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night-spectrum · 1 year

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Thinking about my spidersona:

Small angst; small suggested smut at the end; mostly fluff and comfort. TW: Mention of death, depression, healthy issues, and isolation.

Wish my computer could work so I could draw my Spidersona...😩

🕸 Spidersona, who was bitten by a funnel web spider (💀) and is still traumatized. She takes appointments with Spider-Therapist every Thursday. Spider-Cat helps her copes with stressful memories.

🕸 Spidersona, who's Caribbean and wears traditional superhero suit. Bright madras tissues wrapped around her head and hips and Creole earrings (hoop earrings).

🕸 Spidersona, who was the only Spider-Girl in Nouveau Fort in Martinique (don't look for it, I made it up, but it's based on Fort-de-France) until a certain Miguel "Fat Ass" O'Hara came to enroll her.

🕸 Spidersona, whose best person is clearly Pavitr because we support cultural representation, and obviously because he's the most adorable boy I've ever seen. ❤️ Besides, they usually chat about new clothes they like to embellish their suit and wardrobe.

They even have Indian nickname for each other : Pavitr is Munna (used for pretty and gentle boy), and Spidersona is Choti (used for girls and means small) based on this.

🕸 Spidersona, who loves dancing with Gwen late at night in her home. Spidersona shows Gwen how to move her butt like there's no tomorrow, and Gwen gives her tips to achieve a boneless split. There're also countless sleepovers and "Girls Talk" about boys, which is pretty much awkward at first, but they both like gossiping.

🕸 Spidersona, who has the fattest crush on Hobart "Hobie" Brown, 'cause let's be honest who wouldn't. Always avoiding him when he comes her way. Obviously, Hobie notices, and he thinks she doesn't like him or his style makes her feel uneasy.

🕸 Spidersona eventually confesses that she likes him :

"That's why you've been dodging me, luv?" Hobie rhetorically asks her, his full lips stretching into a genuine smile.

She feels her face heating up and her hands becoming sweaty. "Yeah, but I don't expect anything y'know. Just wanted to tell you..."

Hobie leans forward, and she presses her lips together, gazing down because she never noticed how interesting the ground could be. She feels his breath on her neck, and she shivers when his lips plant on her cheeks fondly.

"You're too cute, luv."

From that day, he's always close to her. His arm rests on her shoulders, and he's never too far when they're fighting anomalies. They both rely on each other when something goes wrong.

🕸 Spidersona, who curses in Creole when she's pissed.

"WHO STOLE MY SALTFISH ACCRA?! AY KOKÉ MANMAN ZOT! LAN DJET MANMAN ZOT! OU SÉ AN SAKRÉ TI ICH SALO-!"

"Wow! Wow! Okay, okay, we got it. That's enough bad words for today, luv." Hobie covers her lips and drags her out to cool down a bit.

Peter B. covers Mayday's ears, though he doesn't understand a thing he knows what she's saying isn't lovely.

🕸 Spidersona, who has arachnophobia, watches Penni petting her spider with disgust (don't get me wrong, her spider is adorable, but I don't want it near me). Miles makes fun of her and eventually chases her with random spider he finds around through the lobby.

🕸 Spidersona, who slips in Hobie's universe to spend some time together. She watches him play guitar on his bed and turns red when he hands her his instrument and sits behind her, his fingers brushing hers as he teaches her how to play.

🕸 Spidersona, who brings Martinican food to Mrs. Morales when she comes to visit Miles. Rio observes her chat with her son from afar along with Jefferson.

"She looks nice," Rio says after a while, still looking at them, "and she calls me 'Mrs. Morales." Her lips turning upward.

"Yeah, definitely Caribbean. Besides, I love these." Jefferson says, grabbing a slice of butter bread she made with her mom, accompanied by communion chocolate.

Spidersona and Miles look at their feet awkwardly, feeling Miles' parents' gaze on them.

"'M sorry 'bout my parents, they're... protective."

"Yeah, don't mention it. My mom does this, too."

🕸 Spidersona, who invites everyone one in her universe in Nouveau Fort. The tropical climate welcomes them fiercely, and everyone change to wear swimsuit. Peter B. applies sunscreen on Mayday and himself and lays down on a towel.

🕸 Hobie and Pavitr bury Miles in the sand, mermaid body in process as Spidersona and Gwen take Mayday to a swimming lesson, her Spider-Man rubber ring assisting her.

"Damn Gwen, you're red as hell." Spidersona hands her Peter's sunscreen, snorting.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny."

...

🕸 After 3 weeks and still no news from her, Hobie and Pavitr head to her universe. When they slip into her bedroom through the window, they find her in her bed, barely breathing. Pavitr rushes to her, worry in his eyes as he brushes her now sunken cheeks. She hardly opens her eyes, dried tears staining her face.

🕸 Hobie takes her face in his hand, caressing her cheekbones slowly before kneeling to be face level with her. He takes her blanket off her, and it pains them to see how much weight she lost. They can clearly see her ribcage under her skin.

As they discuss what to do, they hear her mother's voice in the living room. She sounds exhausted, her voice quavering.

"I don't know what to do, mom. She hasn't eat anything in days and she keeps losing weight. The doctor said we should bring her to the hospital because of her iron deficiency and underweight. Otherwise, her anemia might come back and-" her voice cracks, as she can't handle her overwhelming emotions. The phone slips from her grasp as she falls on her knees.

🕸 Hobie grabs her without hesitation and opens a portal, quickly followed by Pavitr. He mumbles apologies when she groans pain. When they arrive, Hobie pushes open the medical department's door with his foot. Spider Meds are quick to take care of her, using advanced medical tech.

🕸 Spidersona, who wakes up after 2 weeks, looking less of a momified monk. She sees a red-haired baby lying down on her belly. She recognizes Mayday, and Peter B. reaches out, his hand caressing her head.

"We missed you." He says genuinely, worry fading away and replaced by a look parents would give to their child after they injured themselves.

🕸 Spidersona, who just cries. Her pain and grief pouring out of her chest and she can't help it. Peter B. hugs her tightly, kissing her forehead.

🕸 Miles appears and stands still when he views the scene, his brain analyzing everything. He comes close, taking her hand in his, squeezing it kindly. When Peter lets go of you, Miles replaces him.

🕸 Spidersona, who after she calmed down, thanks them and asks where the others are, only to find out that they are on a mission.

🕸 Spidersona, who is surprised to see Spider-Man Noir paying her a visit, flower is his hands.

"Everyone's been worried about you." Miles explains, her hands still in his. "When Hobie and Pav came back with you almost dead, we freaked out."

"Jessica even talk to your mother so she wouldn't pass out when she found out you disappeared." Adds Spider-Man Noir.

She is grateful but also a bit ashamed she worried everyone.

"So... what happened?" Peter B. asks cautiously.

She looks up to him and tries to suppress the tears, creating in the corner of her eyes.

🕸 Spidersona, who wasn't fast enough to save her uncle Henry and faced the reality of the world.

Though everybody can relate, Miles feels like he knows exactly what she feels. He remembers when he found out that Uncle Aaron was the Prowler, the look in his eyes when he discovered Miles was Spider-Man. His hand slipping from his as he exhaled his last breath.

🕸 Spidersona, who spends her day with Miles since Peter went home to put Mayday in bed. She eats empanadas Miles brought for her.

"My mom made them for you. When I told her you were hospitalized, she wouldn't stop asking about you. Besides, since we didn't know when you would wake up, she made some every day." Miles scratches the back of his head; cheeks and ears red. He knew his mom liked you, maybe too much for his liking.

"Well, please, thanks her for me. This is delicious. My taste buds are dancing hard right now." She giggles, making Miles smile.

🕸 Spidersona, who eventually encounters Jessica and Miguel. She thanks the pregnant woman, hugging her slightly, knowing she's not a big fan. To her surprise, she rubs her back and smiles.

🕸 Spidersona, who turns to Miguel reluctantly and apologizes for being off without warning. He brushes her off, as usual, talking about how it was her canon event. Gee thanks.

🕸 Spidersona, who hears familiar voices. She turns around, and there they are : Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr. She launches herself on them, arms fully extended. Pav sees her first and rushes toward her. They both collide, their hands grasping any pieces of clothes, hugging like the world would disappear.

"I missed you so much, Choti." Pav cries, his hands hold her tightly. "You almost gave a heart attack. Don't do this ever again, please. I love you."

And she cries again, hearing her best friend voice trembling.

"I'm so sorry, Munna. I promise. I love you so much, too."

Gwen joins in, her lips quivering, and they open their arms for her to come.

🕸 Spidersona, who wipes her face after a while, then proceeds to notice Hobie, who stayed back. Pav hugs her one last time, then leaves with Gwen. She approaches Hobie, not sure why she feels so nervous all of a sudden.

🕸 Spidersona, who follows Hobie to his universe, their pinky intertwined. When they are both alone in his room, he smashes his lips against hers.

🕸 Spidersona, who feels like a tsunami washed over her: emotions and feelings blending in her core. It's slow at first but quickly bursts into a wildfire when she feels his body against her. It feels strange, and she's a bit insecure, but Hobie reassures her. It's overwhelming.

"Are you okay, luv?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper, like she'll shatter if he's too loud.

"Yeah. I am."

🕸 Spidersona, who slowly moves on, enjoys her life with those who remain and never forgets those who left.

#hobie brown atsv #pavitr prabhakar #gwen stacy #miles morales #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spidersona #spider gwen #spider society #hobie x reader #hobie brown

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night-spectrum · 1 year

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NEXT TIME (Hobie Brown x Reader?)

I’ve known Hobie for three years and we’ve been dating for a few months. I don’t really know what attracts him to me but I’m not going to complain; not everyone has the "chance" to date Spider Punk.

I put it in quotation marks, because it might be cool to say that we know a celebrity intimately to our group of buddies, it’s less cool when that said celebrity shows up covered in bruises and scratches at 3am.

Hobie is not a big fan of pda, this kind of thing stays between us. When I drop my backpack when I arrive home, Hobie is already well seated on my couch, his faithful guitar in hand. I drop next to him and he immediately passes his arm behind my neck. It’s brief, sometimes unconscious so I sometimes wonder what he’s thinking. What is going on in his head? What do you think about when you’re a superhero? Though I know he doesn't like calling himself a hero.

For some time now, I have found myself asking a lot of questions. I don’t dare talk to him about it because it’s Spider Punk, and Spider Punk has other fish to fry. I’ve known Hobie for a while, but we’ve been friends longer than we’ve been together. The problem with going from friends to lovers is that the boundaries between the two are blurred and ambiguous. For me anyway.

Hobie knows what he’s doing, and he’s doing it with a just disconcerting charisma. I don’t know what I’m doing on the web.

I have no doubt about how I feel, but I wish I had the courage to talk to him about it. Unfortunately, as soon as I look at it, my tongue is numb.

My eyes follow the curve of his cheek down to his chin, and up to his luscious lips. His lashes occasionally beat and mine don’t dare move.

Has he always been so handsome?

I watch his big hands hold firmly the body of his guitar where he glued stickers. I unconsciously stare at the fingers of his right hand that pinch the mechanics to tune it. His left hand grabs his plectra on the coffee table in front of us and he scratches a rope. The guitar is not plugged in but the sound comes out surprisingly well.

Hobie continues a while before putting his instrument against the couch. His head turns towards me and our eyes finally cross.

"How was it today?" His hand behind my neck plays with my hair, wrapping a few rebel locks between his fingers.

"It was quiet." I just whispered.

"Hm, sure?" I like the way his eyebrow rises when something bothers him. I like a lot of things about him, it’s crazy. He stares at me without saying anything. I want to say no, that nothing is right and that I would like to discuss it with him. That I’m a little lost right now with college, my apartment, my parents who aren’t with me, my life. Our life.

"Yeah."

I know he knows that’s not true. I know he knows I know that, but I really can’t. I get up slowly, and I get my bag back.

"Y/N..."

"Next time."

______________________________________________________________

Hey, hope you liked it. ;)

#hobie brown #hobie x reader #hobie brown atsv #across the spiderverse #angst

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night-spectrum · 1 year

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Blank Page

I don't know.

I’ve read books, not all of them, but enough to give me ideas. I have ideas, though; they’re popping up and swarming, really. In fact, I have so many that they keep me up at night. It’s like an apple rotting, and the more time goes by, the more flies there are. It has the ability to upset me. I want to write, spit something, just a few lines. I look at the screen, the cursor flashing; who goes away and then comes back like the desire to write. Maybe the cursor thinks I’ll get an idea.

Except no.

I don’t lack inspiration or time. Maybe it’s my hands not following; maybe it’s my fingers. Maybe my eyes are tired, it’s true that my computer and I have been looking at each other for a long time. For years, in fact. My Wattpad account, abandoned on the ocean of the Internet, like Wilson in Cast Away. It was his destiny apparently. I too would have liked to save my Wilson but well. My pen was not long enough, or rather my desire to save it was too weak. Almost non-existent even. Maybe I threw it in the water…

I don't write so bad, right? I make mistakes, it happens and I read myself very carefully. There is the trap, too much proofreading. It’s never good enough.

"When I read Madeline Miller’s The song of Achilles, it wasn’t so boring." I try to be on top. I subscribe to dumb classes found on Pinterest and get e-mails every Tuesday from a certain Chloe who gives me 5 tips on "Show Don’t Tell". I’m looking for advice on Tumblr too. And I buy books.

"I’d like Adam Silvera to knock on my door right now."

"Is Keigo Higashino alive? I need to talk to him immediately."

This is so stupid.

So I stare at the screen like the student who didn’t listen to the teacher and is being questioned right now. I almost want to divorce my computer. I admire the loyalty of the cursor, he is always there, contrary to certain.

"This is so stupid."

I’m finally giving up. I’m just going to read other people’s stories, I’m going to bow out. Maybe I should have started something to do so.

"Fuck, I gotta buy volume two of Laini Taylor’s Daughter of Smoke and Bone."

"Have you read Alice Oseman’s Loveless? Now I understand a little better what’s going on in my pants."

Something itches me, I always want to write something, anything.

This is so stupid…

#blank page #writing #fanfic

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night-spectrum · 1 year

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This is the friendship post. If you reblog this we're now friends.

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night-spectrum · 1 year

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Hi! I'm taking this opportunity to let you know that I speak French (that's my mother tongue and I leave in France) and that if you need someone to translate anything or whatever you need that's in French, I'm willing to help you for FREE (I enjoy it) I've been reading some Moon Knight fan fictions and Steven's French was weird so if you want it to sound natural I'm right here pls 🥹

This is a piece of writing of mine (I will unfortunately not finish it) Reader was supposed to be chased by some kind of mafia /gang you name it and forced to move to London and so meet Steven then Marc, Jake and Khonshu.

Sorry for the mistakes 🫣

At noon, I waited on the doorstep, swinging from one foot to the other while Juni detailed the papers spread on the table. I felt that he held his anger, his fists clenched to whiten his knuckles. Again, his phone had rung while he was working and seeing the number that had appeared - in this case mine - he had become tense. That’s how I imagined it. Yes, I could clearly see the scene: with his back arched and always leaning over a sheet of paper, he stamped again and again the same nonsense that made him tired. When I saw my number appear on his phone, I saw him moaning before replying furiously.

So there he was, his back was hunched over the pile of papers and the chair of my desk where he was sitting was squeaking as he stretched out his bruised body. I didn’t dare talk to him, I knew I’d upset him more. The mere fact of coming to Huddersfield had already hurt his ego so I just looked at him from behind the half-open door. His hair was sticking to his skin and the smell of sweat was in the air, but I held back from making any comment about it.

Juni finally got up, slowly. He sighed one more time and massaged his neck. I offered him a snack, which he obviously refused. His cold eyes on me hurt and I would lie if I said otherwise. There was no sign of compassion or palpable affection around him, just him in front of me and his arms dangling along the body.

He passed by me without a word to the front door. I wondered what he was thinking; when I saw his dark eyes surrounded, I wondered if sleep always left him out of company.

"You have two weeks to get out of here." He just said, as if it were the most futile thing in the world.

"Wh-what?"

He sighed.

"Look, I warned you that it would end badly. These guys don’t let you get away with it."

Panic gripped my throat and I suddenly had trouble breathing. Juni’s coldness seemed very hot to me next to the bomb he had just dropped on my head. His gaze was still frozen with apathy, even when I hoped there was a drop of pity.

"You’ll help me, won’t you?" I tried.

It was very stupid of me to believe that, I knew it and Juni too but I was really desperate this time. He did not smile or even bother to laugh at me; I wondered why he even came to see me.

"It’s over this time. Really over. I say good luck, but I don’t think you’ll get it."

With these harsh words, he opened the front door and disappeared into the stairwell without a last look. I closed the door softly, without any force in my arms. I was sincerely at the end of my rope. How was I supposed to find a new apartment and move in in less than two weeks? The space was expanding under my feet and I was overcome with dreadful vertigo. My heart was pounding in my chest; I was hyperventilating. My swollen eyes burned me and my sight became blurred: a tear rolled over my cheek.

What really hurt me in this sordid story was that I had lost the one person who mattered to me in this world. I had hurt Juni to the point of not even repulsing him so much that my case would not matter. I was alone in the world for good and no one would reach out to me because this world was drowning the little goodness that resisted. Wasn’t that why I had to leave my house?

Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to complain about my fate, and God knows I could have spent hours there. Time was against me, and the clock took no pity. Every second that passed was one more step towards the scaffold. Death watched me with her big black, empty, cold eyes.

I took a good breath before wiping my wet face with the back of my hand and got back on my feet, determined not to die.

Packing my suitcase did not take me a lot of time; the most complicated was to find a place to stay. I turned the computer on quickly and looked for something acceptable in Huddersfield. My findings were not glorious: only seedy and/or misplaced apartments.

The gulf in my chest opened more and more, and I thought I was liquefying on the spot. I eventually resigned myself and accepted that the whole city was no longer safe; my heart gripped painfully. I had grown up here, made my whole life here and today this idyllic canvas flew away in a deadly gust. I no longer held back the sobs that shook me, desperately seeking a way out despite my eyes embittered by tears.

After a few minutes, I finally spotted an old loft in London. The photos were not great and taken in haste to try to hide the misery. I hesitated. Around me, my bright and colorful apartment inspired me with comfort and safety; it reminded me of the good times I had spent with Juni. His look made me freeze in the back, I felt it assailed me with burning stitches and who pursued me tirelessly to remind me of the finality of my fate. I was like poor Io, chased by the wrath of Hera and forced to plunge, at the end of her strength, into the Nile to escape. Except I wasn’t a goddess and no god would take pity on me.

Clicking on the link, which was several months old, I gave my contact details to contact the lessor. The wait was not long since my phone rang immediately and the call came from London. Against all odds, a gentle and warm voice spoke to me with vigor.

She had posted the ad a long time ago but no one wanted to move into an old apartment stuck on a shopping street. I listened attentively as she spoke to me honestly, detailed the building and its residents, one of whom was apparently suffering from dementia. I appreciated her frankness and let her know; she probably did not expect me to accept the offer because she let an exclamation of surprise escape her. I told her I needed to move in as soon as possible and, again, she kindly invited me coming as soon as possible, that the apartment was already available.

Time covered itself. An imposing cloud hovered over the city and a few drops fell, which quickly turned into a torrent, pounding the earth and buildings. I turned under my sheets, a weight in my belly. Train tickets were printed and placed prominently on the coffee table in my living room. I had not even notified my landlord or even my boss; I had merely sent them a brief email. The storm was roaring outside and I could hear the horns of the cars mingling with the driving rain.

I spent my days locked up. My phone chip was crushed and completely out of order. My phone had suffered an identical spell: the shards served as decoration for the fish in the cold waters of the canal.

#moon knight #x reader #unfinished #french lessons #english to french #i don't what tag to put here

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night-spectrum · 2 years

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Memories Part 2

*Memories*

You lean away as he places an ice pack to your face. He gives you a look as you keep moving away. “Budte spokojny,” He demands to you, and your brows furrow. “Why do you speak Russian and English? What did you say?” You question him, and he glares at you as you keep moving. “I just do, and I told you to be still. You move too much,” He mutters, annoyance in his voice. You be still this time as he places it against your cheek, and he’s tilting your head to look at the cut on the side of your head. You watch him, somewhat enamored. For an assassin, he sure was being tender. “How do you say thank you?" You question, wincing as he takes an alcohol pad to your head. “Spasibo,” He responds. You say the word in your head a few times before repeating it. “Spasibo,” You repeat, and he meets your eyes. “I’m not good,” He mutters to you, and you keep his gaze. “I know,” You whisper.

He patches up the cut, becoming quiet. “Can I see your face?” You ask after a moment, and his eyes snap to yours. You take his hesitance as a sign to move forward, and you raise your hand to his mask. He’s grabbing your wrist, his gaze narrowing. “Please?” You ask quietly, and you force your wrist from his grip, placing your hand along the hard, yet soft material. Your fingers curl around the edges that hide his cheeks, and you pull it forward, slowly pulling it off. Your eyes roam his face, and you conclude he’s in his mid to late 20s. He was very handsome with a short shave to his face. It was almost scruffy looking. Your lips lift into a smile, and he’s watching you very closely. You place your hand against his cheek, feeling his skin. You lean forward, slowly, pressing a kiss under his chin. He stiffens against you, and you lean away, not wanting to push whatever boundaries he may have.

“Sorry,” You whisper, and you remove your hand, only for him to grab it. He places it back to where it was, and he steps closer to you. Your eyes flutter close as he places his lips against yours, a peck, before he’s realizing you’re not pulling away and he finds himself not wanting to hurt you at the contact. The icepack clatters to the counter, and his hand is gently feeling at your face, satisfied that the swelling has gone down already. You’re the one to deepen the kiss, your lips parting, tongue swiping across his lips. Your arms come to wrap around his neck and he’s lifting you from the chair, his hands guiding your thighs around his waist.

You’re being dropped on your bed, and his hands lift your shirt as you undo the button on your jeans. As you kick out of your pants and underwear, he’s unclasping your bra, and tossing it to the side, leaving you completely naked. His eyes slowly take you in, and with a gentle push, he’s guiding you on your back. He’s straddling your hips, removing the gloves from his hands. The contrast of his hands on your breasts were an odd yet pleasurable sensation, and a breath leaves you as he takes the moment to understand what you like. He starts with gently squeezing and you place your hands over his, and he adds a little more pressure, your answering moan causing him to continue with that pressure. Your nipples were hard and peaked, and he rolls them between his thumb and pointer fingers, your body squirming underneath him. “Please…” You whisper, having no thought as to what you were asking for, but you were confident he’d give it to you. Satisfaction is a prominent emotion as he’s able to bring you pleasuring emotions, his head dipping down to capture of your nipples in his mouth.

Your hips rock against him, and he’s taking his unoccupied hand to keep your hips still. “Budte spokojny,” He whispers, his lips tending to your other nipple. The sound of him using a foreign langue increases your moans, and he gently scrapes his teeth against your flesh. He places small kisses against your skin, alternating from your neck, down your chest, and right below your belly button. He takes his flesh hand, and slips it between your legs, his fingers caressing your wet pussy, and you grind into his hand without shame. Slipping two fingers inside, your loud moan makes him close his eyes. He slowly fucks you with his fingers, his metal hand dancing ever so lightly across your tender and sensitive clit. A yelp of surprise leaves your mouth, and you open your eyes to him with his eyes closed and teeth clenched. Your eyes almost roll into the back of your head as he adds a third finger, and your hips raise to meet his fingers. “Fuck…” You whimper. “Khoroshaya devochka,” He whispers, and his tone leads you to believe he was telling you something good. Your thighs shake as he continues to rub slow circles.

Before you can get there, he’s stopping, and you can hear him unzipping something. Opening your eyes, you see that he’s taking off his vest, leaving him shirtless. Your eyes run over his physique, and he makes eye contact with you. The looks he gives you is so intense that it almost takes your breath away. He’s unzipping his pants, and while it was something you’d probably question later, his hard cock is springing free, and he gets off the bed, letting his pants drop before he’s stepping out of them along with his shoes. He’s leaning back over you, and the anticipation is welcomed as he drags the head of his cock along your slit before he’s guiding himself inside slowly. Your assassin is more of a quiet lover as he slowly thrusts forward into you, a quiet groan leaving his mouth. “Oh…” You gasp, your legs widening to accommodate his body. “Fuck,” You whimper as he snaps his hips forward and back, thrusting into you. Your soft cries of pleasure filter through the room, and his hands on your hips keep you still as he fucks you into pure bliss. Your head swims, your fingers fist in your sheets, and he’s murmuring that phrase again. “Khoroshaya devochka,” His eyes are closed, and he can feel you pulsating around him. Toe-curling pleasure shoots up your spine as your eyes almost cross.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, your back arches off the bed, and he’s now pressing his body on top of yours, his relentless drilling making your legs shake. The smell of you is almost hypnotizing, and he’s grasping your face, turning it to his before he’s kissing you passionately. You moan into his mouth, your hand resting on his metal arm, your other hand brushing against his chest. “Thuck chertovsky choroso,” He murmurs against your lips, and you moan softly. “I don’t…god…” You groan as his hips roll into yours, and he repeats himself quietly, almost tenderly in your ear. His head drops to your shoulder as you cum again, and his pounding is continuous as he fucks you through it. “Yes…fuck…yes…” You breathe out. “Vse moi,” He whispers in your ear before he’s pulling out, his warm spurts of cum landing across your stomach. You’re absolutely tired out, but you absentmindedly run your fingers across the red star, meeting his gaze. You lean into his touch, the cool metal cooling your warm skin as he touches your face. He reaches above your head to pull down the covers, and you turn over to get under. He’s following beside you, watching you intently. As he settles against the headboard, he looks down as you roll over and next to him, your arm draping over his abdomen. He covers your naked body, and you seemingly snuggle into him as your eyes close.

As he stares at your resting face, he can’t help but think that if anybody else touched you like he did, he’d kill them.

*Memories*

It became something unspoken from that moment on. Any chance he got, he was between your legs. You’d become like a craving to him, and his feelings started to shift in regard to you. Fucking you was one thing, then it became more than that. Your nights spent talking to him gave him a chance to know more of you. Like your plan to move once you saved enough money, or your lifelong goal to open a restaurant. You eventually found a new job, similar to the one you had before, but you felt safer. Your assassin literally sat inside during your shifts, and at first, he let the handsy shit go, seeing as it was a bar, and you made more tips. But after watching the same piece of shit rub on you, he had enough. In your apartment, you were all his, but out here, he had to separate that. However, he wasn’t liking it, and though he didn’t do anything at that moment, he took his frustration out in another way.

Fucking you four ways to Sunday to be exact.

His pounding was deep and hard, and he tried out a new position any time he got the chance. It was hard, fast, and exactly what you wanted. Somehow, he still managed a tender hand when doing so, always caressing your face or kissing some part of you. Every time you were close, he’d whisperKhoroshaya devochka repeatedly in your ear. You managed to ask him what it meant through breathless grunts, and he slightly tugged on your hair, tilting your head up. “Good girl,” He whispered, and you practically flooded him the moment you got your response. Since then, it was a phrase he was constantly using whether in the bedroom or not. He drove you to work on his bike, and if he didn’t stay around, he was there to pick you up on the dot. While you were working and saving, he’d slip any money he managed to get his hands on into your jar, always watching you intently as your face lit up every time you got a little bit closer. He never stuck too much money in there to make you suspicious. In the following months, he told you little things about himself, like his age, what time he was from as well as how he is the way he is. While he doesn’t have a full memory, he told you as much as he could.

You listened to his stories with interest, and he was becoming soft at the look in your eyes every time. He kept you safe and satisfied. However, the time you spent with him would become limited. It started when he had to leave on missions. “Where are you going?” You asked him one evening. He’d gotten out of bed and was quietly rummaging around. “I’ll be back,” He assures. He never left. It became apparent you forgot what he was. He could feel your eyes on him, and he’s glancing at you. Your lips were pursed, your eyes watery. “Kukla,” He murmurs softly, and you’re glancing at him, knowing that it was some term of endearment by his tone. “I’m giving you this. There’s only one number programmed. You cannot use it but once, and only for an emergency. If you call, Iwill come,” He explains to you, and you catch the phone. “What if I miss you?” There was no point in hiding it. You’d miss him. Terribly. His gaze softens a little before he’s shaking his head. “No. I will never make contact with you anytime during a mission. Only when I’m here. If you call because of your emotions…” He warns you, his gaze narrowing at you. You frown at the seriousness of this moment. “I cannot protect you. Iwill have to kill you. Do you understand?” It pained him just to say that, but ifanybody found out about you, they’d kill you. Torture you first, just to torture him. Then kill you. He’d rather make it quick. “Otvet' mine,” He demands, making his way to the bed, his intense stare gluing you to the bed. He’s gripping your face with a tender yet urgent force, and you nod. “I understand,” You whisper. “Ty ochen' vazhen dlya menya,” He whispers tenderly, and your brows lower. “You’re very important to me,” He responds, and your lips wobble. He’s kissing your lips slowly, savoring the taste of you. You wrap your arms around his neck, and as much as he wanted to follow you back into bed, he didn’t. With a squeeze to your side, he’s pulling away. The first time he left was the hardest. He was gone for almost a month, and you listened like he said. You went to work, and always walked home, the gun he insisted you have in your purse. He taught you how to use it and made sure you were self-sufficient in his absence. The first night was hard, and you curled up into a ball on the bed and cried. This thing with your assassin has become dangerous now. Your emotions…even his…had changed, and you’d become emotionally dependent on him. You could almost say you loved him. The next few days were like that, and you eventually had to pull yourself together.

He’d come back. You knew that. It was a matter of when. You remained danger free up until his return. He’s been gone for a month just about, and you walk into your apartment, closing and locking the door behind you. You went about showering and eating, your heart aching. You idly caressed the phone he’d given you, and if it weren’t for the fear that he’d be pissed at you, you’d use it. Night settles, and you manage a restless sleep. It was late in the night when you were awoken by your front door opening. In your sleep-induced haze, you grabbed the gun off your nightstand. You couldn’t hear anyone walking around, and it bothered you. With the upmost quietness, you get out of bed, and squeeze yourself into your closet without making a sound. You take in small breaths, controlling your breathing. Your room door is opened, and you can’t see anything which all the more terrifies you. “Kukla?” His voice makes you heave a sigh of relief, and the light is flickering on as you emerge from your hiding spot. He’s glancing at you in concern, his eyes now surveying you and everything around you in case he missed something. “I’m okay. I didn’t know it was you,” You reassure, and he’s coming around the bed to embrace you. The first thing he does is kiss you, holding you against him tightly. You sigh into his mouth, relaxing against him. You nuzzle your face into his shoulder as he kisses your head. His arms are a comfort to you, and you will away your tears. You never wanted him to leave again. He doesn’t talk about his mission, not wanting to bring that to you, he’d rather talk about you and what you did. While you thought it was boring, he was interested in what you had to say. He alternated between holding you all night and making love to you until sunrise. He missed your voice, your touch, your calming nature.

He took you back to work every day and picked you up, though since his return, he was staying inside with you. The bar was a better atmosphere than the club, and he didn’t think he had to worry about anybody fucking with you. He learned something about himself and you as well one night while you were working. He wasn’t necessarily jealous, and whatever friends you made, he trusted you. He didn’t trust other people though. You and one of your coworkers talked a lot, and he could see the look on the man’s face every time he looked at you. He had to almost force himself not to just shoot him. You might’ve been oblivious to it, but you were pretty and kind. You were sweet and yet had this edge about you. It’s what he liked about you. He just wasn’t the only one to see it. He can hear your conversation across the bar as he asks if you’re seeing anyone. He wanted to stalk over and snatch you away, but he refrained himself.Yeah. I am, and he’s probably staring a hole into your head. You glanced over at him, and he didn’t care that you caught him. You had eyes for nobody else, he knew that, you knew that, but it was a primal urge between man and woman. A human thing. You found it quite humorous, but your lover…no. He didn’t like it. Not at all. He was eerily quiet once the two of you got in, and his sudden change in demeanor was much more of a turn on than you expected. He was a little rougher than usual, having bent you over the counter, his hands rubbing along your back. He kept your hands in front of you as he skillfully used his other to pull down your pants before he was unzipping his own. He spread your legs with a kick of his feet, and he was thrusting into you without care. You were loving every fucking second, your moans a driving force for him to continue. He was the only person to do this to you. He was the only one that would have you like this, and he wanted you to know it. “Vse moi means ‘all mine’,” He whispers harshly, and you’re flooding him instantly. He doesn’t stop though, only fucking you harder. “Are you?” He demands, and he’s unsatisfied with your nodding. He pulls on your hair, pulling your head up, your cry of pleasure making him groan in satisfaction. “Answer me. Are you vse moi?” He hisses, and a sob almost leaves you as he takes a hand to your clit. “Are you vse moi?!” He demands again huskily, and your hands squeeze into a fist. “Yes! Fuck yes!” You cry, your legs trembling against him, and he relishes in the feeling of you around his cock. You whimper as he brushes his hand along your wet pussy once more. “Oh…” You pant, and he’s tenderly kissing the back of your neck. He finishes inside you, his thrusts slowing.

LINK TO PART 3- HERE

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night-spectrum · 2 years

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Okay this needs to be said and it needs to be said loudly.

STOP WRITING FAMILY/PARENT/DOMESTIC READER INSERT FICS AND ASSIGNING THE CHILDREN FEATURES ATTRIBUTED TO WHITE PEOPLE!!!!

Literally, nothing feels more exclusionary and hurtful than to get excited to read a fluffy domestic fic, only to read about children described as having “Chris’ blue eyes” or “Steve’s blonde hair”. You are making it very apparent that you aren’t writing with POC in mind and that you only write for the white readers in the fandom.

Same with writing for “y/n” and writing about messy buns, silky straight hair, and white features. (Yet you all have no problem writing that y/n has ‘plump’ lips) Stop cherry picking features that are palatable to you, when you claim to be writing for everyone.

Maybe try writing original characters instead of reader insert if you want to describe a character/family as having specific features, but don’t project your white beauty standards on a whole fandom because not all of us are white and again, you are making it pretty clear that you aren’t writing with the intent of the reader possibly being a POC.

(And pls don’t use the excuse ‘some POC have blue eyes/blonde hair’, while that is in fact true, it is still not accurately representative of ALL POC, so just don’t do it??)

I have no idea why some of you have issues writing reader characters with ambiguous features or simply not describing their features at all?? It’s truly not integral to the story to specifically describe hair colors/eye colors/skin colors if it is reader insert.

Anyways. This has been on my mind for YEARS and I’m putting it into the universe because this shit is getting tiring and there are really no excuses for it.

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night-spectrum · 2 years

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Disappearance

AN: A piece of writing I wrote during a negative period of my life. •WARNING• >> This poem broach : suicide / murder / death / self destruction (physically, mentally and emotionally) / depression / madness / etc... I was annoyed with life :/

I can't breath. My lungs hurt from trying. I saw through your face, your soul on fire. I feel your fury and it burns my skin. I didn't try to touch you, your eyes were filled with tears and blighted hopes.

Breathing is a choice that Death gave us. I am not stucked in this trap. I am free to be or not. How tempting it is to go beyond Life. How I wish I could disappear from here and never come back. I want peace to hold me tightly in her arms and never let me go.

Yet I am here. Afraid to change. Afraid to go. Your voice repulse me. Do not crying over me at the end. I will never touch heaven but I will stay deep into you mind. Tearing your blameworthiness and watch you burn, let you be consumed by regret.

Death is what I seek. Your pain is what I crave. I do not want to feel any longer. I wish I were stronger. Let me pour my sadness onto your limbs. For it's your fault. For you're guilty of my death.

Please remember how I admired you.

Please remember how I loathed you.

I will follow. I will chase. I will drag you inside the earth, into the deepest pit of hell. I do not want to be saved. I want justice. I ache for your suffering.

Call me lunatic. Call me psychotic. Call me delirious. I want it.

Death is the sweetest thing awaiting for me. Her fingers trail my lips. It is her first and last kiss. Take me with you and do not look back. I am moving forward to you. Forget my name and existence. I never wished to be here.

Lay down next to me. Watch my skin getting colder and how my soul evaporates in the air to nowhere.

Love is a lie. Death is my answer.

"If you love me then kill me."

#poetry #depressing poem #writing #tw depressing stuff #mommy issues

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night-spectrum · 2 years

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《I'm not a good writer even if I wish I were. I just can't do anything correctly... so here's some unfinished stuff I wrote. Is it that obvious that English is not my native language?》

The moon was full and shining softly in the black sky. Sitting in front of your computer, you stared at the hours scrolling through the corner of the screen. The curtains fluttered silently and the window creaked as it opened and closed to the wind. It was already twenty-three hours past and fatigue irritated your eyes as sleep whispered sweet words in your ears.

You got up slowly and pulled back your chair on the way. With a slow step, you let yourself go on the bed. The satin sheet was fresh against your skin and your whole body plunged into the softness of the textile.

You breathed the smell of lavander laundry detergent, its bewitching fragrance taking you further and further into unconsciousness; Morpheus' fingers were already touching your sides. A sigh escaped your half-open lips. The moon shone. An idea germinated in your mind.

Your back was facing the satellite. Sleep crawled at the bed's feet, greedy, but the urge to light a candle before sinking took up more and more space. It was stupid, really. An old trick you used to do when you were in high school to scare people, without believing it yourself. However, tonight seemed like a splendid night to light a candle and pray. Morpheus should wait.

In the kitchen you found the matchbox on the microwave; the salt in the cupboard above the hotplate. All you had to do was grab a candle in the attic. Your bedroom window was still open, but the chill in the living room was disturbing. In a few hours, it would be November 24th but it was cold as if it were February. Your skin was covered in goosebumps and you thought maybe you should have taken the old cardigan that was lying on your desk.

Upstairs, the floor was squeaking. For a moment everything changed and the house was darker. The shadows waved on the ground and meandered up the walls. The window of the room opened wide and the night air poured into the bedroom. Outside, the night became silent as he went with his eternal solemn step. The trees vibrated in his path and the clouds spread in a gust. The moon seemed more imposing and luminous than ever. The forest whispered for him a few words.

In the attic, the dust was thick and formed dust sheep. You coughed a little while sweeping the air with your hand. The attic was just a dark old pile of garbage that’s been sitting on the side since you were in high school. The days when you devoted every spare moment of your time to witchcraft - today, you weren’t very proud of it - but they were over. You had grown up and the active life did not allow you to have so much fun; yet tonight, something unique filled the air. The light of the moon enveloped your skin with waves and every inch of your body shivered.

Between two piles of old magazines, there was a box with runes and which, despite the time and accumulated dust, still smelled like nettle leaf. Inside, there were oils, sage and nettle leaves, notebooks and even oracles. You overturned the contents and luckily, a black candle also escaped from the box. At first glance, the candle was simple and without patterns but its deep black surprised you. You knew the color of the candles was important, but you totally forgot what a black candle was.

Without looking any further, you went back down to your room. The air was even cooler than at the beginning; the window was wide open and the curtains floated outside the room. You put what you were holding in your hands on your bed and pulled the curtains inside and closed the window with a bang. Looking up, you saw that the moon had yellowed.

Sitting on your bed, he watched you shake. You pushed away fatigue to spill salt on the floor and form a circle in which you settled on your knees. He saw on your face that you were not convinced by what you were doing, he felt doubt. Your mind was no more harmonious, an incomprehensible flow of thoughts. Nevertheless, you remained in the circle. The candle was in place and he watched you crack the match and then burn the wick that took a few seconds to blaze. Your face took on a warm hue and its shadows oscillated to the rhythm of the flame. You didn’t realize it, but the air became heavy as the candle burned. The smell of wax invaded his nostrils and he was compressed by the thickening air. He got up slowly, knowing that he could not approach you in the immediate future and walked away a little without taking his eyes off you.

You squeezed your hands against your arms. The air whispered gently and the smell of sage leaves floated in the air. You didn’t regret your little ritual; something strange in the room bothered you, as if you were being watched in the shadows. They moved slowly around you, waving their hands that only seized emptiness. Everything seemed to move outside the salt circle. Fear was seeping into your pores.

Your eyes rolled over the roundness of the moon. Pale yellow, it vibrated and called the gaze. It captivated you.

And then a hand landed on your head, light as a feather. So thin that you weren’t really sure there really was one.

He was standing behind you. He had no ill intentions, at least that’s what he said to himself even though he knew it wasn’t quite true. The air was still heavy but not enough to stop it from moving. The salt barrier still held him back though, he couldn’t do what he had planned tonight but it wasn’t a worry; he had all eternity ahead of him. He merely caressed the top of your head softly, enjoying the warmth and softness of your hair under the bandages that covered his hand.

He hid and watched over you in the shadows, in every blind spot. The night was his kingdom, the moon his eye and the stars revealed to him the secrets of humanity. The candle went out and the smoke rose in a thin undulating line.

You could not tell when you fell asleep and what happened after the candle went out but when you opened your eyes, it was six in the morning and you were securely wrapped in your blanket; even your clothes disappeared and were replaced by your pyjama.

#khonshu x reader #moon knight #khonshu #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley

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