#Motion Pictures of Spider-Man! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slushycoookie · 1 month

Text

Pierced Perfection ~ Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader

Content: Breast play and fondling, Miguel goes crazy over your nipple piercing, leg humping, MINORS DNI!

A/N: Thought about nip piercings which turned into thinking about how Miguel would react to them so here we are. Enjoy!

“Baby, can you come here for a sec?”

Miguel came into the bathroom at your call, “Yeah?” He noticed you covering up your chest with your robe and his brows lowered, “What's wrong? You okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” You reassured him with a smile, “I have a surprise for you.” He gazed at you in question, watching you open your robe.

Two red stones caught his eyes, dangling from a silver ring that enclosed around your nipples. The piercing fit perfectly on your body, as if it was made for you. Miguel couldn’t stop staring at it.

“Wow. They look great.” He got closer, “When did you get them?”

“Around noon.”

You had discussed the idea a few times about getting nipple piercings. A couple of designs on the internet caught your eye and you thought it would be a good idea to get one. Your husband liked the idea as well. The two of you did research on the healing process, understanding that it could take up to 6 - 12 months for you to heal. In some people's experiences, it was much longer. Almost 2 years. You were a little worried about that, unsure how your body was going to react. But you wanted them. So you got them.

“It's just been tingling a little but it's not so bad so far.”

Miguel’s brows furrowed again, “Tingling is okay, right?”

“Yes.” You provided a pat on his shoulder for more reassurance, “The artist told me that's normal and it shouldn't take too long to go away.”

He nodded at that, eyes still going back to your exposed chest. Miguel’s hand twitching at the idea of wanting to touch them. Your breasts were one of his favorite parts of your body and you couldn't help but have a twinge of guilt at the unexpected surprise.

“I'm sorry. I should've told you when I was going to get them.” Your lips formed a pout, “So you could prepare.”

“No, it's okay.” It was his turn to reassure you with his gentle hands on your arms, “It's not the end of the world that I can't touch them-”

“Well, you can touch. Just not right now.” You clarified, “You can’t suck on them now though.”

“Oh.” Miguel took a moment before clearing his throat, “I'll be fine. I can give more attention to other parts of your body.” You smirked when his hand squeezed your ass cheek.

Miguel stayed true to his word, not providing any additional stimulation by mouth or touch while you were healing. Your man had amazing self control, even when it came to sex. He tried to stay away from making contact with your breasts. Not wanting to hurt you. If he was really feigning for them, he'd place his head between the valley of your chest. Warm tongue licking up the crevice, causing you to shiver.

You knew he truly liked them by the way he stared with fascination. Crimson eyes reflecting back at the jewelry with a semblance of similarity. How a distinct feature of him was also on you. It was a little embarrassing when he asked for a picture of your breasts. His reasoning was so he could look at them while he was at work. You were no stranger to taking pictures like that and sending it to him. But somehow your mind created a scenario of an innocent spider coming in to see your unseemingly naughty picture on display.

It was a big day when Miguel found out he could finally touch them.

You were extra careful in cleaning your piercings, knowing you were going to clean them again once your husband finished fondling. He placed you on the counter in your bathroom, your shirt pulled up above your chest. No bra as you were still trying to get used to your nipples brushing against the padding. They've been extra sensitive since the procedure. But you also haven't been touched like this for 4 months.

“Be gentle.” You warned, “I'm still a little…”

“I got you.” Miguel kissed the top of your breast. As a test, he motioned his thumb against the jewel. That simple motion causing shockwaves throughout your body. You bit your lip, already missing the feeling. He did it again with your other breast and you sighed in bliss. “You okay?”

You hummed, “Feels good.”

Miguel grinned, placing his palm against your nipple, creating a gentle circle. You gripped his shoulder to keep steady. Low moans escaping your lips from his touch. He stood in between your legs, watched you whine and whimper for him. While his hands carefully rubbed you. The large palm hitting a right spot on your nipples that made you squeeze your thighs around his waist. He silenced you with a kiss, drinking up your sounds of pleasure underneath him.

You pushed your chest against him, begging for more under his hold. Only for him to pull away, tugging against your bottom lip.

“They feel nice.” His voice low, eyes filled with lust.

You leaned forward again for more but he dodged your advances, chuckling. You purse your lips, hunger in your eyes. “Just nice?”

Miguel flicked your nipple, causing you to tremble, “Just nice.”

You wondered if you made a mistake in getting your piercings. Because your husband was very touchy. Even though he couldn't taste you yet, he loved playing with your breasts. Running his fingers over your erected nipples casually. Gently pinching them. Teasingly flicking the jewelry. He'd always ask if he could touch them, still considering himself as being a gentleman. Who loved playing with your boobs.

He was going to be ecstatic when he found out he could taste them.

You were feeling great one day. Your nipples healed up nicely after almost a year. You thought it would be the perfect time for Miguel to place his mouth on you. And you were also going to clean it later to be sure.

If he had a tail, you would see it wagging. His eyes lit up when you told him on a call he could finally place his mouth on them. Whenever he was ready to do so.

That meant now as he portaled back home, hovering over your body in bed. “Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute.” You sat up, holding in your laughter. “Don't you still have work?”

Miguel sucked his teeth, “It's not important right now.” He got on his knees, hands gripping your sides. Desperation clouding his eyes. “Let me taste.”

How could you say no to that?

You pulled up your shirt to tease but your husband demanded to take it off completely. So he could have room. Your heartbeat picked up in your chest, practically heard in your ears. Miguel licking his lips in anticipation. You closed your eyes as you felt his breath against your breast, gripping the sheets to stable yourself.

A whimper escaped when Miguel's tongue flat against your nipple. Done in a way where the tip swirled around your ring, sending sensations throughout your body.

“Finally…” He groaned while sucking on your nipple with care, “I missed this.”

A firm hand rested on your back before pulling you closer. Miguel provided extra care to your nipple, practically almost putting your entire breast in his mouth. He moaned as if he starved. Wanting to keep you there as he finally got what he was denied for almost a year.

Your whimpers turned into full out sounds of pleasure as his fingers twirled your other nipple, his nail scratching along your areola. He kept you in place, making sure you never wandered off far. Your husband was still in his suit as you felt the material against your leg. While in his pursuit of tasting you, you felt his hard cock. Hips grinding slowly against your leg. Muted groans along your breast.

“Tan bueno (So good)…” He muttered, “Sabes tanto (You taste so)…”

Miguel rutted against you, his tongue and lips taking turns messing with your nipples. His hard thrusts shook the end of the bed. Causing you to hold on to his body. Your hand deep into his curls while the other was on his shoulder. Gripping him tight as he continued. Grunting and groaning before suddenly stilling. He was cumming against your leg.

His mouth parted against your nipple as he came. Those crimson eyes rolling back in his head. And all you could do was watch. Tug against the strands of his hair to prolong his orgasm.

“You really missed them, huh?” You asked when he calmed down, his face still buried between your breasts. Panting against them. All Miguel did was nod, hugging you tight.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #slushycoookie writes

563 notes · View notes

redstarwriting · 1 year

Text

happy birthday

miles morales x reader

request?: yes

request: “I LOVEDDD THE HC’S OMG OMG WORK OF ART!!! i was wondering if you would write something expanding on getting miles’ doodles tatted as an adult!! i would love to read more abt it, it’s so cutee”

requested by: anon

word count: 2.2k

genre: fluff

Warnings: language, tattoos, mentions of tattoos and needles, Miles is so sweet it's sick

A/N: GLADLY!! i've been itching to get a new tattoo since the minute i got my first like three years ago and writing this just made me want to get another one so bad LMAO. i hope you enjoy!

also in case you were wondering what hcs anon is talking about, it's my pda/general affection hcs i wrote for hobie and miles! you can check it out here if you haven't already and feel compelled to :)

───────────────────────────────────

“Miles! Baby, can you give me a tattoo?” you ask, and he smiles. This has become a common practice in your relationship. From the time y’all were kids in love to now, you would always ask him for a tattoo. Of course, he didn’t actually give you tattoos, he just drew on your arm. He’s mentioned you, and even urged you, to get a tattoo every now and again. Especially when he offered to design them, but you always say his temporary ones are more special than any other tattoo you could get. He isn’t upset about it. He genuinely loves drawing on you. “Of course, babe. Come here,” he says, motioning you over to him as he grabs his markers he has specifically for your “tattoos.” You go over to him, sitting between his legs and extending your arm. “Can you draw it right next to the uh… elbow pit?” you say, and he laughs. “Elbow pit?”

“Yeah, like the inside of my arm and not on the bicep part or the elbow pit part, but the forearm part by the elbow pit,” you explain, pointing to the area you’re talking about. He chuckles. “Elbow pit.”

“Well, what else would it be called?” you ask, smiling, and he grins, starting to doodle on your arm. “I’ll text and ask my mom what the scientific name for it is after I’m done here,” he says, and you lean your head back against his shoulder. “Oh, god, please don’t tell her I called it an elbow pit.”

“Oh, I’m totally telling her you called it that,” he teases, placing a quick peck on your lips before returning his attention to your arm. He draws a spiderweb, of course, but in the shape of a heart. He adds his Miles touch to it by making it look like the web was spraypainted, and having it pop with black and red. You don’t even look at the tattoo as he draws it, you just stare at his face. You love watching him when he does his art. You assume it’s similar to the way his face looks when he’s swinging around the city as Spider-Man. He’s in his element, laser-focused and yet has an ease about him that mesmerizes you. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he says, smirking and turning his attention to you. You feel your face heat up but roll your eyes. “Can’t, arm’s a bit preoccupied.”

“You can get creative; I have an idea. Maybe use the one I’m not drawing on?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, and he shakes his head. “What do you think, amor?” he asks, and you look. You smile. “I love it, Miles. Thank you,” you say, kissing him on the cheek. He grins, wrapping his arms around your waist as you admire his art. “What time is it?” you ask, and he glances at his phone. “11:15. Why?”

“Ganke and I are gonna go get some lunch today.”

“Should I be worried?” Miles jokes. “No, dummy. We’re just talking about… something happening soon,” you say, and a sly smile spreads across Miles’ face. “How soon?”

“I’ve said too much,” you say, trying to get up. Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend is Spider-Man and can easily hold you in place. “Nuh uh, how soon is this something happening?” he looks at you with a shit-eating grin, and you roll your eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know, spider boy?”

“I would. Is it, and this is just a wild guess… something happening tomorrow? A special something happening on a very special day?” he guesses, and you sigh. “Don’t tell Ganke you found out…”

“I knew it!”

“We’re supposed to be planning your birthday party, yes. For tomorrow. On your birthday. Are you happy you spoiled it for yourself now?” you feign annoyance, and he laughs. “I am, actually. Now I know to look good for you tomorrow.” You roll your eyes. “You always look nice, Miles.”

“Only for you,” he grins at you, turning your face to look at him. The two of you share a kiss before it’s interrupted by his police scanner going off. He frowns slightly. “It’s okay, Miles. I gotta go soon anyways,” you give him a quick peck for squeezing out of his arms. He sighs. “Fine, fine. Guess I’ll go save the city. Be the best thing that ever happened to New York and all that.”

“My hero,” you joke, and he grins. “You know it,” he says, slipping his mask on and sliding his everyday clothes off. “I’ll see you later, Miles. Stay safe. Love you.”

“You stay safe, too. Love you more.” He leaps out of the window, and you make sure he’s gone before you call Ganke. “Yo, what’s up?”

“You gotta plan Miles’ birthday party tomorrow.”

“Woah, what?” You sigh. “I already have the roof of our building booked out for it, I ordered the cake already and will pick it up tomorrow and have all the decorations. You just need to invite everyone, okay?”

“You mean I have to reach out to people in different dimensions, tell them to clear their schedules for tomorrow, and hope for the best?” Ganke asks, and you hum into the phone. “Yep! Thanks, Ganke! Also, if Miles asks, we went and got lunch, okay?”

“And where are you really going?”

“I’m getting a tattoo to surprise him for his birthday tomorrow,” you say, grabbing your keys and putting some money in your pocket. You put Ganke on speaker, sending a quick text to Hobie. “You need to stop using me as a cover-up, (Y/n).”

“Who else am I supposed to use? Gwen?” you say, and Ganke sighs. “I mean, yeah, you know she would be down to help you with something like this.”

“Ganke she is so bad at keeping secrets like that, and you know it,” you say, admiring the art on your arm again. “Then use Hobie.”

“Wait that’s actually a good idea,” you say, “Especially since he’s the one giving me the tattoo.”

“AND YOU STILL USED ME?!”

“I PANICKED! He was asking questions! Just, listen, invite as many people as you can think of, alright? Please, and thank you.”

“Fine. Go get inked or whatever they say,” Ganke says. The two of you give some quick goodbyes before hanging up. You receive a reply from Hobie, and a portal opens in Miles and your bedroom. You step through it and find yourself in Hobie’s flat. “Can I just say it’s about damn time you got one of ‘is works tattooed onto ya,” Hobie says, motioning to his couch. You sit and he gets his whole get-up ready, all the cleaning wipes and gloves and the tattoo gun all ready to go. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m getting it now and that’s what matters,” you say, and he clicks his tongue. “I can guarantee ya this is just gonna be the beginning. Kinda becomes an addiction,” he says, sitting next to you, and fiddling with his gun. “Then I guess I’ll just need to have Miles draw on me even more.” He chuckles. “Lemme see it.”

You show him the drawing, and Hobie shakes his head. “Your man is corny,” he says, and you shrug. “I like it.”

“I know,” he dips his gun in ink, and looks at you, “Ya ready?” You nod, and he begins tattooing Miles’ art onto your skin. The two of you talk the whole time, really, and you let him know about the party tomorrow. He, of course, agrees to come, and can’t wait to see Miles’ reaction. It takes a few hours, but eventually he finishes up and it looks exactly like Miles just drew it on your skin. Hobie places fake skin over it and gives you the rundown of how to take care of it. He turns away from you to put something away, and you quickly slip $100 under a pillow on the couch. You know he won’t accept any money from you because he’s ‘not a capitalist pig,’ so you have to be sneaky with it. “Thank you so much, Hobie,” you say, and he winks at you. “Anythin’ for my mate’s better ‘alf.”

He opens the portal again, and you two say bye until tomorrow. You’re back home, literally, in no time, and you quickly throw one of the hoodies Miles left lying around on. This way he won’t see the tattoo, and you can play it off like you missed him. Especially since you did kind of miss him and it is sort of a staple in your relationship that you wear his clothes when you do. That’ll make him melt and he’ll forget all about the art on your arm. And you were absolutely right.

It ended up being a late night for Spider-Man, and when he got home, he saw you curled up on the couch, sleeping with his hoodie on, and all he could think about was that you missed him. He carefully picked you up and carried you to your shared bed. You started to wake up as soon as he was getting in bed after taking a shower and cleaning up, and he began desperately trying to get you to go back to sleep. “What time is it?” you groggily ask. “It’s like 3am, (Y/n/n), I’m here now, we can go to sleep, okay?” he says, slipping into bed next to you and pulling you on top of his chest. “Happy birthday!” you sleepily say, burying your face into his chest. He smiles. “Thank you, amor. Let’s get back to sleep now, yeah?” You make a muffled mmhmm sound and are out like a light almost immediately. Miles smiles to himself, wondering how he got this lucky.

You can imagine his disappointment when he wakes up the next day and you’re not snug against his chest, but he feels better the minute he sees a little note on his chest that explains you’ll be home, you just had to go do something for him. He gets up and decided he can do his Spider-Man duties until you text him and let him know he needs to come home. It may be his birthday, but the city still needs it’s defender. So that’s exactly what he does. He cannot explain how grateful he is that none of the big bads were trying to start anything today, because if he didn’t get to see you and eat a slice of cake, he was going to scream. The day went slower than he wanted but also sped by when eventually he got a text from you saying to come home. He immediately obliges, swinging in through the window and putting on some of his nicest clothes. He walks out of your room and sees you chilling on the couch. “Miss me?” he asks, walking over and bending down to kiss your lips. You giggle. “Obviously. Hey, before we go up to the roof where there totally isn’t a party waiting for you, I wanna show you something, okay?”

“Okay,” he grins, and you grin back. “Cover your eyes.” He does as instructed, and hears you shift slightly. “Okay… open them.” He opens his eyes, and immediately sees his “tattoo” on your arm. Only it was covered in a clear wrap. And it’s real. His eyes get big, and he looks at your face. You give a small smile. “You always encouraged me to get a real tattoo, so… happy birthday.”

“Yo! It looks so good, hold up,” he gently grabs your arm and softly traces it through the saniderm. “When did you get this?”

“Yesterday.”

“You weren’t actually with Ganke, were you?”

“No, I was with Hobie,” you say, and he shakes his head. “I got a little liar on my hands, huh?”

“It wasn’t lying it was covering my ass because you ask too many damn questions,” you say, and he laughs. “I love it, (Y/n/n).” You smile and the two of you share a kiss. “We should probably get up there. Some people are waiting. Oh, and pretend like you haven’t seen it yet. Hobie wants to see your reaction.” Miles laughs. “Alright. Well, I hope he knows I’m not gonna stop drawing on you. And that he fully traced my art,” Miles says, and you shake your head. “I’m sure he knows, Miles. You really like it?”

“Like it? Baby, I told you I love it. I love you; I love this tattoo; I love that this is a birthday present from you… everything about this? I love it. I don’t even need to go up there to make the day better because all I need is you,” he says, and you smile. “Hobie was right. You’re so corny.”

“Nah, hold on, he said that? Forget everything I just said it’ll be a perfect day when I punch him.” You laugh as the two of you make your way up to the party. But the whole time, Miles keeps finding his eyes drifting to your tattoo. Something about having his art on you permanently makes his heart swell with pride and happiness. And he and Hobie were both right.

It’s not the only “tattoo” that will become real.

───────────────────────────────────

#miles morales x reader #spiderman x reader #miles x reader #spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #miles morales #spiderman #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv

1K notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 1 year

Note

For context, imma give you a little Spider-Man 2099 fact from the Spider-Man comics if you didn’t know about it already.

Before becoming Spider-Man, Miguel was injected by this drug called Rapture, a super addictive drug with really bad withdrawal symptoms, like you will feel like dying without taking it constantly symptoms. He was the top geneticist for Alchemax and he wanted to quit but the cooperation wouldn’t allow that, so they injected him so that he would have no choice but to be reliant on them and continue to work for them since they were the only ones that were distributing rapture. (It was actually due to him getting his spider abilities that he was cure; he had his DNA rewritten with spider DNA so he’s technically genetically half spider).

So basically Miguel injects you with rapture. So predictably you become more and more difficult, as he puts it. One day he offhandedly shows you a little vial in his lab that was used to turn him into Spider-Man, he drops little hints here and there that it’s what cured him of rapture. So it’s no surprise to him that you start acting so docile and pleasant soon after, your attempt to lower his guard are welcomed when he gets to cuddle you. So he lets you sneak into his lab when you think he’s away on a mission. It’s when you take the vail and inject yourself do your hopes for freedom start to dwindle when you feel a broad chest on your back and a pair of fans in you neck the next second. While the contents in the vail cured you of rapture, he also made it so that it acts as an aphrodisiac when it’s mixed with DNA; (injections of any sort are the fastest way to get anything going through your system, so the Miguel-activated-aphrodisiac binds with your cells really fast when you first inject it into your system), so whenever he bites you, your cells react almost immediately to his DNA and it turns into any season is mating season, Aka Miguel never beating the vampire allegations.

Ah sorry for the messy writing, English isn’t really my strong suite but you get the picture.

tw - dub//con, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, manipulation through drug addiction.

oof,,, miguel knows first-hand how devastating rapture can be, so i'd like to think that he injected you with it in a moment of desperation, just thinking about the high and the wanting and how badly he needs you to give into him, even if he knows you'll be twice as difficult once the withdrawal hits. his plan to splice your dna, to cure you the only way he knows someone can be cured of a rapture addiction is an act of mercy in his mind, too. he can't keep you high and strung out forever, so he lets you believe there's an antidote, lets you think that he doesn't suspect anything when you suddenly start behaving and treating him like the hero he wants to be, rather than the captor he is, lets you sneak out of his bedroom in the middle of the night and into his lab, where his 'rapture cure' was conveniently left in plain-sight beside a syringe gun already prepared for injection. he lets you think that your alright, now, that you've escaped the worst thing he's ever done.

and then, he drives his fangs into your neck, holding you close as you go through the motions, as you realize that your body's reaction to him isn't something you can drown out with terror and loathing and fear, anymore. you haven't been cured, he just replaced one addiction with another and now, you're as reliant on him as he is on you. it's not love, but it feels close enough as you claw at his chest and pant against his neck, as you promise to behave and to follow his rules and to do whatever he wants, as long as he takes care of you. as you promise to love him, as long as he takes care of you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #yandere spiderverse

856 notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 2 months

Note

Ohh, Snail, now I can't stop thinking about you writing that Corazon x AussiReader idea from the fanart you rebloged. Poor sweet baby 🥺 dealing with giant spiders and cute feral angry koalas, nooo, Cora, don't try to hug them, they may look cute, but they will eat your face 😱

Rosinante's Trip Down Under

Masterlist Here

Oh my goodness, Miss Vita! How gorgeous is it, though? Art by @rainnartt (CHECK OUT THEIR OTHER ART, IT'S AMAZING!!)

Synopsis: Modern AU, Rosinante visiting your hometown in Queensland Australia. He is overwhelmed by the cultural differences, but loves to learn the slang.

I did go a little crazy in the tags, definitely ran away with me a little here.

Could you imagine, though? As an Australian, I can confirm: if it looks like it can kill you, it can kill you. If it looks like it can’t kill you, it absolutely can kill you. Our poor, clumsy man never stood much of a chance, did he?

In this picture, he looks like could be in Bondi, the Gold Coast or Surfers Paradise by the looks of it. I am going to put him in the Queensland region for the sake of the plot. This is how I see it going.

Drabble Fic Word Count: 1,800+

Themes: rosinante x gn!reader, platonic fic, crack fic, modern au, reader is Australian, Rosinante is Spanish, Au he lives.

Tag list: @since-im-already-here @i-am-vita @feral-artistry @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @remisloves @mfreedomstuff @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine

Taking your new friend Donquixote Rosinante to your favorite sights in Surfers Paradise. His eyes widen in wonder, staring at sights that come so naturally to you, but are so out of the norm for him. You are happy to play tourist in your hometown, marveling at the sights as he experiences them for the first time.

Outside of your local McDonalds and picking up a common comfort breakfast food for his adult adoptive son, who elected to remain back at home in the hotel as he adjusts to the time difference, Rosinante’s shriek prompted you to turn to meet him.

“What the hell is that?” he remarks, extending his pointer finger towards the large waste bin adjacent to the doorway.

“Oh, that’s a skip, Corazon. The red is for rubbish,” you continue, pointing at the other bin, “The yellow lid is for recyclables, and the green is for food and biodegradable-.”

“No! The thing with the massive beak!” he shrieks, watching as the dark-head bird pokes its head above the bin. The large hooked beak elevates a half-consumed cheeseburger before it gulps down the burger in a single motion.

“Oh!” you laugh at your blonde friend, clapping a hand over his shoulder, “That’s an ibis. We call them ‘bin chickens’ or ‘tip chooks’ depending on your region. They’re scavengers, they won’t hurt you.”

“A bin chicken, skip bin,” he hums, his brow furrowed in deep thought as he commits the name to memory, “And you call McDonalds ‘Macca’s’, right?”

“That’s right,” you hum your confirmation with a curt nod. He hums in response before ushering you along the pathway towards the hotel.

As you continue walking along the sandy coastline, you notice he’s halted outside a petrol station. A large truck is parked beside the building: checkered blue and white painted on it’s side and large font titled “POLICE” and “0.05: DRUGS”.

“Is this your local law enforcement?” he asks you, tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah, that’s our local booze bus parked next to a divvy van,” you nod in affirmation, “They do regular drug and alcohol testing for drivers to ensure their safety on the road. Weird that they’re outside of a servo, though. Usually they’re on the main roads.” He nods his head and hums.

“Booze bus. Divvy Van,” he looks over to the petrol station, arching his brow high, “Servo?”

“I know, it’s a lot,” you confirm with an apologetic smile, “I promise it gets easier to adapt to the slang the longer you practice.” He nods again.

Passing a local park with a children’s play area, you manage to see your friend David from work, his two children playing together on the looped climbing frames and plastic slide.

“Davo!” you call out to him, waving your unoccupied hand in front of you - considering the other contains a paper bag filled with the fruits of your labor.

“How the bloody hell are’ ya goin’, Darl’?!” his nasally voice cracked to you, “Who’s the fella ya got there with ya?” You smile at him, walking to embrace him.

“This is Rosinante Corazon, the friend I mentioned was visiting from Spain,” you informed him, “How’s the missus back at home? How’s the kids?”

“Mate! Howzit goin’?” he extended his hand out to Rosinante, who placed his hand within and gave it a gentle shake who mumbled a soft ‘pleased to meet you’ in response.

“Ah, and the ankle biters are doin’ great. Givin’ the missus a bit of a reprieve here at the park, tough gig bein’ an ambo driver.” He glanced over his shoulder at his children, ensuring they were safe now they’ve climbed to an elevated height.

“Oh I’m glad she’s managing to take a break. She’s a tough lady,” you nod to him, smiling over at the two children who wave at you while playing with a make-shift telescope.

“Well, I shouldn’t keep you,” he confesses, gesturing down to the brown bag clutched in your hands, “Don’t want that brekky gettin’ cold now, do we?” You laugh at him, waving him off before waving at his children.

Rosinante remained silent, only muttering a few words that stood out to him: “Darl’, fella, mate, missus, ankle biters, ambo driver, brekky,” on a perpetual loop.

“You okay there, Rosi?” you quirk up at him, a soft smile pulling at your cheeks.

“I’m alright, Darl,” he attempted, his voice falling to his nose and emulating the accent he heard moments prior, “Is that a common term of endearment here? ‘Darl’ and ‘mate’? How do you go with gender neutral titles?”

“Both of those titles can be used interchangeably, regardless of gender,” you inform him, “It all depends on context and the way you say it.” he hums again, nodding along and muttering several phrases he learnt. He reaches into the circular cup cardboard and pulls out his coffee and takes a small sip.

Your feet finally carry your way over to the lobby of the hotel where he was staying with Law, his body immediately halting in front of the surf, dive and ski shop. His head cocked to the side, staring at the large, rectangular basket outside the shop. You follow his line of sight, which remained locked on to a large, canvas sign attached to the basket.

“Ah,” you click your tongue, noticing they’re focussed on a common shoe worn in this area, “Do you and Law need a new pair of thongs? I know the bottoms melt a little when the bitumen gets a bit hot.”

“You want me and Law to wear what?” he turned towards you with his eyes wide and jaw dropped. It took a moment for you to understand the miscommunication, your eyes growing wide and your nervous laughter propelling your anxiety further.

“No, no, no, no, no!,” you managed to choke out, “No, we call ‘flip-flops’ ‘thongs’ here. Is that what had you a little confused? A basket full of shoes where you thought lingerie should be?” Rosinante laughed alongside you, shaking his head from side to side.

“You got me,” he chuckled, raising his coffee to his lips once more, “Our differences are quite vast, aren’t they?”

“I suppose they are,” you acknowledge with a shrug and a broad, tight-lipped smile. He hums once again, muttering several phrases as you step into the elevator.

Clicking the button to the appropriate floor, the doors open wide to reveal the carpeted corridor of the hotel room. You offer to hold the coffee tray in your unoccupied hand as Rosinante clumsily attempts to fish out his key-card from his pocket. He thanks you, his hand getting stuck in his pocket as he shimmies his shoulders to break it out.

Finally clutching the key card, he places it in the door and swings it wide to reveal Law sitting on the plush bench beside the large window. His left knee was bent, his right leg extended as he reclined against the window. His gray orbs draw away from watching the gentle crash of waves towards you both as you enter the suite.

Before you had a moment to greet the younger man, Rosinante’s broad grin and best nasally voice interrupted your train of thought. Rosinante gently took the brown paper bag from your hands and offered it to his son.

“Howzit goin’, Darl’! Brought you some Brekky from Maccas!” he walked forwards, thrusting the bag into Law’s hands, “Saw a bin chicken eating some scraps from the red skip, and passed a booze bus outside the servo on the way back.”

Law chose to remain silent, wordlessly taking the brown bag from Rosinante and maintaining unbreaking eye contact. Rosinante took that as his queue to continue relaying his adventure.

“Saw Davo being a good fella at the park with his ankle biters, his missus has been working hard as an ambo driver,” he continued, biting his lip as he attempted to relay the trip back to his absolutely unamused son, “Then we passed a shop on the way up. Was gonna get us a pair of matching thongs for the trip, but thought you would get embarrassed to be matching with your Dad.”

Law’s fingers stuttered their descent into the bag, choosing to take a lengthy breath instead.

“Dad?” Rosinante quirked his head up, turning to look at you over his shoulder. You were doing your best to stifle your laughter by clutching your lip in your palm, “Do you still call parents ‘mum’ and ‘dad’ here? Is there an Aussie term of endearment he could use for me instead?”

“‘Cunt’ comes to mind,” Law murmured, prompting Rosinante to snap his head back over to his son. His heart shattered as Law drew up a hashbrown and began nibbling at its golden exterior.

“L-Law-?” Rosi’s heartbreak was depicted in the quiver in his tone. You walk over to your friend’s side and offer him his forgotten coffee with a smile.

“-Rosinante,” you broke him away from his sorrow with a soft giggle, “‘Cunt’ is also a term of endearment here. Law and I had a little conversation about cultural clashes last night when we were playing cards. You fell asleep early, remember?”

“It is my favorite Australian term of endearment,” Law admitted with a soft hum, reaching up his outstretched hand to wordlessly ask for a coffee, “But your insults are far better. Quite original.”

“Okay, Champ,” you mock Law, passing him his cup of coffee, “Big words coming from a guy with a face like a smashed crab.”

“Coming from a Drongo with the personality of a dropped meat pie,” Law smirked in return, taking the cup from your hands. Your joint laughter ricocheted from the hotel walls, prompting Rosinante’s prior sour mood to pick back up.

As you all ate your brekky in comfortable silence, you gazed out onto the beach below. Law followed your eyes, looping at the large swell of the waves. The choppy waves crashed against the golden waves, the vendors beginning to set up their canopies to sell their wares along the boardwalk.

“You did well, Rosinante,” you complimented the tall, blonde man, “Using our words in the appropriate context, I mean.” Rosinante smiled at you, placing his paper rubbish in the brown paper bag.

“Thank you, Mate,” he said with a soft wink, “I appreciate the praise for my efforts.”

“No wakkas, makka,” you smile at him with a shrug. Both men quip their head up, their ears pricking and confusion written on their face.

“We’ll get into that later, I guess,” you chuckle at the two of them as their confusion deepens.

The large Australian crowd began to take out their surf and boogie boards, set up nets for volleyball, and their wickets for beach cricket. The variety of populus below in various designs bathers, placing sunscreen on their bodies to protect from the deadly UV rays.

“Beach day?” you ask them, smile drawing up over your features once more.

“Beach day,” Rosinante nods in confirmation, excited to learn more slang and cultural differences as the day broadens its rays over the oceanic backdrop.

#one piece #x reader #modern au #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #trafalgar law #op law #op rosinante #op corazon #rosinante x reader #platonic fic #australian slang #law x reader #op x reader #one piece fluff #ask snail #snail answers

91 notes · View notes

backtothefanfiction · 6 months

Text

In Your Boss’s Office | Peter Parker Imagine

Summary: When your boyfriend comes to take you home after a late night at the office, he sees an opportunity to send your boss mad.

Warnings: smut, P in V, semi public sex, office sex, cum swallowing, oral (female receiving), dirty talk

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: Okay so I have been trying to get this one finished for a while. This was supposed to be day 5 of Kinktober but we all know that went off the rails. I was gonna turn it into kink til Christmas but that isn’t gonna work out either. So this is me saying that the kink list is getting thrown out the window completely, but I will still write some of the stories as prompts and short imagines as there were a couple I was looking forward to but no idea when they’ll go up. Anyway, this was one of the ideas I was really looking forward to writing so I hope you enjoy!

You had been the only one in the office for at least an hour and a half, despite your boss leaving nearly 3 hours prior. It was dark outside, you were tired, you were missing your man but you knew that if you didn’t get this list for Jameson completed now, you’d all be really behind tomorrow.

There was a sudden ding as the elevator stopped on your floor. Given the time you fully expected it to be the janitor, coming by to give things a clean and empty the waste paper baskets, but you were surprised at the sight of your boyfriend walking towards your desk.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” he asked, “I think the real question is what are you still doing here?”

You had met Peter around 6 months ago now, when you had first taken on the job as J. Jonah Jameson’s assistant after the last one quit on him. He had expected you to also follow suit, he wasn’t exactly known for being the nicest boss after all; but you gave as good as you got and the head of the Daily Bugle admired that. Peter was a freelance photographer, stopping by every now and again with a new batch of photos of Spider-man that always made your boss both froth at the mouth and get literal dollar signs in his eyes.

“What time is it?” you asked, but you already knew.

“It’s time to log off.” he softly chastised and encouraged you.

“Uhh, Pete, I really need to get this done.”

“Fine. You have until I finish putting these photos on his lordship’s desk.” He said, pulling out a manilla envelope full of new pictures of Spiderman.

“Peter, you can’t go in there.” you tried to interject as he began to reach for the door handle to the office.

“Just watch me.” He said, turning the knob, pushing the door open and going in.

“Peter.” you chastise as you get up to follow him and make sure he wasn’t going to touch anything he shouldn’t.

When you got in the room he was already sat behind the desk, lounging back in the large leather swivel chair, swaying side to side. “You know, I see why he likes this office so much now.” he says as his eyes glance over pieces of paper on the desk.

“Come on.” you try to encourage him, “We shouldn’t be in here.”

“Make me.” he challenges with a smirk on his face. You really don’t want to find out what that smirk means, you just want to finish your list of tasks and go home but he does look good sitting behind the desk. His eyes are watching your legs closely as you hesitate in the doorway, shifting from one foot to the other in tiny motions. He leans forward placing both of his hands on the desk. “Close the door.” He instructs and you do. “Now come over here.” Your brain knows it’s a bad idea but you do.

He moves the chair back slightly as his hand reaches out to guide you round the back of the desk with him. When you are close enough he turns you and backs you into the desk. You hesitate at first but with further encouragement by his hands and the wicked look in his eye, you sit yourself on top of the desk. He hums slightly as his hands rest on your knees, pulling them open, then using his grip on them, pulls the wheelie chair closer to the desk, leaving you nowhere else to go.

“Peter, what are you doing?” You ask with a shaky breath as he starts to run his hands up your thighs and under your skirt.

“You work too hard for little reward.” He says as his fingertips reach to hook beneath the waistband of your underwear.

“Peter!” You interject, trying to push him away but he holds you still.

“Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” He teases. “He’ll never know.”

“Yes he will.” You try to hold strong, but his fingers are drawing lazy circles on your thighs that are relaxing you and wearing you down.

“But isn’t that more fun. He won’t know it was us, he’ll just come in tomorrow and he’ll know something is off but he won’t be able to put his finger on it.”

“Pete… Pete.” You try to say but your resolve is fading with his touch and when he tries again to pull your underwear down, you don’t stop him.

“Just relax okay. I’ve got you.” He said as he pulled you closer to the end of the desk. “So pretty.” He cooed as he looked up at you.

He pushed your legs up, your feet resting on the arms of the large swivel chair he sat in, as he leant forward, his tongue teasing at your clit, making you squirm. His hands held tighter to your hips, holding you in place as he began to lick through your folds.

“For someone who was putting up a lot of protest, you seem to be awfully wet for me.” He teased with raised eyebrows as his fingers moved to circle at your entrance before slipping inside, his fingers working you open.

“Uhhh, Peter.” You began to pant, as the movement of his fingers pulls tiny whimpers from between your lips.

You watch as his other hand begins to fumble with his belt, the sound of the metal clinking sending another wave of arousal through you. He undoes the button and zipper of his jeans, palming his length through his boxers.

Normally Peter would spend ages going down on you, making you cum and soaking his fingers with your slick before he even thought about fucking you, but you didn’t have time. Although it was late and no one else was in the office, the janitor could come up to this floor and walk in at any minute and Peter knew it was taking a lot for you to go through with this without pushing his luck.

“Come here baby.” He said, pulling his length out of his boxers and sliding the chair back slightly.

You happily moved to straddle his thighs. You slowly lowered yourself down on his length. You were so close and he was so deep in this position. It didn’t leave much room for movement, just subtle gyrating, your clit rubbing against the small patch of exposed skin between his jeans and shirt.

It made you so sensitive, your head nuzzling into his neck as you quietly whined and moaned.

“You naughty little thing. See I knew this was what you needed.” Peter said as he slowly thrusted his hips up inside you. It wasn’t his preferred pace but he knew you loved it. To be close to him. To have his cock rubbing against the most sensitive parts of you. To feel every little twitch you made around him. It was intimate. “You gonna come for me?” He asked. He could read your body like a book and knew from just the pitch of your moans alone you were close. “Come on baby. Cum for me.” He encouraged as he guided your hips up and down on his length harder and harder. “Cum for me baby and then I can turn you around and fuck you right over his desk. How does that sound?” You could only moan in response. His words always brought you closer to the edge. “Yeah?” He cooed. “Does that sound good for you? Come on baby. Come on… there it is.” He said as you began to shudder around him, your body collapsing against his chest. “That’s my girl.” He said, but he didn’t give you a moment of rest.

Just as promised he picked you up as he stood, before dropping your feet to the floor. He turned you around, his hand pushing firmly against your back, getting you to bend over your boss’s desk in front of you.

Your face and chest were pushed onto the desk top as Peter took your arms, folding them behind your back and holding them firmly in place with a single hand as he lined himself back up to your entrance with his other.

You let out a loud gasp as he slammed his hips into your ass as he bottomed out inside you. “Oh baby, you look so pretty like this.” He said as he began to snap his hips faster.

You almost completely forgot where you were as the feeling of his cock spearing you open sent shockwaves of pleasure to your core. Your gasps and moans grew louder and louder as you felt yet another climax quickly building inside you. “Fuck, FUCK! Oh my god! Peter.”

“Mmm baby, I love it when you say my name like that.” You could feel his thrusts growing sloppier. You knew he was close, only holding himself together so he could make you cum one last time.

He shifted you both back slightly between thrusts so he could reach his hand around between your legs and started rubbing quick circles around your clit, bringing you to your climax faster. He watched as you screwed up your eyes, your mouth hanging open in a silent oh for just a moment before your orgasm hit and you began to shudder around him once more, your voice finally ringing out into the air of the office.

“That’s it baby.” He said as he removed his hand from between your legs.

You felt him pump one, two, three more times before the removed himself from you, pulling you up off the desk with one arm and encouraging you to turn around and get on your knees in front of him, his other hand pumping his length.

You knelt before him, opening your mouth wide, sticking your tongue out waiting for him to cum. You closed your eyes in anticipation just in case as you listened to him grunt. Then you felt the tip of his cock on the flat of your tongue and his cum burst into your mouth. You shaped your tongue around his length trying to contain as much of it in your mouth as you could.

As you felt him still you opened your eyes to look up at him, giving his length and slit a lick for good measure and he twitched away from you at the sensitivity, You didn’t look away from his eyes as you swallowed his salty cum with a closed lipped smile.

“Fuck, your gorgeous.” He said as he took your face in his hands and bent over to kiss your lips. “Now come on. Pick your panties up off the floor, it’s time to go home.”

You didn’t argue with him. You both put yourselves back together before you left the office. You quickly closed down your computer and you left hand in hand.

When you went back to work the next day your boss’s face was a picture. You watched him closely when he came in. Stepping into his office, you hot on his heels with his morning coffee and a notepad ready to take down his orders for the morning, you saw him pause. His brow furrowed as he looked around the room.

“Everything okay sir?” You dutifully asked.

“Huh?! Yeah!” He suddenly barked not wanting to seem vulnerable. “Yeah.” He looked down at the papers on his desk confused again until he saw the Manila envelope. “When did these get here?” He asked as he sat himself down in his chair and began opening up the photos and scanning through them.

“Uh I think Mr Parker dropped them off last night.” You feigned innocence.

“Really?” Your boss pondered. He suddenly looked up at you as if finally remembering who you were and where he was. “Right. I want Anderson up here stat. I need him in here brainstorming headlines with me to get these out on the front page first thing!” He shouted at you, his hand slamming the photos on the desk as he leaned back and kicked his feet up.

“Yes, sir.”

“And make sure you get finance to send Parker over his money.” He commanded as he picked the photos back up and started looking through them again.

“Is that everything sir?”

“What!? Yes! Of course! Now get out of here!” He barked and you quickly hurried from the room.

As you sat back at your desk you smiled to yourself. Peter had been right, although he knew something was up, your boss didn’t have a clue what had really taken place in his office the night before.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #andrew!peter parker #peter parker imagine #spider-man #andrew!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #j jonah jameson #Peter Parker smut #late kinktober

315 notes · View notes

goldnsyren · 14 days

Text

— Will it be enough? (m.) ⋆ pairing: gojo satoru/oc (noa hasegawa) ⋆ genre: angst, touch of fluff ⋆ wordcount: 𝟷920 ⋆ cw: JJK 261 SPOILERS

tags:

Note: Does it count as a comfort fic if all I comforted was myself?? Anyways, spoilers so don't read. Can be read as reader since technically no descriptions given.

“Why are you so upset?” “They’re talking about you like you’re dead!” “It’s just a backup plan. I'm fine. I’ll be fine, promise.”

“Satoru,” his name was like a prayer on her lips. A siren call he had no choice but to follow. Gojo stopped and turned to appraise his wife. Noa’s brow was furrowed, and her bottom lip jutted forward disapprovingly as she stayed at the doorway. Oh. She was serious.

Doubt darkened her expression. “I don’t like it. What if-”

He grabbed her by the chin, silencing the rest of her argument with a kiss. “You worry too much.”

“Always.” She didn’t deny it. As far as she was concerned, someone had to look after the idiot— her idiot. He certainly wasn’t going to.

Gojo couldn’t help but smirk as he wiped away the streak of blood from her cheek.

His stupid smile, calm and confident even in the face of such overwhelming power, lulled her as it always did. She should have seen the mischievous-manic glint in his eye. Instead, she was distracted by the foolish promise she had desperately wanted to believe. “Have some faith. I’ll see you later.”

Those had been the last words he’d said to her.

There was no “goodbye” because that would be overdramatic. No false promise of “I’ll be careful!” - he never was. And certainly no gut-wrenching sentimental “I love you” - it wasn’t their style.

Just -

I’ll see you later.

He lied.

Noa stared unblinking into his eyes - a new emptiness to their once lively blue hues - searching for that glint once more. The vortex of calculated curse energy and cheeky mischief that swirled within them was gone. Dull and lifeless, it felt almost like a stranger starred back.

She brushed the hair from his face, calm and steady - with the most delicate of pressure massaging his forehead and scalp. The same way she always did when he had a migraine and overworked himself. Again and again, her fingers comforted him. A soothing motion - if not for him than for her. The air vibrated in her chest, a song just for him, even if she had no voice left to hum.

With vivid imagination, she could picture them at home. Satoru would throw himself on the couch and drop his head in her lap like a spoiled cat. A tell-tale scrunch to his eyes, he’d pick up her hand and plop it on his head in wordless command.

No one does it like you, Gojo whined. It was the closest admission to ‘ I need you’ he’d ever make. Noa never made him ask after that.

“Better?”

“Much.”

Noa continued anyway. His migraine would fade, his shoulders would ease, and the deep, steady breaths of sleep would slowly take him.

She’d keep her hand in his hair as he softly exhaled, relishing in the soft rise and fall of his chest.

But this wasn’t home.

His head rested in her lap as she knelt on the dust and glass-strewn street. The hand that didn’t thread his hair cupped his face with a lover’s gentleness. Bowed over him, she silently wept.

“Get down here before you fall on your head.”

“C’Mon, you’re telling me you don’t wanna try the Spider-Man kiss, not even a little?”

She didn’t care about the blood soaking her. Some hers, some his, and a lot of others spilled in there, too, she was sure. What did it matter anymore? Her thumb rubbed back and forth across the cold skin of his cheek. It smeared the congealed blood that hemorrhaged from his mouth.

She regretted every kiss she didn’t take.

“Hasegawa-sensei,” Yuta’s voice seemed hollow.

She didn’t respond.

“Noa,” Shoko tried this time.

Her back and arms ached something fierce. A sharp pain seemed to weave between every joint and vein in her body, pulling taunt and beckoning her towards the ground. The exhaustion of overtaxed curse energy.

The weight of grief.

And yet, like an excellent little sorcerer, she persevered through the pain for the sake of the mission. The same mission she had dedicated her life to since she was tasked with it.

Protect Satoru from himself.

Noa may have been oblivious to the tension and strife of the sorcerers around her, but she was hyper-aware of every almost invisible pore on her husband’s face.

“Will you love me when I’m old and wrinkly and as ugly as those old farts?”

“Satoru-”

“Even if I looked like gramps-Gakuganji?”

“That’s just ridiculous.”

“...is that a no?”

The corner of her mouth twitched on its own accord at the memory. Her fingertips caressed the wrinkle-less forehead below her, her nails lightly scratching against the soft white strands of his temple as she pulled away to repeat the motion. Touch, oh, what a profound thing it was to be able to TOUCH him. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d turned off Infinity outside their home the past ten years. He hadn’t gone a day without it since -

“I’m here, Satoru. You can sleep; I’ll keep watch.” It was as much a promise then as it was now.

“Is she even listening to us?”

“Give her a minute-”

“We don’t have-!”

“Hasegawa-sensei,” Yuta’s voice broke through the back argument as he stepped closer. “we have to start-”

“ No.” Cold and firm, the croak was enough to still them all. What little curse energy she still had flared around her wildly in warning. No one dared move closer.

Protectively, possessively , Noa remained bowed over Gojo’s corpse. A renewed anger steeled her features as she kept her eyes on the vacant stare of his unseeing gaze. Aren’t you tired, Sato’?

Exhausted. But I suppose there are no days off for the strongest, he’d humbly bragged.

“Noa…” She felt Shoko more than saw her. The reverse-curse user kneeled beside her, a hand resting comfortingly on her shoulder. “It’s what he wanted.”

“Don’t - “ Noa mouthed, the sound lost in her constricted throat. She flinched, forcing Shoko’s hand off her. A new set of heavy tears squeezed from her eyes. Don’t encourage it. Her initial lack of refusal to this plan had been enough of a betrayal already.

Shoko folded her hands in her lap but did not break from Noa’s side. The raspiness of her breath gave away her stifled tears. Of course, she hadn’t objected to the plan. It was a fleeting idea, a one-in-a-million possibility that she never thought would come true.

Satoru Gojo - the Strongest sorcerer - was dead.

“I’m sorry,” Shoko whispered. An apology for so much more than just silence. Her voice was lower than expected, burdened by what had occurred and the part she was about to play after.

“It’s our last chance.” Kusakabe reminded her.

Noa’s breathing stopped. The pulverized mass that was once her heart seemed to sink further. With every ounce of strength she had left, she raised her head to look into the eyes of Kusakabe in challenge.

“He’s my husband .” The word cracked and squeaked as it was forced from her choking throat. She stared the sorcerer down until he looked away, ashamed. Noa’s torment was clear as day as she looked at her students and peers with an undercurrent of anger and mistrust.

“Sometimes I think you forget I’m the strongest. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“They treat you like a god; someone needs to remind you you’re a man.”

“You humble me.”

“It’s my job.”

“But I’m your man, right?”

“Till death do us part, baby.”

Fuck Death. They’d have to pry him from her cold, dead hands.

Noa’s voice gained its strength as her anger rose. “He’s not some cursed object, you shit-head. He’s-he-” She couldn’t find it in her to finish. No word seemed apt.

Nonetheless, Yuta understood. “I know.” His mouth was set in a grim determination as he crouched before her. Haunted eyes showed his remorse, but the set of his jaw conveyed his determination. He was certain she would forgive him for his betrayal one day, even if he didn’t live to see it.

“Love’s the most twisted curse of all,” Gojo had once told them. It makes Monsters of us all.

“You don’t ,” Noa replied, just as a matter of fact. They had protected their students from so much... Their strength had been paid for in blood, and pain, and the destruction of youth. All for the sake of the children in their care. And now one such boy stood before her, waiting - begging - to be stolen away from his own youth and transferred into a man who’s soul was already shattered. Did Yuta know what it was like to watch a child beg you to let them die? No. “You wouldn’t ask me if you did.”

“I’m not asking you,” Yuta nodded to the corpse she still cradled so dearly. “ He is.”

Noa’s gaze fell on Gojo’s vacant one.

“What do I care what happens to my corpse?” His voice rang in her ears. “I’m dead!”

I care, she thought. I care so fucking much. Heavy tears spilled anew as she forced herself to be objective.

She had never deluded herself into believing in some fairytale about retiring and starting a family in the countryside. The elders, the curses, the world wouldn’t allow it—not for someone like him, not for The Strongest. But there had been plans—so many plans …

“I’m so tired, Satoru. When will it be enough?”

“When we’re dead.”

Again, Satoru was wrong. Not even that freed him from his curse of strength. Was it too much to ask to be left alone in death?

We are good people, and we’ve suffered enough.

“He knew what he was agreeing to.” Shoko’s glassy brown eyes shared her anguish. “He knew we needed him.”

“He didn’t know it was an option.” She thought aloud. Rest had always been a foreign thing to him. Her conflict was evident as her eyes darted across his face. She search for a sign, any at all, of what he truly wanted her to do. His once blue eyes, always a reminiscent twinkle of the boy he once was, were now dark and cold. They stared up at something - and yet nothing - above.

Who are you? , she wanted to ask the corpse.

“If the option is a proper burial or you living ?” Shoko interrupted her dilemma. “I know which he’d take.”

The widow’s face twisted in new grief. Gojo had never been the type to say love , but there wasn’t a day that passed that she was sure of what he felt.

Her right hand clawed desperately at the shoulders under the black T-shirt to anchor herself. It’s just flesh, she reminded herself. Heavy tears spilled anew, following the dried tracks of her previous silent bout. She stifled the angry scream that threatened to tear from her.

He’s gone.

They don’t have to be.

With a wobbling lip, Nao could only find it in herself to refute the logic of her head with the anger in her heart. The only argument she could form in her grief-addled mind.

“You’re wrong-” Even defeated, Noa’s voice was steady. Her hooded gaze turned to Yuta. “He never wanted this. ”

Yuta Okkosu and Megumi Fushiguro would surpass Satoru Gojo as the strongest sorcerer. All it costed was their lives.

Noa released her death grip. She did not move, nor speak, as Gojo’s corpse was taken from her. All she could think was

When will it be enough?

“When we’re dead.”

Suguru had been right.

#jjk spoilers #jjk 261 #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x oc #gojo x reader #gojo x oc #jjk

55 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 8 months

Note

Reader must leave for a work emergency and Hobie must remain in charge of his little daughter, will he have difficulties when the arachnid duty calls him or will it be a father-daughter adventure of which they will be accomplices?

I LITERALLY RUN TO WRITE THIS —🫀

This was so adorable! I changed some things around hope you don't mind ❤️ I tried making their names vague but it's literally impossible for this fic, I hope thats ok. thank you for the lovely prompt!

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

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, they have twin baby girls, CW food mention, FLUFF.

It's Fluffy Friday!

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" You kiss Ramona on her chubby cheeks whilst Hobie juggles Billie and your work bag in his arms. Helping him immediately, you take the bag from him in exchange for his daughter. It's the first time in months since you've gone to work, maternity leave (unfortunately) ending. You dread it, already missing your girls.

Hobie sees your frown, bouncing Mona in his arms, Billie gurgles in her sleep. "We'll be alright, love" he would embrace you if not for his twins occupying his arms.

You huff, puppy eyes staring at Hobie. You want to stay home, unfortunately diapers don't grow on trees. "I don't wanna go" pouting, you peck Billie's forehead, careful not to wake her. Hands circling Hobie's elbow with a steady hand.

"It'll be over before you know it. The girls and I will just be here waiting for you. Right, Mona?" Hobie addresses Mona, bouncing her in his arm, curls bouncing with the movement. She blows a raspberry, spit bubbles forming on her mouth.

The adorable sight would usually make you giggle but now you look forlorn while you wipe her tiny lips. "Mommy's gonna miss you" cooing at the bundle, you take a big whiff of her scent, (not the weirdest thing you've done since you've become a parent) "And you too" moving towards Billie, you caress her cheek with your index finger, she crinkles her nose in her sleep. It's uncanny how much she looks like Hobie when she makes that face.

"Oi, you forgot somethin'?" Hobie pipes up, brows furrowed.

"No, I was saving you for last" you finally crack a smile, kissing Hobie, pulling away for a second to stare at his eyes before you continue attacking his lips.

"Alright, you'll be late" he says against your lips. Hobie almost couldn't speak with you basically eating his face.

You pull away, sighing, taking a mental picture of your family. "Okay, call me if anything happens"

"Yes I will, they won't cause me any trouble. I've got 'em, yeah?" He fixes his hold on the babies. They've gotten quite heavy the last three months. "Be careful on your way"

"Okay, byeee" walking backwards to the door, your eyes glued to Hobie and your girls. It clicks closed.

Hobie turns back around when the door opens with you peeking through the gap. "Love," he says with a chuckle.

"Okay, bye for real this time" you do a flying kiss motion towards Hobie. The door closes for the second time.

Hobie expects the door to open again but it doesn't, he's so proud of your self restraint. Ramona takes his attention with a small whine, hand gripping his jumper. "You hungry? I think we've still got some roast beef here" he jokes, forgetting that you're not in the room with him. You would've laughed.

Guess you're not the only one missing someone. Hobie brings the twins on their Bassinets, Billie wakes up almost immediately when Hobie takes his arm away. His senses warn him of an impending loud cry. Eyes watering, lips trembling, Billie lets out a wail before Hobie could calm her down.

He takes her out of her bassinet, careful with her head, the loud noise ringing his ears. He can handle it, right? Hobie is Spider-Man after all. Glancing at Mona, he sees her slowly change her face from content to sadness. She probably just heard her sister and now she begs for his attention too.

"Crap" Hobie hisses when Mona cries in tandem with Billie. As if some cosmic entity wanted to torture him, his bracelet rings out, Miguel's booming voice startles his girls, they cry louder in his arms.

Oh it's gonna be a long day for him.

—

"I'm home!" You happily trot over to the living room, eyes searching for your family. "Hobie? Mona? Billieee?" You call out to them in a sing-song voice. Rattling the paper bag in your hand, you spot the bedroom door open, tiptoeing inside, melting at the scene.

Hobie sleeps with the twins on his chest, hands secured over their small backs. He looks exhausted with his wicks standing in different angles, shirt stained with milk and baby spit up. He has one sock on his right foot, the other nowhere to be found.

Dropping your bags on the floor, Hobie opens his eyes at the sound. You wince, feeling guilty you've woken him up.

"Sorry" whispering, you sit down on the edge of the bed, wiping his drool with your sleeve. "I've got take out" you beam at him with heart shaped eyes. Tilting your head to check on your girls, finding them both fast asleep. "You okay?"

"Peachy" he yawns, Billie snuggles closer to her dad while Mona holds Hobie's shirt with a strong grip. "That better be shawarma" he says with no ounce of anger, just fatigue laced in his voice. Hobie thinks it's all worth it though, all for his girls.

You chuckle quietly, leaning down to kiss Billie on her little beanie, tiny curls peeking out of her hat. Moving a bit, you peck Mona on the crown of her head, curls tickling your nose. Lastly, you cup Hobie's face with both hands, carefully avoiding hitting the twins with your elbow.

"It's shawarma from your favourite place" you say softly against his waiting lips.

"Thank fuck, love you" He leans up, meeting you halfway. Hobie will tell you about their little adventure after you give him some food.

Reblog banner by @/cafekitsune

277 notes · View notes

sincericida · 6 months

Text

ANDREW GARFIELD

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences New Member's Party, London, Oct 5 '17

#andrew garfield #my beloved #my pookie #the academy of motion picture arts & sciences new member's party #london #the breathe era #why is he so cute and so hot at the same time #peter parker #spider man #the amazing spider man #tasm #tasm peter parker #tasm peter #andrew peter parker #andrew peter #sincericida

6 notes · View notes

a-fix-of-muses · 1 year

Text

Currently Listening To: "Sunflower - Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse" by Post Malone, Swae Lee

#IFTTT #Spotify #Sunflower - Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse #Post Malone #Swae Lee #Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (Deluxe Edition / Soundtrack From & Inspired By The Motion Picture)

4 notes · View notes

captaincapsicle83 · 3 months

Text

The Little Pests

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary- Sam’s friend, an IT worker for Stark Industries turned new recruit, has a crush on an avenger. Being a good wingman (hehe, get it?) does everything he can to get the reader and Bucky closer, even enlisting the help of other avengers.

It’s almost obnoxious actually.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader (main romance, rest platonic), Sam Wilson x reader, Clint Barton x reader, avengers x reader

TW: Cursing, Sam and Clint being silly, “suicide” but like, it’s a bobs burgers reference (you’ll see)

A/N: I was bored, so I pushed aside EVERY OTHER WIP I should be working on (about eight separate ones), left all my drafts open, completely ignored my old, geriatric ideas, and wrote something off a whim

Behold, my capricious work of art

“And, this is our kitchen, that’s our toaster. The toaster is always broken don’t try to use it,” Sam says. His right arm is on your shoulder, the left gesturing around the room, showing you around he compound.

“Why doesn’t it-” You’re cut off by a man with light brown hair swatting the toaster with his fist.

“You whore! I want my poptart!” He grunts.

“He’s why,” Sam shakes his head, and rolls his eyes. Clint Barton; Hawkeye, Destroyer of toasters.

Clint whips around, disgust evident on his face, “Oh, no, no, no, Sir. Don’t act like I’m suddenly the only one to blame here. Take a look at Mr. Banner and his anger issues, the cyborg, or, better yet Sammy, look in the fucking mirror.”

You decided right then and there that you liked Clint. “Sammy” scowled at Barton, before motioning for you to sit at the table. He had already shown you around the rest of the compound, including your room, making the kitchen your last stop.

As Sam rummaged through the cupboards, Clint sat in a chair across from you, groaning and huffing like an old dad with aching joints (Clint couldn’t be more than in his thirties or fourties’).

“Are you here to fix the toaster?” He asks you, his voice sad and his eyes even sadder. He was like those little animals with big eyes of pleading in Disney films.

“No, I’m sorry. I could try,” you suggest the last part, and he perks up. He sits up straight in his chair, rather than sprawling, and shifted to drumming his hands on the table.

“Met anybody else yet?” He asks, Sam still looking for food with not much luck.

“Nada, just you and Sam,” You say, truthfully. You had honestly expected more traffic, but were just the same grateful to be mostly undisturbed.

“Oh, good, you’re lucky. After us, it all goes down hill,” He “tsk-tsk”’s. “Let’s give you a run down. There’s Bruce and Tony, they’re our brains. They don’t sleep. They’re, like, tier two after Sam and I. Also tier 2, we got Natasha and Wanda. They’re scary. I will not elaborate. Tier 3, Vision, Thor, Rhodes, Spider-Kid. Mostly uneventful around the compound, Visions here the most, other three not as much. Then there’s our senior citizens in the bottom tier. Steve and Bucket. If they were a spice, they’d be flour.”

The way Clint was talking, it felt like the scene in mean girls where Janice and Damien find Cary in the bathroom. You were giggly at his little hand motions and theatrical way of painting the scene.

“What makes you and Sam tier 1?�� You ask, Sam coming over with two jars of peanut butter, spoons sticking out of them.

“Birds!” They both yell to each other. When you make a face at Sam’s offer of a jar of peanut butter, Clint takes it right away. You watch in wonder as the two bicker with each other, getting the feeling they were the only ones who found themselves to be “tier 1.”

***

You had been with the avengers for, say, about 7 months, finding it easy to make friends and have fun between missions and SHIELD duties.

“Well,” Clint was saying to you and Sam, the three of you sitting at the compounds dining table, coloring with crayons on printer paper. “I’m glad you two are having fun, because I am going to kill myself.”

He holds up a poorly manufactured picture of a duck. You all convulge into a set of late night giggles.

It was four am, and you had all just returned early from a mission. After a mission, especially one where you could sleep on the way back, you sometimes found it nice to unwind with your teammates.

As you all tried to compose yourselves, you didn’t even notice someone else enter the kitchen part of the kitchen, not until Sam called out to them that is.

“Hey, Buck, what’s up?”

“Hmm? Nothing. Coffee,” He looked startled, then straight back to basically being dead tired. The bags under his eyes looked like they just took a trip to Costco.

He looks reluctant, and like his mind has to do a lot of mental gymnastics to convince himself to do so, but ultimately he sits down at your table.

You’re drawing a picture of some birds (well, what was supposed to look like birds) in a little bird house. Your heart was beating about 10 decibels faster, and your hands became more unsteady.

Clint and Sam both privately took note of your change in demeanor. The way instead of using circle motions either your crayons, as you had been, you were pressing harder and going up and down. And how you simply just layer them on the table rather than back in the box. And the short sweet glances sent to one new person at the table….

***

Private messages between Sam Wilson and Clint Barton that you should never have seen, had you not been playing candy crush on Clint’s phone one Saturday morning. You’re a snooper, you snoop, it’s what you do.

Wednesday 5:36 am

Clint: Are you sleeping bbb

Sam: that best better not stand for what I think it does…

Clint: Y/n left me after you and Bucky did. Think the girl needed time to fantasize

Sam: YOU NOTICED TOO

Clint: I see everything, always

Sam: ominous

Sam: Clinton have you ever watched the bachorlette

Clint: I loveeee where this is going

Sam: I think she has a little crush

Sam: we should set them up

Clint: I can already see the kids

Clint: they’ll be names Sam and Clint of course

Clint: after us

Saturday, 9:29 am

Unread

Sam: did you destroy my fucking coin master village 17 times???

Sam: Barton, your ass is grass and I’m gonna mow it

***

Dead. You promised Clint and Sam they were dead.

At first, you thought it was just a joke. Until the advancements started.

It was Thursday, the team gathering for a dinner, as they did every once in awhile. As soon as you entered the room, you saw Clint and Sam basically playing musical chairs to keep an empty seat open next to Bucky Barnes.

“Are…Are you two okay?” Steve asked, genuine fear and concern on his face.

“Totally.”

“One-hundred percent.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“You’re acting weird captain.”

Steve sits, slack jawed, at a loss for a response. As you walk towards the table, your shoulders are grabbed by Clint, who is saying in a sickeningly sweet and chipper voice, “Y/n! Goodness, great to see you! Sit here! There’s a spot next to Bucky! You know Bucky! You love Bucky!”

You were a *mess* the entire dinner, unable to completely focus on anything but breathing patterns.

As the evening was coming to a close and others were dismissing themselves, you made cold hard eye contact with Clint, seated directly across from you. His hands were folded on the table like an innocent school child.

“Barton,” you said, your voice stern. “Wanna play Chinese Checkers?”

He shakes his head violently, but says, “Sam does too.”

Sam gets up from the table, so fast, his chair knocks over and silverware clatters.

You quickly jump up, chasing him down the hall. Clint follows, brandishing a phone camera, a will, and a way.

The rest of the group was frozen now, looking in bewilderment at what was going on. Or rather, their lack of knowledge of what the hell was going on?

“Anybody have input?” Tony asks after a long silence. Everyone looks equally lost.

They all look when a thud sounds in the direction your trio went.

***

Bucky and Steve are walking track to their rooms, later that evening. Steve had mission reports to do, and Bucky had thoughts to process and a diary to write in.

“So, what do you think of the new girl?” Steve pokes the bear, hoping to get a rise out of his friend.

“Hmm, oh. I dunno. She’s nice, I guess,” Bucky shrugs, and Steve’s goofy little smile grows like the grinch’s heart.

“Really? Because you look liked you were having an awful lot of thoughts tonight at dinner. And, you know, you stare at her long enough every other day…”

“Do not.”

“Do so.”

Bucky stares at Steve, unknowing of what to do in this situation. He shrugs again.

“So what?”

“So? So you should, oh, I don’t know, have a real conversation with her instead of just breathing into each others general directions. It’s nauseating having to watch Sam and Clint push you guys into the same space.”

Tonight may have been the first time you noticed, but in truth that kind thing happened in many many scenarios. Even before Clint and Sam connected that dots that you liked him.

They wanted their ship to sail.

***

“You took a shower!?” Clint says to Bucky, in a low and shocked voice. He held an incredulous look on his face, one Bucky wanted to smack right off.

“Yeah, try it sometime,” Bucky quipped.

“Y/n’s in her room,” Clint took a sip of his coffee. She has loads of paperwork. Probably will be in there all day.”

Bucky’s mouth opens and then shuts, not wanting to know why Clint was helping him. In truth, he wasn’t. Clint was helping you.

Within minutes, Bucky was outside your door, giving himself the cutest, peppiest of peptalks. Albeit, in his head because he could not handle the embarrassment of the e door opening to you seeing him babbling like a madman.

So when you did open the door, he tried flashing a warm smile. At the sight of it, you thought you would simply just faint. Right there, thud on the floor.

While your brain was debating whether you would prefer internal or external bleeding of the skull (internal, you decided, wouldn’t mess up your hair) Bucky cleared his throat.

You looked into his blinding blue eyes, the way a deer looks into headlights (meaning any minute you would get hit by the car…)

“Hi,” Bucky breathes out.

“Hi,” you say, your voice cracking.

You wanted to choke yourself out.

“I have something to tell you,” he starts. “Or- or I wanna talk to you.”

“…oh…” FUCKING CHRIST! Oh?? That was the best you had???

“Look, y/n I’ve sorta…I like you, quite a lot. And I’ve been nervous to talk to you or tell you about it, because I really don’t like opening up about my feelings. But-”

You cut him off by pouring out, “Ilikeyoutoo!”

“You- oh…Well…this wasn’t as bad as I had thought then.”

You let out an awkward chuckle, “Yeah, guess not.”

He doesn’t say anything, the two of you staring into each others eyes. He starts to lean in, his perfect face getting closer to yours. The action feels magnetic as you lean closer.

You take in his features. His brow, his chiseled jawline. The symmetrical two sides to his face, like if you took a meat clever down the center, you’d have matching halves.

Just as you can feel his breathe on your lips, right before the two of you can make contact, you both jolt apart at the sound.

Clint falls from your ceiling, Sam landing on top of him. The metal grate that filtrated the air in your room was below them, broken ceiling tiles, pink insulation and regret strewn about your flooring.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #sam wilson #clint barton #platonic #romantic #bucky barnes x female reader #avengers x reader

137 notes · View notes

gaybananabread · 6 months

Note

Hey! Could I get a ATSV fic, with lee!miguel, and ler!peter b, with a side of cherries? Could I also get a receipt? (/j)

Fruit(s): Cherries

Oooooh these two! Tired “old” men club time! I’m gonna be entirely honest, a pic on Pinterest inspired this entire thing. Got an idea and abselutely ran with it aghshrara… YEAh I’m not running off much sleep but eh. Sorry for any characterization goofs; my brain is fighting existence. Thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy!

Lee: Miguel

Lers: Peter B. Parker, brief Mayday

Summary: Peter brings Mayday to the base for the twenty-millionth time, letting her wander around Miguel’s office. Turns out the beefcake is her favorite thing to climb on. When the young spider girl reminds him of one of Miguel’s quirks, Peter makes sure the grumpy old man has a laugh.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

If there was one thing Peter did that got on Miguel’s nerves, it was when he let his kid wander everywhere like she owned the place. He had already made sure it was fine for him to bring the toddler around, but the solemn man never could’ve predicted just how often that would be. As in, he never saw the middle-aged spider without a baby carrier strapped to his chest.

Besides the obvious safety hazards, it tugged at Miguel’s heart strings to see the little girl running around. She was so happy, so care-free, so full of life… He couldn’t help but reminisce. For anyone who doesn’t know Miguel, let me explain: when he reminisced, he was a grumpy, angsty bastard.

That day was one of many where Peter brought Mayday to the base, the red-headed toddler zipping and twipping around Miguel’s office. The boisterous father greeted Miguel, a wide smile on his face as he showed Miguel many repetitive pictures of the kid that was literally two feet away from him. Still, he managed to bite his tongue, only looking down at the phone with an unamused frown.

“Oh, oh, you’ve gotta see this one; she’s so focused! I knew she’d love those- uh… Miguel, c’mon. You look like I’m holding you at gunpoint to watch paint dry.”

Peter lowered the phone, his hand moving to rest on his hip as he viewed Miguel’s tired face. He just scoffed, giving Peter a look that said “I’m so done with you” to the max. “Peter, the kid is right there. I don’t need the digital scrapbook experience.”

Mayday chose that moment to swing over to the two men, landing on Miguel’s shoulder and swinging her tiny feet. His heart both filled and squeezed at the sweet action.

Rolling his eyes, Peter put his phone completely away. Scrapbook… He’d have to remember that one, even if it was just sarcasm.

“I’m not asking you to jump for joy at every photo. Just crack a smile or two, ya grump!” He tried poking Miguel’s side, only to get his wrist snatched and a deathly glare shot at him. Peter quickly retracted his hand, holding both up in surrender. Mayday giggled at the silly exchange, her beanie sliding as she wiggled about.

The toddler used her powers to stick to Miguel, crawling across him because she could; toddler logic doesn’t need to make sense. She was just having fun! The tot shivered, the cool air of the office sending goosebumps across her skin. Mayday grabbed onto his side, snuggling into the warm crook of his arm.

Miguel huffed when he felt the small girl on his side, trying not to smile as he grabbed for her. She whined, using her powers to stay stuck on him. Not wanting to hurt Mayday, he sighed and turned back to Peter. He motioned towards his side, a restrained look on his face. “Little help here?”

Peter chuckled, seeing his daughter snuggle up to Miguel. “Nah, you seem all good. She’s just snuggling with you, what’s up?”

He glared at his friend, though there wasn’t much he could say. There was no way he was gonna admit that her small hands were tickling him; Peter would never let him live it down. He scowled, instead choosing the “be an asshole” route. “I don’t want your kid climbing on me. You have a baby carrier for a reason; use it.”

Seriously? Peter rolled his eyes, looking at his daughter. She seemed so peaceful, all cozy against Miguel’s side; he felt bad moving her. Still, he had to respect Miguel’s wishes, even if they were cruel. “Fine, fine! Don’t get your fangs in a twist…”

Walking over to the grumpy spider-man, Peter reached out to grab his daughter. She whined, clinging tighter to Miguel’s side and nuzzling her fuzzy head against his ribs.

A short huff escaped the stoic man, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. He squirmed, finally grabbing onto the small child and trying to tug her off. “Maldita sea- Peter, grab her!”

“Hey, language!” His voice sounded…giddy? What was…oh. Mayday was tickling him. She was grabbing his side and brushing his ribs. “Awwww, Miggy! Is little Mayday-”

“Don’t.” Miguel gave Peter the fiercest glare he could manage, though it was put off by the ghost of a smile on his lips. There was no way in hell Peter was gonna back off after that.

Shooting forwards, Peter grabbed Miguel’s arrm, shooting a web up and restraining it. The big man would’ve thrashed and reversed their positions, but he didn’t want to risk hurting Mayday; he was pretty much screwed.

Peter wasted no time; if Miguel gained his footing, Peter was so done for. The man grabbed Miguel’s side, spidering his fingers against Miguel’s stomach. The man bit his lip, trying both to keep Mayday secure and hold in his giggles at the same time.

“P-Peter, I swehear- GYAH!” Miguel jolted as he felt a squeeze to his hip, almost dropping his hold on Mayday. Peter smirked, leaning forwards and continuing to mess with Miguel’s hips. “Oh, sorry Miguel. Did that tickle~?”

That little… Peter was so dead when he got out of that. Much to his dismay, he could feel a red hue burning on his cheeks as he laughed. “PEHETER! IHI’M GONNA- MIERDA!” Trying to keep a steady hold on Mauday while having his hips squeezed was a lot harder than he thought it would be…

“Miguel, c’mon. There’s a kid right here, watch your mouth.” Peter was only half-faking his exasperation. True, he was kinda being a jerk, but Mayday didn’t need to learn how to cuss in any more languages.

Mayday giggled, feeling Miguel’s chest shake as he laughed. She was used to her dad being silly, but Miguel? Never, ever had she heard him laugh like that. Wanting to join in on the fun, she copied her dad, squeezing and scribbling on his ribs.

While there was barely any pressure, her tiny hands still tickled. Miguel jerked, losing his grip on the girl in surprise. Mayday wasn’t even phased; she just hung on with her powers, Mayday giggled at his squirming, thoroughly enjoying herself in the silliness.

Peter kept watch of his daughter in the corner of his eye, making sure she wouldn’t fall. Miguel probably wouldn’t kill him. It was all in good fun, and he neecded a laugh anyway. Sure, his revenge would be…interesting, but it was worth it.

“Wow, look how red you are! I thought Miles was resident tomato face, but looks like you’re givin’ him a run for his money~” Peter continued to tease his friend, knowing his comments would get to the man. It was too easy to tease Miguel like this; later was what most people worried about. Peter had no fears, though; Miguel wouldn’t kill him…probably.

“SHUHUT UHUP!” Miguel twisted and tugged at the webs, nearly breaking through them. He could only take so much of the other man’s silliness. “PEHEHETER! GEHET OHOFF MEHEHE!”

While he could tell Miguel was getting sick of him, Peter wasn’t quite ready to stop. The blush on Miguel’s face was quite endearing, only egging the father on. True, he couldn’t control it, but eh. “I think I just got a new favorite color! Miguel’s-blush red~”

The angsty spider growled through his laughter, already plotting his revenge in his head. Mayday laughed, deciding she’d played around enough for one day. The girl climbed off of Miguel, using her small webshooter to sit on a ledge and watch the goofy old men interact.

The moment Mayday was safely off him, Miguel turned the tables. He yanked his wrist free from the webbing, grabbing Peter and pinning him to the wall. It was almost scary how fast that man could recover… Peter went to make a joke, though it died in his throat. “Hey, at least…buy me…ehe. Uh, truce?” He gulped, looking at Miguel’s smirk and determined eyes. Eugh boi… Still blushing, though.

“Es hora de morir, Peter~” Before Peter could protest any further, Miguel dug his claws into the man’s stomach, squeezing and scratching the squishy flesh. Peter shrieked, not at all prepared for his due penance.

Mayday watched as they messed around, giggling and tilting her head. She had grabbed her dad’s discarded robe, snuggling up into it and getting warm. Those two would likely be at it for a while, and she was more than happy to watch the two laugh. Silly boys…

#kasey's fruit shop #atsv tickle #lee!miguel #ler!peter b #ticklish!miguel #sfw tickling community #tickle fic #tickle #fruit shop event #across the spiderverse tickle #ler!peter #ler!mayday #across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv miguel #atsv peter b parker #atsv mayday

71 notes · View notes

zyonsay · 6 months

Note

Hi i’m the one who made the long request (sorry if it was too long).

if you still want to write it the reader’s job is the same, but the request is lando x male reader (smut) where the reader receives an award (oscar or grammy you can choose) and they come home partying in their way

thank you so much and sorry again if the previous request was too long :)

Viva Valentino Baby! LN4

Fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!

Summary: You and Lando celebrate

Reader: Male

Warnings: Smut, Pet name: Star/Baby

Now playing: 'West Coast' by Lana del Rey

AN: Hey love! Im sorry for taking so long! I hope you like it :] Also i just figured out how to nicely put pictures into a post and i'll be re-formatting all my fics later, wish me luck! (Nvm i fucked up, does anybody know how tf to do that?)

“And the grammy for Album of the year goes to…”, the man looked around the crowd while slowly unfolding the envelope in his hands. The ten nominees anxiously looked around, amidst them were you, gripping onto the edge of your seat. Your nails basically dug into the cushioning.

“Y/n with the album ‘Viva Valentino’!”, your heart stopped. The masses of people around you turned their heads to look at you. It all became a blurry mess but a hand on your thigh pulled you out of your haze. To your right was your boyfriend Lando, who was cheering and pumping his fist in the air. He pulled you into a quick kiss before motioning you to go on stage. You smiled at him before hurrying to collect your award. What you didn’t see was that Lando’s eyes had tears of joy in them. He clasped his hands together and smiled while watching your award being laid into your hands. Quickly patting the pockets of his pants, he fished out his phone to take pictures or a video. With tears welling in your eyes, you approached the microphone. “This is crazy.”, your eyes danced across the crowd. Loud cheering erupted and the giant LED screens behind you displayed various pictures of you from concerts and your latest tour. “I thank each and every artist on this planet.”, once again the masses of people interrupted your speech with clapping and cheering. A sweet laugh escaped your throat as the tears finally left your eyes. “Thank you all for keeping art alive!”, you held your grammy skywards and now the cheering got more intense and roamed through the whole crowd.

The celebrations took longer than expected, but here you were. Straddling Lando in his 765LT Spider who was already parked in the garage. The atmosphere was burning and the only sounds ringing through the car were occasional whimpers and heavy breaths. His hands laid firmly atop your hips as he gently grinded up into you. With a few gasps in between kisses you sucked sweet blackberry hickeys onto his neck.

“Baby let’s get inside. The car’s a bit small for this.”, you could feel the grin in his voice. With a soft hum you slid back to the passenger’s side. Once you and your boyfriend had exited the car he put a hand on your hip and pulled you inside the house. Lando was known for his short patience, he didn’t want to walk all the way to the bedroom. As if.

He made quick work of his shirt and pants, leaving him in his navy boxers. Tossing them aside he pushed you onto the couch. Kneeling before you he fiddled with your belt while gazing up at you. “Take that shirt off.” A warm sensation ran over your skin as you threw your dress shirt over the backrest of the designer couch Lando had bought earlier this year. Maybe it was champagne or maybe it was the dim light, but his eyes looked like they were glowing. His pupils were blown out but there was still a beautiful green ring around them. His hands ran over your now bare legs while he tugged your briefs aside, revealing your already leaking member.

With gentle hands he slowly stroked it, earning a groan from you. “I’ll spoil you today, my star”, he licked a long stripe from the base of your cock to the tip and licked away the salty pearl of precum. With a heaving chest and trembling hands, you brought a hand to his hair, tangling your fingers with his soft curls. “Don’t tease me Lan”, your voice was quiet, but dangerous. He let out a light chuckle before taking centimeter by centimeter into his mouth. He gagged lightly as it hit the back of his throat. A light tug at his hair motivated him to begin moving. With a fairly slow pace he bobbed up and down the length of your cock. He ran his tongue along the veins and gripped onto your thighs with both hands. With the firmness that he was holding them he’ll for sure leave bruises, but you didn’t mind. The warm feeling in your stomach began stirring and boiling. “Faster”, you tugged on his locks again while you whispered sharply. Lando wasn’t one to deny your order and obeyed with tears pricking in his eyes. The warm feeling spread over your stomach to your back and down your limbs. You gently bucked into Lando’s mouth as he increased his pace. Now all the heat ran up your limbs, over your back and to your stomach- “Swallow.” - and with that, think ropes of creamy cum spurted down Lando’s throat. You held him in place with your hand, making him swallow every last drop. He sighed happily, caressing your thighs with his hand. With a gentle ‘plop’ he released your length. He licked his sweet lips and got up from the floor. In a quick movement he got rid of his, now wet, boxers. Carefully straddling you, he connected his lips to your neck. “Let me take care of you, star.”

#male reader insert #male x male #f1 fanfic #f1 x male reader #male reader #f1 x reader #reader insert #x reader #x male reader #male!reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris #ZyonsRequests #gay

135 notes · View notes