, you know that, and there's so much you wish to ask him for details. You swallow those questions hard, instead remaining silent, in case he wishes to tell more, but not pressing anything.

"The winter's there were pretty harsh, so I find it somewhat comforting to be back in it." he finally says after a long pause. "Reminds me of how far I've come from that."

You feel John's hands move for the first time since this conversation, suddenly no longer frozen against you. It's as if the warmth has begun to flood his body against, forgetting that freezing past of his. He pulls you in tighter, wrapping his arms around you and feeling you there with him. You hear his sigh, and you know that's all he will say about it tonight. He buries his face in your hair, ready to forget for now. You let him.

❄️.*ㅤ

The days at the cabin pass like the last of the snow fall on the peaks of the trees, quiet, hushed, a whisper to a lover with lustful intent. You spend time with John that feels like a century, and as the night of Christmas Eve arrives, you find yourself feeling closer and closer to him without having to say much.

With his away at work all the time, you're cherishing these moments as they come, happy to stay inside with him and the cozy warmth of the fire that John keeps from going hungry. Tonight, you lead him into the living room, where the fire crackles and welcomes you once more. He let's you dance as you do so, helping twirl you as the jazzy songs of the records he puts on dazzle in response.

You pull him to the couch, letting him take a seat before you decide his lap is yours, straddling him. He looks wonderful tonight, his beard trimmed clean and his suit retired for a relaxed fit of a black v-neck that shows off his muscular form wonderfully. You're surprised to see he can even wear jeans, so used to his formal attire he usually comes home from work in. There's no blood splatters or blood holes to be found either. Nothing for you to repair, patch up without a word, the dutiful wife who knows her place in this gone for these moments.

You feel like when you just met, and John was just a charming, handsome man who woo'ed you into his life. No secrets were insight, not quite yet, back then. Just typically lack of knowledge of one another. More equal than ever in those moments.

You kiss him, the fire silhouetting the two of you. Your kiss is passionate and deep, your lips finding his and crushing against them with want and warmth from so deep inside you, you wonder if a flame hasn't ignited there as well. You feel your stomach flutter as you kiss, his hands starting at your back, holding you there as you grind into his lap slowly, as if you're trying not to let him know you're doing it at all. He smiles into the kiss, his hips returning the sensation, obviously knowing what you want.

When the kiss finally breaks, your breathless and looking into those dark eyes, the fire dancing twinkling yellow light on them so you can see the amber inside. You watch him for a moment, watch your handsome husband who breathes heavy beneath you, eyes full of want that he is barely holding back. You know he could take you whenever he wishes, flip you like you weighed that of a feather and fuck your brains out just as easily. But he wants to let you play with him, let you enjoy this and watch you as you do.

"Show me how badly you want it," he says, and you already know what he means.

You lift your skirt, your lacy, delicate panties revealing for just a moment as you straddle one of his thighs. You get in position, slowly taking your top, fluffy sweater off, your bralette matching your panties beneath. He watches with curiosity, a lone hand gently, as light as a moth's wing, gliding against your curves, taking them in.

You shudder as if a chill has found you, but all you have inside is that fiery passion that John flames within. You kiss him again, moving down his neck, pulling down to his chest and trying to get as much surface area as you can from his v-neck. Your hips begin to gently grind against his thigh, the feeling of being able to control your pleasure there wonderful. John chuckles while he watches you struggle to kiss deeper, and you think for a moment he may take his shirt off as well.

"Rip it off," he says with a laugh, and you pull back to look at him.

"I don't think I'm strong enough..." You admit with a smile, waiting for him to tease you.

"I want to see you try." He isn't teasing per se, but he is curious to see the strength you wield.

You laugh for a moment, then see how serious his eyes are about it, and bite your lip. You know he wouldn't make fun of you for not being able to do such a thing, you're no trained fighter the way he is, after all. But you do want to impress him.

You grip that V of his shirt a little harder, and clench your fists tight around it, giving it a testing tug. Nothing happens, and you glance to John, who's bemused by the sight.

"You'll have to try harder than that, love." He whispers, still encouraging you with his tone.

You pull harder this time, using all the muscles in your arms as you can. Still, not much, but you think you hear a few seams tear. You try one more time and finally, a decent part of the V rips open, exposing more of his deliciously defined chest.

"That's a good girl, I knew you could do it." He reassures, cupping your face and letting his thumb rub against your lower lip.

You open wide, letting his thumb enter there, playing with your tongue for a moment, before settling in your mouth. You suck joyfully on it, letting him praise you for being so good, rubbing your wetting cunt on his thigh more. He watches you with a pleased grin, his free hand on your hip, guiding you into his thigh. You let your hands explore his chest as much as you want, enjoying the feel of hard muscle against soft skin there.

"Are you going to be a good girl for Daddy and show him how badly you need his cock?" He says with his head tilted in curiosity, watching your reaction.

You moan and nod, still enjoying letting your mind slowly fade away, turning into the dumb little whore you love to be for him. You keep your body rocking against his and he takes his thumb from your mouth, reaching up to your designer skirt, and ripping through it much faster and easier than you did his shirt. He does away with the rest of that as well, and hears your pouting about the ripped skirt.

"Don't worry, I'll buy you another one." he smirks. "I like it better when I can see all of you."

And with that he unzips your bralette from the front, letting your breasts, heavy with want, fall into his large hands. He takes both of them, rubbing them perfectly in unison, enjoying the feeling there. He likes how soft you are, how all your edges are smooth without sharpness. He enjoys how plump and soft your skin is, telling you such things in a whisper, making the heat of a blush rise to your cheeks and chest. You reach back and center your hands on his legs, giving him a better view of what he desires, and note leverage to grind deeper into his thigh. You needy whines begin to echo in the cabin.

"Oh, is that all, darling?" he says. "I think you can show me how much you want it more than that."

You breathe out, your chest heaving, letting your breasts entice him with each lung full of air.

"I need you so bad..." You whisper, your pussy soaking through your panties.

"Oh really? Should Daddy check?" He says, letting one of his hands move to your awaiting cunt, and testing out how wet you are over your panties.

He rubs there, and you lose it, your eyes rolling back and closing with pleasure that runs through you as he plays with your clit. You grind into his hands, so big and waiting for your pretty little cunt to do such a thing. He stops moving, making you whine more from lack of stimulation, but you know he wants to watch you rub yourself against him first.

"I'm not convinced yet." John raises a skeptical eyebrow and you pretend hate how much work he's making you do.

You touch your own breasts, grinding harder and whining louder, calling his name.

"Tell me what you want, baby girl. Tell me how you want me to fuck you."

"I-I..." You try to get that lustfully full and dumb head of yours to bring coherent words from your moans. "I want you to fuck me in front of the fire. On the floor, from behind, and hold me down like the naughty girl I am..."

You feel a shiver run right down to your cunt from how John smirks at you, happy with your response.

He says nothing, and for a moment you're not sure if you've begged enough yet. But then, without warning, he grabs you, flipping you into his arms, and rising from the couch. He pulls you to him, the heat of his skin against yours giving you tingles. Soon, you're on all fours, the pelt of that bear rug thick and soft between your fingers. You look back, and John's hands are already at your panties, and with a gasp from you, he's ripped those off as well and discarded them.

He in zips his jeans, his cock flopping out, girthy and ready for you.

"Put yourself on Daddy's cock, show me that you want it." He breathes with his own lust only barely concealed.

You back up on your knees, feeling his cock flop against your ass, the size of it so intimidating already. You can already feel your cunt clenching from how badly you want it. Your hand reaches back and moves it so his cock is between your legs underneath you, and you slowly stroke it, enjoying the soft breaths John let's out from the pleasure.

You start by letting it slide between your wet folds, letting it rub it's tip against your clit, enjoying the friction there. Then, finally, as John commanded, you line his cock up with your needy entrance, and slowly let the head breach your folds there, popping inside of you as you moan out.

"That's it. Ease yourself onto me."

You do so, slowly letting your ass back up into him, his cock getting deeper and deeper as you do, stretching you out slowly. He may be your husband, but with a cock like that, you've always had to take your time to accomadate him if you didn't want it to be painful. Other times, the slam of his cock so suddenly inside you was desired, but tonight, you two are taking it slow.

You gasp as you feel his full length slowly fill you, so tight and deep inside of you. John's hands play with gripping your ass, before letting a light, but loud slap go on them.

“Fuck, your tight little cunt feels so good, baby…” He sighs out as he carefully pulls his hips back, starting to pump inside you after.

You moan, loving the way he praises you like that, loving being a good girl for him who takes all of his girthy cock whenever he wants. You hate to admit how mindless you go when he fucks you like this. You feel like every worry and thought is fucked right out of your pretty little head.

John's cock begins to pick up speed, and with your sudden gasps and moans from the faster stimulation he asks if you're taking it alright.

You give a confirming noise and nod, but you can barely speak from how good you're feeling right now.

“That’s a good girl,” John says, his voice tight and husky from how much he's enjoying fucking you. “I want you to touch yourself for me, baby. I wanna feel you cum all over my cock.”

You feel tingles run across your back as his hands station there, plunging his cock deeper as he does. At this rate, you feel like you might even just cum from what he's doing right now. Yet, your clit aches from the lack of attention, so you shift your weight and body so your hand can reach beneath yourself to get to that tender spot.

“Yes, baby…Show me how much you love me fucking you.” John’s voice hushes to you, soft, but commanding.

You do just that, feeling yourself in just the right way, you pleasure doubling as he continues to fill you up with his cock over and over again. You find your cheek against the fur rug, the heat from the fire prickling your skin, at this point making you almost start to sweat. You close your eyes, mouth open and moans uncontrollable.

“Look at me.” John commands, and your eyes flutter open, your head turned to look back at him.

John is just so gorgeous. His ripped, lean body, the glisten of sweat gleaming and twinkling in the fire light. But what really turns you on is his eye contact. Those wolf-like eyes, so deep and dark, looking at you. You can't help but feel like prey to him when he's like this, the way he looks at you like a predator who's just about to earn his hunt. You feel your cunt tightening as you do what he says, your own eyes look at him with scared little doe eyes, afraid to disobey, to not please.

You watch as your husband continues to pound your cunt into oblivion, taking more and more, picking up speed despite how brutal it's already starting to feel. You love the feeling, the feeling of allowing your husband so much power over you, of letting him take your body however he wants. You feel your eyes flutter closed from how close you are, cunt tightening to try to get closer, breath held.

You also hear a deep, animalistic growl from John, and you know you're breaking the rules. He commanded you to look at him, and now you're losing yourself in your pleasure without doing so. Even after you correct yourself, eyes meeting his, you know you've earned a punishment.

He wrenches your hips back into his cock, keeping you there with one hand in a steel grip, the other lifting off and pulling back to slap your ass. You cry out at the first hit, feeling a sting reverberate there. The worst part was how much wetter it made you, how closer you were from every spank he laid upon you ass. He continues, a small smirk on his lips, he knows what he's doing to you.

“Tell me how much you like. Tell me how you deserve to be fucked like this.” John's voice wavers and you know he needs to hear it just as much as you do.

“I…” You try to make your brain work, another gasp and another slap, your ass now red with his hand print. “I need you to punish me for being a bad girl, and not following your rules.”

Your hand is viciously rubbing your swollen and wet cunt, being pushed to its edge by how deep and hard John thrusts into you.

“And?” John urges you on, his cock feeling harder and harder, swollen and ready to fill you as soon as he lets himself do so.

“And I want you to spank me until I'm left with a mark to remember to be a good girl next time…!” You cry out, so close, wanting to close your eyes and focus on your pleasure, but forcing yourself to keep that eye contact with him.

You hear John growl once more, this time from how much he's holding back right now. You know he wants to cum, but he's waiting on you. Your legs begin to shake as you continue to hastily play with your clit. John seems as if he can't take it anymore, and he grabs your hips, pulling them up, his hand snaking under you and pushing yours aside.

“Let Daddy do it for you.” He says as if he's frustrated beyond your comprehension, but you love the way he touches you, so you allow it.

His large hands take up so much more space, engulfing your clit, milking it in the perfect way that makes your breath leave your body and your muscles clench with shivers. You take all he is giving you, watching him as he begins to lose himself in you. You tighten around his cock to a point you don't think you can do more, and begin to feel yourself come over the edge, cunt fluttering and spasming around him.

“That’s my girl…” He sighs out, obviously there is relief in the fact that he can do this for you.

You try your hardest to keep eye contact, but in the end, you close them, finding yourself lost in your own competition. You relish in the feeling of his hand taking your pleasure from you, slowing down and making it last. You feel as he reaches his own point, and finally with a groan, John spills inside of you as you're on the tail end of your finishing. His cum feels hot, almost tingly inside of you, making your head fall against the rug as you take his rutting against you, digging his cum in as deep as he can into your tight little cunt.

When he's done, he slowly pulls out, his hand swiping any stray cum and slipping it back inside you with ease. You feel completely exhausted, and he can tell. John takes you into his arms, pulling you onto his chest as he lays next to the fire with you. You feel yourself softly drift off to sleep as John pets your hair, whispering sweet praises in your ear.

“I love you…” He ends on after complimenting your body and everything else he adores about you.

You softly mumble a return, and with that sleep has taken you.

❄️.*ㅤ

John surprises you for the rest of the trip. Ice skating down at the lake, amazing dinners, long baths together with glasses of bubbly champagne just to name a few.

When it comes to the day of Christmas Eve, he's somehow managed to make some of your favorite family dishes. You look over the feast, and feel at home here with him. You never want to leave this cabin, but you know in the coming days you will have to. You love how close you and John have gotten here.

“How did you know?” You say after he reveals tonight's dinner, John’s arms wrapped around you while he snuggles into the crook of your neck.

“I have my ways…” He says mysteriously, and you know he will just leave it at that.

You two dine, laughing and carefree, something you didn't think you would see from John this often.

When you're done, you curl up on a couch near the tree, and John begins to pull out a few presents.

“Don’t you want to wait until tomorrow?” You ask him.

“I know your family always celebrates on Christmas Eve instead of day…” And for a moment you try to remember if you've told your husband that, or if this is another one of his mysterious ways.

You decide it doesn't matter, because you're just happy he cares and is thoughtful enough for any of this.

He hands you a small silver wrapped box first. He watches as you accept it and begins to open it with a smile twinkling in his dark eyes. You can tell he enjoys this.

You open the present, and are met with the most beautiful necklace you’ve ever seen. It's perfectly your taste, and when John goes to put it on you, it hangs beautifully on your neckline. You feel him kiss up your neck as you thank him for something so gorgeous.

“You don't need to thank me,” he whispers in your ear. “Someone as beautiful as you deserves beautiful gifts.”

You can't help the smile creeping on your lips from that line, and you turn so your lips can crush against his with a grin. He turns the kiss, his soft, plump lips enjoying yours.

Then, it's your turn. You hand him a gift from you, and you feel a little nervous in comparison to what he's just given you. You know yours is less expensive, and you wonder if you should have gone for something so handmade.

John slowly and carefully tears off the red and green wrapping, and when he's done he's met with a small leather-bound book. He glances up at you with curiosity, then opens it.

What he finds is a photo album filled with photos of you two over the time you've been together. There's pictures of you on some of your first dates with him, pictures of your honeymoon, vacations you've had together. There's even some of you two around the apartment being silly together. John says nothing, but slowly turns each page, looking over each photo with care.

You fiddle with the edge of your sleeve, wondering if he likes it or not.

Finally, he gets to the end where you've left a heartfelt message to him about how you feel. He reads it, then to your relief, a smile slowly finds itself on his lips.

“This is…” He starts, then loses the words. “I can't describe to you how perfect this is.”

You feel the breath you were holding leave your lungs, and you lean into him next to you on the couch. He wraps an arm around you and brings you closer, kissing the top of your head as he does.

“I…will cherish this, thank you, my love…” He whispers into your ear, and you feel your heart swell.

You two continue exchanging smaller gifts, John somehow getting everything on your list, and you outfitting him with things he likes. You know the first gift was his favorite from how he keeps looking through it. You two end the night with rum and eggnogs while watching your favorite Christmas show, happy to be with each other. You couldn't ask for a better Christmas.

#john wick x reader #john wick fic #john wick fanfic #john wick x f!reader #my writing #christmas 2023

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dinozarr · 7 months

Text

writing sluttypegging!gojo because i can ¹⁸⁺

𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 . . . vigorous sounds of skin clasping together ricocheted off the bedroom walls, intertwining with the creaks and rocks of the bed frame that moved along with it. If it weren't for the industrial screws that were drilled into the beams of the wood, the entire bed would've been scattered about all over the floor.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Each time his precious lover hit just the right spot—the same spot that would make his legs grow weak, hairs stick up, body become limp—his eyes would roll back entirely, the only visible part being the sclera. Sultry whimpers would exert his locked jaw that was helplessly falling open with every hip curl you gave him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Your actions; how you grazed your calloused hands all along his large brawny shoulder blades, the tips of your acrylics causing cold shivers to travel up the man's spine—left the man an utter and complete disaster beneath you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Satoru was entirely unaware of exactly how overpowering his beloved girlfriend could be. Never in his life would he have expected to be left hopeless due to your dominance. You were an arrogant one, a stubborn one to put nicely, yet you were still smaller than him in size rather than height.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He was glad that he was larger than you in muscle wise due to their obvious height differences; you non stop teasing the man about having to look up at you, or ask you for guidance on getting things off tall shelves.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Yet now, you were even taunting him in bed, something that should've been his specialty.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Oh, vamos, cariño. I know you can handle it" ( Oh, c'mon, darling ) your low and raspy voice allured into his ear, fingers grazing his scalp with your opposite hand placed gently along his slim waist.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Your deathly slow and coordinated strokes were torturing the poor man like no other, his fingers scratched and pulling at the seams of the pillow his face was buried into.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"O-Oh- please- A-Ah Shit! Oh please, please fuck me harder, baby. Please" the man felt as if he were grasping at straws with his fist burying deep into the mattress and his other delving into the sheets.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The moment you heard his croaked voice spew out whines of mercy, a sly grin marred the your features. You adored it entirely how he was practically begging on his knees for you, wanting you to ruin his perfectly broad body.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Dragging your fingers down his back, you swiftly slid them along his hips before realigning your own. Satoru was amidst taking a deep breath before yet another loud and obscene groan of pleasure dripped off his tongue, you, once again, rutting into him with your strap-on.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Your pace this time was more frequent, not allowing the man to catch his breath before more moans found their way into the air. You loved how each time you gripped his waist harder and the tip of the strap-on hit the right spot; Satoru shoved his head deeper into the pillow.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀One of your hands traveled down his thigh, the man's quad tensing at the feeling. You curled your fingers around the base of his dick, stroking it slowly and causing more cries of satisfaction to tumble from his quivering lips.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Each time your thumb nail would caress his tip, his body would tremble and bottom lip would be locked between his teeth. Going at the same pace with both was treacherous for Satoru, the man struggling all too hard to not let loose on the spot.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀However, he was no match for the bone chilling euphoric pleasure he was enduring, broken gasps and ragged cries trickling from his trembling mouth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"F-Fuck, baby, I-I-l'm gonna cum. S-S-Shit! shit, shit, shit" Satoru mewled out with his eyes rolling back yet again to see the pearly gates, white liquids sputtering out from the tip of his erections whilst you continued to pump him through his climax.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Yeahh, Just like that, papito. Déjalo salir todo." ( Let it all out ) you cooed into Satoru’s ear, watching with delight flowing through your veins as he melted beneath your simple touch; becoming a heaving and panting mess all over the mattress.

NOTEZ : if u couldn’t tell i stole this LOLZ (it was from my old account dw) cus i was lazy and still at work rn so this the best ur getting🥸🥸‼️

#❙ ⋆ 𝒁𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝑺 ❞#gojo x reader #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #anime smut #female reader

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cursed-40k-thoughts · 8 months

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When I learned about Erda, my first thought was "The Emperor lost the kids in the divorce"

He really did. Weeping into his gold-dusted bowl of Emperor Flakes while Malcador very patiently sat next to him, petting his head.

"They were so important to me!"

"I know."

"I need them for my super cool galactic domination plans!"

"There, there."

"It's all RUINED, Malcador!"

"Would some gold sprinkles in the Emperor's choccy flakes make him feel better?"

"...maybe."

"I'll speak to a Custodian."

#ask #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #Emperor of Mankind #malcador the sigillite #The gold is sparkly and soothes him

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darkdemeter · 22 days

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I keep thinking about hate sex between Wanda and wolf!R

Just an absolutely vicious battle for dominance with no real victor lol (in the morning they both look like they fought an army of feral cats, the whole room looks like a bomb went off, and the bed is just torn to shreds)

*𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒏'𝒔 𝑻𝒂𝒃, 𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑴𝑨𝑳𝑺

WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN GN/Female/Male Werewolf! Reader | 1.2K(words)

Depictions of (aggressive) SMUT, minors DNI — hate sex — marking — enemies (with benefits) — angst — dominance and power struggle — profanity — minor monster fucking — undisclosed smut variants — overstim — I think that's it?

Enjoy, lovely reader! ────────────────┘

Hate is a very strong word. But it’s the most accurate depiction of yours and Wanda’s relationship. No, you weren’t a couple. Not by a long shot. You hate each other too much to let anything else intervene with what you have.

For starters, Wanda hates how much you bite. It gets to a level that she’s beginning to run out of excuses and ways to hide the many, many marks. At first, it started small with a few here and there, but now it’s grown into a full possessive display.

She hates how smug you are the following morning when she stumbles into the common area, no less with an audience, she has to make her way about as normal as she can; all the while, you adorn the largest, triumphant smirk.

She moans louder, the friction of your mound rubbing against her clit elicits a dirty sound passed her lips. Her legs wrap around your waist tighter as she pulls you closer, her fingers rake through the length of your hair and pull on your roots, whispering in your ear each and every little thing she hates about you. All the while, you mark her skin with darkened bites that fester with your conquest.

Your body pins her against the wall with nowhere to go, your claws tear streaks into the once unscathed wall, flakes of creamy white paint and drywall are discarded in a trail that follows you as you each bear into the other.

It’s an entertaining fight. It always is. You push and she pushes back, and the rhythm of that never vanishes. She shoves her shoulder up to keep you from laying another victory bite on her, and you in kind don’t take a liking to that, your teeth bare into a snarl.

“You asked for this,” you growl.

She ignores the flare of amber in your eyes as she uses her magic against you, pushing you away.

You hate how she expects you to be something you’re not. Never can be. She tries to force submission into you, to train you into her little pet, when that is not what you intend to be. You’ve had enough of someone being the dictator. You’re done with letting someone else be the one in control.

You hate how she uses her magic to strip you down, hold you down, and have her fun with you. The games she plays with the scarlet figment dancing at her fingertips, tendrils of tainted unfairness that go against any law of nature, that take away any inhibition to fight back.

When she tries to storm away from you, your hand moves forward and latches hold of her, entangling your fingers in her hair. She cries out, back and neck arching, and you sweep in close to mark the column along her neck.

You chuckle at her resolve to fight back. Your other hand loops around her, trapping her to your front and grinding your hips into the curve of her arse that fits oh so right against you.

“Not so fun when you’re trapped, is it?” you rasp to the shell of her ear, breath hot and laced with the wolf’s longing hunger.

“Not really,” she admits, “but it is when you are.”

She catches you off your guard, turning herself, she forces you backwards some feet away. Before you can close distance, her hands articulate just how she wants you; on your knees.

She hates the way you hold her down on any surface and make her scream and writhe in pleasure. Everything gets destroyed the moment you both become engrossed in winning this game. The couch is torn to bits, the coffee table is tilted off its even axis and supporting one unbroken leg. The walls never mend completely from their scars, and the trail of destruction follows you into the bedroom.

You’re ruthless at this point. Your skin is clawed up, the angry paths of her nails leave red streaks like tattoos, only the fur can hide them when you let the wolf go. Her body grows hot with each orgasm you pull from her. In your hatred for each other, there is a give and take. One that you don’t particularly acknowledge or thank.

It’s a muted exchange.

You hate the challenge in her voice. “Is that all you got, Dog? I thought wolves were feral animals in the bed—”

The unhinged roll of your hips against hers catches the rest of her words before she has a chance to bury herself six feet under.

Not that such a remark should faze you. She begs for more and then cries she can’t give you another one. That it’s too much. You hate the way she lies through her bliss, her clenched teeth biting down those moans you want to hear her scream until the compound’s foundations quiver and shake.

The headboard of the bed raps fast and hard, the wall behind it bleeding with crumbling drywall and the sheets are shorn into threads of fabric, bodies melded together, slapping in combined unison.

“Right there, Wolf,” she mewls, hands flying to grasp the bars of the headboard the moment she has you on your back. She hates how you try to lay claim to her time in control and you fucking hate how she moves like a goddess. Her hair sticks to her forehead and down the bend of her back, her skin riddled coldly with sweat that is only curable with the heat of your body and being close to you.

“Come on, baby, cum for me,” you groan, right on the precipice of your high. Her knuckles turn white from her hold on the headboard but its stripped away from her at the moment you flip her over, pinning her on her stomach and pulling her hips to you and her legs open.

“Y-you’re selfish!” she shrieks into the mauled pillow, panting with each motion. You pay little to the way she squirms beneath you, to get away from you. “So are you.”

With a bellowing cry of your name, she cums. She’s been exhausted but even you don’t let your own exertions end things just there. The list is endless.

In the morning, the room still lingers with the scent of sex. She moans softly, lulled by the relaxation of sleep, unknowing of the thoughts that race through your mind. The only time your mind is safe from her is when she’s asleep.

Her skin is sinfully warm as it rubs against you, muscles contracting at the intimate contact.

Far too intimate. And you hate it.

Nothing more can come of this arrangement. It would ruin everything. You shuffle back, leaving her naked back as a lovely sight as you dress, your clothes tinged by the smell of last night’s affair. But it’s either to suffer with that or have everyone see the still present traces of Wanda’s handiwork marked into your skin.

Maybe you spare a final glance at Wanda before you promptly leave.

By no time long after, Wanda stirs and finds the ruined bed vacant of you. Only the memory of last night to be her company as she assesses the damage, mind able to still envision what transpired.

She can still feel what you’ve done to her. Slipping into a pair of shorts and an oversized top, she slumps against the couch’s arm with a dreaded sigh. There are a plethora of reasons from day one you and Wanda can both count on. But one recent addition is that you both hate that you’re falling in love with each other.

#happyfic hour tab #anon's tab #the demeadery #wanda x werewolf! reader smut #wanda x werewolf reader #wanda maximoff #the scarlet witch

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morallyinept · 21 days

Text

Silver - An Ezra One Shot ☔

Written for @undercoverpena 's April Showers Challenge ☔ April Showers Challenge Masterlist Thanks Jojobean for putting this together! 🥰 This is Helianthus Ezra <- You may want to read that story first for context, but you can read this as a stand alone. 🌻

Summary: A heavy rainfall gives Ezra some time for some cleansing contemplation.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity. It’s you, bub. However, Reader has hair and is pregnant.)

Word Count: 3k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️ “Don't hurt me, cadejo."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Brief mention of genitals and unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/some heavy petting/it's mostly fluff - you're pretty safe.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Ezra in the rain. 'Nuff said. ☔

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

As Ezra works diligently outside the weathered homestead, his singular arm deftly manoeuvring rustic tools and materials spread out before him, he can't help but notice the subtle shifts in the atmosphere around him.

A change that sends a ghostly shiver down the back of his bronzed, sweat-damp neck. The once clear sky, so often dominated by the relentless blaze of the imposing sun, now bears the telltale signs of an impending storm.

The air, previously heavy with the oppressive heat of a stifling midday, now crackles with a newfound electricity - a palpable energy that seems to dance upon the incoming breeze. The usual azure canopy giving way to ominous, dark clouds, heavy with the promise of rain, swirl and gather on the horizon, their billowing forms casting shadows upon the vast sunflower field below at the bottom of the rugged slope.

With a sense of anticipation tingling in the air, Ezra pauses in his work, his keen gaze scanning the horizon.

He can feel the distant rumble of thunder, a low and steady drumbeat that heralds the storm's advance.

"It appears that nature, in its infinite wisdom, deems fit to grace us with the spectacle of a storm," he continues over his shoulder, a hint of anticipation colouring his words. "After enduring the relentless ardour of the sun's embrace for so long, the prospect of rainfall is a welcome respite indeed, eh?"

"Ah, Birdie, do you perceive the portent of the tempest that approaches?"

Ezra's voice, rich with the cadence of his Southern prose, carries through the weathered homestead as he steps across the creaky veranda admiring the view.

Perched atop a gentle hill, overlooking the vast expanse of the sunflower field, stands a weather-beaten homestead - a relic of a forgotten era, its timeworn facade bearing the scars of countless seasons.

Ezra's left hand, calloused from turns spent toiling under the unrelenting sun, moves with purpose over his glistening forehead as he speaks.

His eyes attend to the final details of the homestead's restoration, alight with a quiet fervour, flickering with a mixture of determination and contentment as he surveys his handiwork.

With its timbers bleached to a mottled gray hue and its roof adorned with moss and spackled patches of alien lichen, it seems to blend seamlessly into the landscape, as if it’s grown organically from the turf itself.

When you’d both happened upon it, your excitement unable to be quelled by your rambunctious ramblings about making it a permanent home, Ezra was only amiably ambivalent to give it to you.

The homestead's walls, once painted a cheerful hue, now bear the faded remnants of its former glory, peeling and flaking with age. The windows, their panes cloudy and streaked with grime, offer glimpses of the world of endless golden sunflowers swaying gently in the breeze.

Outside, a sagging veranda extends from the front of the homestead, its wooden planks warped by years of exposure to the elements. A rusted metal railing, twisted and bent with age, offers a precarious perch from which to survey the surrounding countryside.

A rusted wood-burning stove stands in one corner, its flue choked with soot and ash, an artefact of a time when warmth and comfort were still to be found within these walls.

Inside bears the unmistakable signs from rotations of neglect and disrepair left by its previous occupants. The floorboards are worn smooth by years of use and groaning underfoot, their once-lustrous finish now dulled by layers of dust and dirt.

Cobwebs hang from the rafters like ghostly draperies, their delicate strands shimmering in the dim light that filters through the cracks in the walls.

It’s a far cry from any modern amenity found back on The Pug. But that’s what makes it perfect, timeless. A piece of history tucked away in quiet surroundings where nature can provide any shortfall.

Ezra can clearly see the sunflower field stretching out before him; a sea of golden blooms swaying gently in the breeze. And he remembers that night you both made love amongst them on, what was supposed to be, a pitstop, but has now become an extended stay, possibly for the remainder of your lives, he suspects.

He recalls, with a smile, sleeping within the cradle of their thick stalks as you both watched the cosmos glitter above you, stars pirouetting in a nebulous sea of gases and mesmeric twinkles.

And as he stands here, taking a beat and surrounded by the weather-aged remnants of the homestead, Ezra feels a sense of determination welling up within him. For in this forgotten curio overlooking the sunflower field on the cosy planet you’re now passing off as a dwelling, he sees not just a crumbling ruin, but a blank canvas upon which to paint a brighter future - a restful sanctuary amidst the lonely ruins, surrounded amongst the golden helianthus.

"Oi." He calls out when he notices you haven’t crept out to his call, a note of concern carving into his twang. “Do you heed, Birdie?”

There’s no response, no indication that you’ve heard his words.

Ezra turns his back on the encroaching swell, stepping inside to find you nestled amongst a tangle of faded quilts and worn blankets; your hand resting gently upon your swollen belly, cradling the precious life growing within as you sleep.

It’s only then, as he watches your peaceful expression and listens to the steady rhythm of your breathing, that he realises the truth - you’ve been asleep all along, lost in dreams far away from his excitement amidst the gathering storm.

He reaches out to stroke your hair, and Ezra's gaze falls upon the empty space where his arm should be. A peculiar feeling as he swears he can feel his fingers brush against your skin before the obvious realisation settles in.

It’s a stark reminder of the sacrifice he’d made back on the Green Moon, a price in exchange for an extension of his grubby mortality. One, he pertains, was worth the occasional bouts of twisting nerve pain and the sensation of a phantom limb, for it led him back home to you.

Ezra feels a surge of protectiveness wash over him. He vows to keep you safe here, to shelter you from the storms that’ll rage outside, to provide for you and his unborn child with all the strength and courage he can muster. But with only one arm, that could well prove a difficult task to fulfil in its entirety.

Frowning, Ezra soon finds himself grappling with an ugly companion of unwelcome trepidation - a fear that gnaws at the edges of his bolshie consciousness, threatening to consume him with its insidious whispers of doubt.

How would you both manage, he wonders, in a world devoid of modern medicine and the reassuring presence of skilled healers?

But your stubbornness always stunts practicality, and ordinarily he revels in it, encouraging it to some degree with a lust for zealous menace. But now there’s more than just the pair of you and your reckless abandon.

He determines he’ll visit The Pug again soon to stock up on further supplies - trade some of the pilfered loot of Aurelac he'd hidden in the floorboards - and obtain another book amongst the necessities.

Most evenings, after his work on the repairs are completed, Ezra finds himself pouring over the instructional text, swotting up and absorbing its teachings with a fierce intensity.

He reads of the stages of labour, of the signs to watch for and the actions to take in the event of complications, often reading them aloud to you in fascination at how the vestige of your womb works.

And each day that time draws nearer, the opportunity for flight back to The Pug to the birthing pools snipped down to the fraying edges. You’re determined to have the babe here, in the sanctuary of your new home together; your confidence in him resolute, despite his own, insipid questioning of it.

Each word is a reassuring lifeline as he prepares himself for the role he’ll inevitably play in the birth of his child. But even as he immerses himself in the knowledge contained within the pages of the book, a persistent sense of doubt lingers on the fringe of Ezra's consciousness, refusing to be dispelled.

What if he isn't up to the task? What if he fails you in your time of need?

The fingers on his remaining hand brush over your brow line gently, and Ezra smiles.

“Dream irreverently of me, Pet.” He smirks.

His thoughts are dispelled by a rumbling crack across the sky, and the heavy fall of the rain that soon succeeds it. An ember of longing ignites within Ezra's chest, drawing him inexorably towards the siren song outside.

He steps back out onto the creaking veranda, bewitched by the ethereal allure of the cooling rain. The heavens weep, Kevva’s tears of liquid silver cascade from the graphite velvet sky. Raindrops, like crystalline jewels, dance upon the lackadaisical frame of the shelter, their gentle pitter-patter a soothing to his weary heart.

Ezra is soon greeted by the primal fury of the storm as it breaks fully, the rain cascading down in torrents; a deluge of liquid life upon the parched soil. Yet amidst the chaos, there’s a profound serenity - a tranquil beauty about it that transcends the tumultuous cacophony of the wild elements.

With measured steps, Ezra ventures forth into the heart of the spate, his senses awash with the intoxicating scent of petrichor and misty ozone.

He stands fully exposed to the ire of the rainfall, his face upturned towards the heavens; a lone figure bathed in the pewter glow of the downpour.

With eyes closed, allowing the cool rivulets to trace delicate paths down his, sweaty, parched skin, their touch is akin to the tender brush of silk against his flesh.

Ezra feels the weight of the world fall away, replaced by a profound sense of liberation. The rain washes over him like a baptismal benediction, cleansing out the hollows of his bones from doubt and despair.

He snorts, a light awed chuckle escaping him only to be swallowed up by the splinters ripping across the sky.

The rain whispers rejuvenating secrets in his ears, its symphony filling the void left by the silence of space. The lightning strobes blind him, leaving him with a flux of glittery phosphenes to die out behind the thin membrane of his eyelids.

He’s a neutron star imploding, leaving shattered stellar remnants that incapacitate and crack through the universe.

As the rain descends into a softened cascade upon the sunflower field, each golden bloom bows gracefully beneath the weight of the droplets, their vibrant petals glistening with moisture that refract the skewbald light piercing through the clouds in small, bullion slithers.

As he stands amidst the silver downpour, Ezra feels as though he's been reborn - a creature of pure sensation, unbound by the constraints of mortal flesh.

The rain soaks through his tattered clothes, plastering them to his skin in a sodden embrace, rinsing off the cares and worries of the world like so many whispered secrets carried away on the wind.

With each passing moment, the weight of his burdens seem to lift entirely for a few moments, mind blank with the rhythmic patter of raindrops falling against the earth, becoming a symphony of release, a melody of liberation that echoes in the depths of his soul.

With a smile playing at the corners of his lips, imbued with restoration, he hears his name emerge from the veranda, and turns to see you standing on it with a bemused expression lighting up your sleepy features.

His raggedy moustache is now adorned with tiny droplets of rain, glimmering at you as they catch the dim light, like coveted, precious gems taunting you with their expense. The stark blonde patch in his hair is stuck to his forehead; his crown of usual oil-slick waves soaked and pressed flat against his temples.

His outline seems to blur and shift with the movement of the rain, casting an amaranthine aura around him; his usually sharp features softened by the gentle glow of the storm.

His dark eyes, usually filled with a quiet determination, now sparkle with a sense of wonder and joy, reflecting the beauty of the moment back to you.

But it’s more than just his appearance that captivates you, leaving your breath floundering in your throat - it’s the way he stands there, amidst the storm, with an air of quiet confidence and strength.

“Majestic, isn’t it, Pet?” He simply calls to you as your smile grows. “Come on,” he sways, his fingers beckoning you with a simple flicker. "Come kiss me in the rain!"

It’s a beguiling command, one that carries the weight of swampy desire, pulling you towards him with an irresistible force.

Your bare feet squelch into the soil as you start forward, the rain soaking you instantly as you make your way towards him, all recesses of your sleep left in the warmth of the cosy homestead.

You laugh out, cackling and cooing as it pelts you, and he wraps his arm around you as raindrops blind you momentarily. Insidious, thick fingers roam over your lower back, pushing you closer to him.

The rain continues to fall around you both as Ezra pulls you in, its cool touch mingling with the warmth of your embrace. With a gentle yet firm grasp, he tucks you tight, his hand sliding down to rest against the small of your back, the globe of your tummy pressed into his.

Your lips meet in a haunting, tender kiss, each movement slow and deliberate as you savour the enticing sweetness of the moment. His lips are soft against yours, slanting with a gentle rhythm that seems to echo the pelt of raindrops all around.

His hand is still there, tethering you with his gravity, and you feel yourself relax, the hunch in your back and tension in your shoulders start to drop as you focus on his thumb moving up across your hip bone.

A little, tantalising circle or two before you feel his hand slowly make its way up around your back, and it leaves goose pimples flooding over your body, streaming towards your nipples as they harden.

The cold tingling wakes them up and they ache with the heavy pull inside them as his fingers trail up the back of your neck against your slick skin, groping and melding to the skin in your nape.

Feasting on his inflected tongue, gorging on loquacious groans that hit the back of your oesophagus, you clutch onto him tighter; your own hands roaming the map of broad shoulders, pudgy hips and finding a hard, swollen cock between his legs as you squeeze gently.

His fingers are then felt running down your back again a few seconds later, and once more the pull on your nipples is tightening as they strain, begging to be touched, licked, sucked...

Your gasped breaths mingle in the cool air, warm and inviting, as you both lose yourselves in the explorative intimacy of the kiss.

Then he stops touching you, denying you of any more contact, and you let out a barely audible whimper as you mourn the loss. Of course it's swallowed up by his mouth, but it doesn't stop it from coming out of you.

You then feel Ezra squeeze your ass, and you can't help but let a smirk erupt into freedom as he clamps a hold of it and massages it inside his hand as he dips his hips, making you feel him press against your centre.

He grunts as he nips on your lip and slips his tongue further around your mouth. You stay locked at the lips until you shudder as the cold starts to nip at your bones.

“We’ve lingered long enough in this spectacle.” He breathes, eyes dark and as foreboding as the storm. “Let’s shed our soaked garments in the warmth.” Ezra smiles, leading you back towards the homestead.

With a playful glint in his eyes, Ezra can't resist flashing you a mischievous grin as you make your way back inside from the rain-soaked veranda.

"You know," he begins, his voice low and teasing in its tincture, "they say sharing the abundance of body heat is the best way to stay warm."

He waggles his arched eyebrows suggestively, his gaze dancing with amusement as he watches your reaction. "What do you say, Birdie? Shall we put that theory to the test?"

He pulls you back towards him, peeling you out of the saturated layers clinging to your skin.

"You just want an excuse to cuddle." You smirk, completely naked before him.

Ezra chuckles, wrapping his arm around your bare shoulders and pulling you close.

“You know how to charm the pants off of me.” You smirk.

"Guilty as charged," he admits with a serpent-like grin, pressing a kiss to the top of your wet head. "But who can resist the chance to snuggle up with someone as lovely as you? I can't help but be drawn to you.”

He looks down at your body, the shapely swell of your belly, eyes trailing over the fullness of your breasts, hungrily. “You have this... glow about you, like moon bugs on a summer's night.”

He runs his palm along the expanse of your belly, stroking across it gently.

“Quite literally,” he agrees, nodding to them on the floor with cocksure mirth.

You pull his sodden clothes off into squelchy piles on the floorboards as you step backwards, pulling him with you until the backs of your calves hit the bed frame.

He sniffs in deep and smiles. “I love the scent of petrichor, don’t you?”

“It smells almost as good as you.” You say.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Pet.” He confirms with a crooked grin as he places your hand on his cock, groaning as your fingers curl around his throbbing length.

Ezra pulls you on top of him, explorative fingers knotting in the wet stands of your hair as he sinks into you. Exhales a deep, satisfied grunt pushed into your lips as he breaches the warm depths of your soaked cunt.

You both spend the remainder of the storm tangled up in skins and blankets, stopping intermittently to watch the thrashing spectacle refresh the land and sunflowers outside the homestead.

Thanks so much for reading - I have more Helianthus Ezra to come in the future. If you enjoyed this fic, please consider re-blogging and leave a comment telling me your thoughts. Thankies! 🖤

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #pedro pascal characters #undercoveraprilshowerschallenge #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x f!reader #prospect ezra #ezra prospect smut #ezra prospect fluff #jett's writing

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