#TWO GOOD THINGS THAT I SHOULD PUT ON A SEPARATE POST???

[werewolfbneimitzvah]

vent post. There are two stories i was told in my teenage years that even before i had a real concept of trans issues made me uninterested in discussing the supposed sacredness and safety of separated sex-based spaces.

First, when i was like 13 or 14 my PE teacher told us about a time she went to a women's public restroom, some guy was hanging out outside the bathrooms, she didn't think anything of it, went to the bathroom, and he walked in after her and like, creeped on her over the top of the stall. She was ok, she wasn't telling us this to scare us, just telling us what to do in situations like that (and iirc she was telling the whole co-ed class this, not just girls, bc it's useful for everyone), but this taught me immediately and forever that there's nothing actually keeping these spaces separate really, that anyone can be a creep in any space, and that establishing a space like that as for women only isn't actually particularly useful for safety.

Second, when i was 16 i was at an anime convention, a friendly acquaintance of mine and i ended up in conversation outside, and he showed me his bare wrist and told me he'd been kicked out. A female friend of his had stepped in dog poop outside, and between that and the stress of the convention she'd had a bit of an emotional breakdown, so being her friend, he started comforting her and ushered her into the women's restroom so they could wash the poop off her shoe together. And because he was a man who went into the women's bathroom, he got kicked out, no matter that he was doing something that was actually beneficial to a woman. Punishing a woman's friend for supporting her was supposed to... protect her somehow? This made it clear to me that a no-exceptions rule separating the sexes like that wasn't actually inherently good for everyone.

And this isn't even getting into me as a child needing to accompany my younger sister to the restroom when we were out with just my dad because she had certain support needs past the age he felt comfortable bringing her into the men's room with him. And what if I'd been born a boy, or she'd been the first born? Who's helping her then?

And of course even putting all this aside, we should always prioritize compassion and support anyway. But i never even needed to meet a trans person to know that "keeping men out of women's bathrooms" is silly nonsense. But trans people also need to pee anyway and as humans they have that right, so leave them the fuck alone. your precious women's restroom is just a fucking room with a door, holy shit give it a fucking rest, if someone is attacking you in the bathroom that's bad and if someone is in there to pee that's good and it doesn't fucking matter what their junk is or was when they were born.

a woman could have done the exact same thing to my PE teacher and it would have also been bad no matter how "supposed" to be in the restroom she was, and no one should ever be punished for helping a crying friend wash their shoe.

Anyway i know I'm speaking to like-minded folks here, i just think about those two stories literally every time bathroom gender shit comes up and it pisses me off.

[maxtermind]

Imagine that the reader, Charles, Lando and Carlos randomly get the idea to go to Costco and try some viral food they saw on TikTok so when they go to buy the product, Charles grabs a separate cart and when the guys ask him why if they are only going to buy one thing, he says that the reader always ends up buying too many things and then has nowhere to put them so Charles is used to carrying an extra cart because he knows his girlfriend is a compulsive shopper.

retail therapy

★ : feat :: charles leclerc x reader ★ : genre :: fluff; crack ★ : word count :: 1.4k ★ : a/n :: i've had this in my drafts for so long. i'm so sorry love, i unfortunately suck and forget to schedule the post. thanks for the fun request <33

You found yourself in the expansive parking lot of a large store on an otherwise ordinary Saturday afternoon, accompanied by Charles, Lando, and Carlos.

The mission? To grab the viral food product that TikTok had unanimously declared a must-try: Shin Ramyun. It was supposed to be a simple in-and-out operation, but Charles had other plans.

”Why'd you grab an extra cart?” Lando asked, one eyebrow raised in confusion as Charles nonchalantly pushed the second cart alongside his own.

”We're only buying one thing,” Carlos chimed in, clearly perplexed.

Charles sighed dramatically, casting a knowing glance at you, who were busily scrolling through your phone to find the exact aisle where the magical ramen resided.

”You guys don't understand,” Charles began, shaking his head as if explaining a basic concept to toddlers before whispering so you wouldn’t catch it. ”Y/N always ends up buying too many things. It's like she has a radar for… unnecessary purchases.”

”Hey!” you protested, looking up from your phone. ”They're not unnecessary. They're uh- useful in unexpected ways!”

”Like the 50-pound bag of gummy bears?” Charles retorted, smirking when he saw your eyes widen. ”Or the industrial-sized jar of pickles you bought last time?”

”They were on sale,” you defended, crossing your arms. ”And you love pickles.”

”I love them in moderation, not in bulk.”

”You take that back, mister!”

Lando and Carlos exchanged amused glances, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth.

”So, what's the plan?” Lando asked, eager to get the show on the road.

”Simple,” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. ”We go in, get the Shin Ramyun, and maybe... just maybe... see if there are any good deals.”

Charles rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. ”And this,” he said, gesturing to the extra cart, ”is why we can't have nice, quick shopping trips.”

You entered the store, greeted by the overwhelming scent of bulk goods and free samples. You navigated through the aisles, Charles dutifully pushing one carts, while Lando and Carlos alternatively pushed the other.

”Okay, the Shin Ramyun should be in aisle 12,” you announced, leading the way. ”But we should definitely check out the electronics section first. You never know when there's a sale.”

”We're here for food,” Charles reminded you, though his tone was more resigned than stern.

”And electronics,” you added cheerfully. ”Come on, it's right this way.”

Lando nudged Carlos, whispering, ”Ten bucks says our bill will be over two grand.”

”Mate, talk around five and you're on,” Carlos replied with a grin.

Sure enough, as you wandered through the electronics section, your eyes lit up at the sight of a massive flat-screen TV on sale.

”Look at this deal!” you exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement. ”We could totally use a new TV.”

The boys behind you just shook their heads and to appease them, you slowly started, ”I’m just saying that the bonus I got last week has got to—”

”You guys have a TV,” Lando snickered.

”Yes, but not this TV,” you said, gesturing dramatically. ”Think about movie nights! Think about the sports games! Think about—”

”Think about where we're going to put it,” Charles interrupted, though he was already losing the battle. The allure of a good deal was strong, even for him. You could see it in his eyes that he was already almost convinced.

”Fine,” you huffed anyway, moving along. ”But we're coming back for it if we have room.”

Lando and Carlos exchanged looks, trying to stifle their laughter.

”You guys are a mess,” Carlos said, shaking his head. ”This is better than Netflix.”

”Just wait until we hit the snack aisle,” Lando added, trying to be discreet but you caught it. ”That's when things get really interesting.” He just gave you a nervous cheeky smile in return as you glared.

As you made your way to aisle 12, you inevitably got distracted by various items along the way. A giant jar of Nutella? In the cart. A set of high-end kitchen knives? In the cart. A year's supply of toilet paper? In the cart.

Charles dutifully followed, pushing the now significantly heavier cart with an air of resigned amusement. ”See?” he said to Lando and Carlos. ”This is why I grabbed an extra cart.”

Finally, you reached the aisle with the viral TikTok food product. There it was, Shin Ramyun, in all its spicy glory, stacked high and tempting.

”Here it is!” you said triumphantly, grabbing several boxes and adding them to the cart. ”Mission accomplished.”

”Can we leave now?” Charles asked, though he already knew the answer.

”Not yet,” you replied, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. ”We need to check out the outdoor section. Summer's coming, and we could use some new patio furniture.”

Charles groaned, but there was no real annoyance in it. He knew this was just how your trips to the store went. Besides, there was something endearing about your enthusiasm for finding deals and stocking up on... well, everything.

As you wandered through the outdoor section, Lando and Carlos tried out various patio chairs and loungers, providing a running commentary that kept everyone entertained. You found a particularly nice set that you insisted would look perfect in your backyard.

”Think of all the barbecues we could have,” you said, looking at Charles with pleading eyes.

Charles sighed, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ”Fine, but this is the last thing. I mean it.”

”Promise,” you said, kissing him lightly while your friends fake gagged in the background.

You made your way to the checkout, carts overflowing with all manner of items. The staff recognized the boys and immediately started asking for photos and signatures as you guys waited for your turn.

That’s when Charles moved around and squeezed,”Gotta run to the toilet, I’ll be back in two?” He leaned down to whisper.

You shrugged and nodded your head, instead discussing Lando's new apartment with him. Failing to notice how Carlos was nowhere in sight either.

The cashier raised an eyebrow but didn't comment as she rang up the seemingly endless stream of products.

She was on the last few products when you heard Lando sigh under his breath and as you turned around, you saw Charles and Carlos carrying the box of the TV that you were eyeing.

Your own eyes widened as you jumped up and down and screamed,”No way, I love you!” Charles just snorted as skipped towards him.

He set the TV down and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug. ”I couldn't resist,” he admitted, his voice soft. ”Your excitement is contagious.”

You beamed up at him, feeling the love and warmth in his embrace. ”You always know how to make me feel loved.”

Charles kissed your forehead, his eyes twinkling. ”Cmon, babe. It’s like breathing for me now”

Lando and Carlos approached, carrying the last few bags and boxes. ”You two are adorable,” Lando teased, nudging Carlos. ”A bit nauseating, but adorable.”

As you left the store, pushing your heavily-laden carts towards the car, Lando and Carlos couldn't help but laugh.

”I owe you ten bucks,” Lando said, nudging Carlos.

Charles wrapping an arm around you. ”What do you think we can do with our old TV?” You smirked before looking over at Lando and Carlos who were loading the car.

”You know the way Lando bought a new apartmen—” Your boyfriend threw his head back and laughed before you could even finish.

”God, baby, I love you! Compulsive shopping and all.”

You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling. ”And I love that you always bring an extra cart. Just in case.”

”So, what's the first thing we do with all this stuff?” Carlos asked, squeezing the last box into the trunk.

”Easy,” you said with a grin. ”We head home and have a fun game session with some Shin Ramyun and a movie on our new TV.”

Lando snickered. ”Sounds like the perfect end to a perfect shopping spree.”

”And if anyone asks,” Charles added with a wink, ”this was all part of the therapy. Sometimes, a little retail indulgence is just what the doctor ordered.”

”Retail therapy,” you said, snuggling into Charles as you drove off. ”It's cheaper than real therapy. Sometimes.”

Charles laughed, kissing the top of your head. ”And way more fun.”

(grid masterlist \ masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[recovering-dungeon-lord]

The first time I read Dungeon Meshi I was like “I love all these characters but Mithrun is hands down my favorite, it’s been a long time since I went this feral for a fictional character.” And like. That’s still true. I still absolutely adore Mithrun and he’s extremely important to me and his character arc is so beautiful and also I want to kiss him. BUT.

I’m not gonna lie, the way that like 85% of western fans either ignore Toshiro or straight up dislike him is turning me into a Shuro stan from the sheer injustice of it all.

He should get more love. He’s wonderful. It’s a little tricky to get a read on him initially but once you learn more about him he’s such an interesting character with so much going on under the surface. He seems like the stereotypical Stoic Eastern Warrior type, but it’s only because he’s using that stoicism to hide his shyness and uncertainty and fear of doing or saying the wrong thing. (And honestly, if you really thought Ryoko Kui of all people would write such a flat stereotype of a character you haven’t been paying attention). By the end of the series it’s shown that despite his issues Toshiro is a good and kind person beneath the impassive noble facade he’s been taught to put up his whole life.

And! He’s such a perfect character foil for Laios! Because they both struggle socially (personally I think Toshiro is also autistic, like Laios, but I’ll probably make a separate post abt that bc this one is already getting long), but in ways that contrast each other. This brings them into conflict when at their core they both crave the same thing: a deep connection with their peers that they’ve struggled to find their entire lives. They’re two sides of the same coin, at opposite ends of the spectrum of outward responses to a very similar internal experience. It’s really well done, as is, like, every character/relationship in DM.

Anyway if no one else is gonna ride or die for Nakamoto Toshiro then I will, god damn. I have to do everything myself around here.

[seancekitsch]

Hazbin Hotel—Lucifer x Reader where he’s a love struck fool for reader? May or may not be inspired by that little imagine you posted not too long ago \(//∇//)\

uhhh this kinda got away from me. enjoy!!

You’d have to be a fool not to notice how the King of Hell acts around you, even Angel and Husk told you that. But you’re not blinded to situation, you know exactly what’s going on. You rest your elbow on the bar next to Angel as Charlie gathers the hotel residents and staff, a job not unlike herding cats. Everyone trickles in slowly, waiting for the next odd trust bond activity Charlie has come up with now. Last week was heartfelt letter writing, and the three of you at the bar had not taken it seriously. You handed Husk a comedic inner monologue about how much you needed to pee, Husk handed Angel a surprisingly detailed made up story about a talking whisky bottle, and Angel handed you a list of what roles he’d cast the entire hotel in a porno.

“What do you think they’ll have us do this time?” Husk mumbles to you, topping off your drink.

“Honestly, not a fan of the way Princess is smiling right now,” you answer.

Charlie waves everyone over, and Vaggie smiles uncomfortably, ready for everyone to start.

“Okay Good Afternoon,” Charlie starts, practically bouncing, “Today we’re going to try to form new bonds!”

Immediately, she’s met with groaning and mumbling, but thats never stopped her and it won’t today either.

“So what better way to do that then having a buddy for the next twenty four hours!” She shouts, and Vaggie’s face immediately makes sense.

“I’ve separated everyone from their regular group so they can build these bonds and be open!”

“…got something you could open…” you hear Angel mumble under his breath.

Charlie gives her dad a thumbs up.

“The first pairing is… my dad and Y/n!”

The Morningstar family sucks at being subtle or lying.

“So what did you have planned for the day?” Lucifer asks while sitting beside you, his voice short and clipped, his entire demeanor like he’s on high alert. It’s cute, really.

“Ah don’t worry about it,” you shrug, “What does the areat King of Hell do with his day?”

Lucifer rubs his neck, fidgeting under your question.

“It’s not… Its not actually all that interesting,” he admits, “You’ve probably got something cooler going on.”

There’s something he’s avoiding besides your gaze, but you don’t press the issue.

You look across the lobby to Angel, who pauses his conversation with Vaggie to mouth something that looked like the word “fart” to you, and then wink.

Your art gallery. Right.

“Have you ever been to Pentagram City’s biggest art gallery?” you ask him.

Lucifer is a gentleman. You understand how he stole the first man’s first two wives from him. Sure, he’s stumbling and stuttering and a nervous wreck, but he’s holding doors open for you and asking about your thoughts and feelings about the pieces on display, he’s accidentally on purpose almost held your hand three times now. Next time he does it, you’re just going to grab his damn hand.

You stare at the sculpture in front of you, noting that you should have someone move this to a different room. In fact, there’s a few things you’ve noticed while showing Lucifer the art that you should have moved around. Maybe you’ve been neglecting the gallery a bit more than you thought now that you live at the hotel.

“Hey, Can I ask you about these?” Lucifer’s voice booms from the next room over. Sighing, you type a quick note into your V-Phone and turn.

Oh shit.

Lucifer found THAT room.

You cross the threshold into the room you never go into, the room with your own work. Honestly, it’s not even curated the way the other rooms and floors are. This is where you put anything that you think can leave your studio. He’s in front of one of your biggest paintings, and one of your newest. It’s an abstract piece about your feelings about redemption, about your past sins, about adjusting to the hotel. Which it sounds stupid when you put it like that, but it made sense in the moment and you’re proud of it.

He turns and smiles before looking back at the painting.

“Is the uh, is the artist willing to sell this piece?” he asks, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning red.

Now it’s your turn to get nervous. You’ve never actually sold any of your own pieces before.

“I uh- I’m not gonna sell it to you,” you tell him, “You can have it.”

It would be weird to take money from Lucifer, even if he is offering. You like him a decent amount and a transaction between the two of you would make it weird. It would feel like you owe him, even though your art would technically satisfy that. If he was one of the Vees or someone you dislike, you would have immediately taken money.

“But the artist-“

“Me,” you clarify, and you finally remember you don’t tag your own art. Lucifer’s jaw drops at your admission.

“I’d really like to support your work, it’s magnificent,” Lucifer insists, and you feel your cheeks burning. He turns to gesture to another piece, and his knuckles brush your own.

Fuck it. You told yourself you’d do it. You grab Lucifer’s hand in your own, a bold move.

“Just think about it as a gift,” you tell him, “A thank you for the lovely day we’ve had.”

You inwardly cringe, knowing that when you recount today at the lobby bar your drinking buddies are going to tear you a new one for that corny line. But it fits for Lucifer; he’s bringing out a side of you that you really haven’t seen in a while.

“Thank you uh, gorgeous,” he tacks on the pet name like even he isn’t sure about it, and with his hand still in yours, attempts to lean against a sculpture, stumbling as he misses it and bringing you along with him. He tugs you by the arm, jerking you closer to him. He’s majorly out of practice.

“I have a studio upstairs if you want to see more?” you offer, not really sure if you thought that through.

“More art? Absolutely!” He recovers quickly, enthusiasm dripping from his voice.

You smile as you pull him towards the hallway, butterflies in your stomach as it dawns on you that he’s going to be the only person besides you to see the studio.

You and Lucifer end up staying there until Charlie calls him the next morning.

You notice paint on his chin after you get back to the hotel.

[withloveajaxx]

forgetting your wallet

𓂅 genre: childe, diluc, zhongli, xiao x gn! reader

𓂅 warnings: none

𓂅 summary: how they react when you go shopping and tell then you forgot your wallet

𓂅 note: eyyy it's rich boys ft. zhongli n xiao 😎 anyways as you can see below,,, there's going to be other version of this fic featuring different fandoms/characters i've been thinking about writing for for a while now!! i hope it won't be weird seeing me post something other than genshin content 💀 if you think i should make separate blogs for separate fandoms just lmk hehe. ALSO!! got inspo from those couple vids of "telling my bf i forgot my wallet" trend on tiktok :"D. OKAY ENOUGH OF MY RAMBLING PLS ENJOY THIS FIC N HAVE A GREAT DAY MWAH 🫶

[VALORANT VER.] [HAIKYUU!! VER.]

CHILDE

literally offended™️ like what? what do you mean you expected him to let you pay for shit?

the moment you enter a clothing store, he's looking at you with a completely lovesick gaze, watching as you scan through the various clothing items.

willingly holds the shopping basket for you as you pick out an item or two, turning them to check their prices.

he sees you reach in your bag, eventually frowning and putting the items back. he's confused at first, catching your wrist before you can hang the clothes back on the rack.

"why're you putting them back? they'd look so good on you," he comments, a puzzled frown making its way to his face.

"i forgot my wallet," you admit sheepishly, giving him a bashful smile. "it's fine though. i'll come back and–"

"you expected me to let you pay?" he asks in disbelief, jaw comically dropping to the floor. you don't even get the chance to get a word in before he's snatching those clothes for you and stuffing them in the basket.

"you're unbelievable." he scoffs in an exaggerated and lighthearted manner before gesturing to the rest of the store with a nod of his head. "just get whatever you want, babe. don't worry about anything."

"are you sure?" you ask doubtfully, looking around the rest of the store with a barely concealed look of desire.

"mhm. go wild." childe chuckles, pecking your forehead and nodding in response. the blinding smile and little fashion show you gave him afterwards was all he would have ever asked for in return.

DILUC

poor man is so confused when you start putting the things in your shopping cart back on the shelves :((

he was so entertained seeing you grab all the goodies you wanted and dumping them into the cart.

he's looking at you with concern when you stop in the middle of the aisle to check your bag, a growing frown on your face as your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"what's wrong darling?" he asks, placing a hand on the small of your back to give you some reassurance. "are you looking for something?"

"my wallet..." you sighs and close your bag, looking at the mountain of stuff in your cart with a disappointed pout. "i forgot it somewhere at home."

he's frozen in both confusion and shock when you slowly start returning items to their rightful places on the shelves. "i'll just get them some other time, i guess."

now it's diluc's turn to furrow his brows. he's literally right in front of you???? he can and will pay for anything???

"oh, darling," he coos gently, placing whatever he could recall you getting back into the cart. "i can pay for it. you don't need to worry about such things."

"thank you diluc," you smile, standing on your toes to place a grateful kiss to his cheek. "i promise i'll repay you some time."

"no need, dearest." he sends you a smile that has your heart squeezing almost painfully in adoration for the man before you. "you're happiness is all that matters."

ZHONGLI

okay i know this man doesn't have much money, but i can pretty much guarantee you that you're getting whatever you lay your eyes on.

you're looking through a small trinkets kiosk with some of the cutest accessories you've ever seen.

zhongli admires the trinkets along with you, smiling as you pick up some pieces of jewelry to try them on.

"that looks wonderful on you, dear," he compliments you fondly, admiring how exquisite a particular bracelet looked on your wrist.

thankfully, the bracelet wasn't made out of any expensive materials so it was rather affordable, and you could easily get it for yourself.

however, as you rummage your bag for your wallet, it's unfortunately nowhere to be found.

zhongli, ever the observant, already noticed the troubled look on your face. he's connected the dots by now so this man is bringing out his own wallet. "let me, my love." he starts looking through his wallet for some spare coins and any bills he can find.

you grab onto his coat sleeve in an attempt to stop him from paying on your behalf. "zhongli, i can't let you–" he's already handed a stack of coins and a single bill in payment before you can even finish your sentence.

"nonsense, dear." he pats the bracelet on your wrist. "it's my pleasure to buy something that looks simply stunning on you."

he brings your hand up to his lips to kiss it lovingly before linking your arms together once more. "if there is anything else that catches your eye, do let me pay for it. it would be my greatest honor to spoil you."

XIAO

he's far less lovey-dovey and physically affectionate compared to the other men mentioned above, but rest assured he'll get whatever you want <3

he doesn't really like being in a crowded space with tons of people, so when you go shopping he's more quiet.

of course he's helping you by carrying the basket and giving you his opinions when you ask for it, but that's about all he does.

he's still as observant as ever though, so when he sees you putting the stuff you wanted back in their places with an upset expression, he knows something's off.

"why're you putting them back?" he asks, brows furrowing in slight confusion.

"i don't have money to pay for it right now. i left my wallet somewhere," you explain sadly, putting the last of your items on the shelf.

he simply hums in understanding before going back to being quiet. he doesn't immediately do something but you'll see how much he loves you later on.

"why don't you go back to the car?" he hands you the keys, and gestures to the basket filled with the rest of the stuff he's getting for himself. "maybe your wallet's in there. you go look while i pay for my stuff."

you agree and by the time you've searched all over the car, xiao is back with numerous bags. you were still upset about your wallet so you didn't get to notice the oddly numerous amount of bags before hopping into the car and letting xiao drive you both home.

however when you get home, he hands you literally everything you were eyeing, his expression soft. "i can pay for stuff. don't be afraid to ask me. i can't say no to you," he reminds you, the tip of his ears blushing red at both his admission and the happy smile you give him that makes his heart pound in affection.

© withloveajaxx 2022. please do not copy, plagarize, or translate in any way.

[deadbeat-motel]

ᐯᗩGGIE ᗩᑎᗪ ᑕᕼᗩᖇᒪIE ᖇEᗪEᔕIGᑎ

These two are simpler than the angel dust design I did since I didn't have a lot to go off of. Posted on Valentine's Day because yes I can.

I don't think Charlie is significantly different from her Pilot design because I genuinely think it was the best design from the cast (before the redesign).

Thoughts below, though TW for the creepy charlie image at the end:

My issues with their Original designs:

Vaggie:

The giant "X" over her eye is really distracting and even world-breaking because

1. Why had no one put 2 and 2 together that the only character in Hell who has a visible 'X' mark on her face might be related to the angels who also sport that X mark on their faces.

2. Why is it shaped like an X? Her eye was taken out via a single slash.

3. If the hair's purpose was to cover it, why would it show through it? What's the point of the hair then?

The hair that was supposed to cover that wounded eye looked so ugly and confused as to what it should be doing. I mean every shot that showed that thing in a sideview shot of Vaggie felt like the animators had to make their own guesses as to how that was supposed to look like. It was distracting for me personally and I hated it so much.

It's been said over and over again, but her clothes look like she works at McDonalds. I get needing to change her outfit so that she looks like she works at the hotel, but it's just been poorly designed.

Why change her clothes' colors from white to red? the white helped her stand out from Hell and the Hotel's majority red background. (In the finale, she at least has a non-red attire)

She's also one of the very few women in HH and she falls under the skinny stick side of it despite being an angel exterminator.

Her hair is kind of hard to visualize looking at in any way other than what it is when it's static. However, when it changed into a ponytail or a bob, it's actually really nice to look at.

Unsure of what that bow's purpose is for the design.

Charlie:

Charlie is a simple but very confused design. The pilot design was a lot more coherent than the current show design

It's disappointing to see the bouncy Pilot hair go and be replaced by that boring bubble braid of all things.

Her undershirt peaks out of her tuxedo.... why???? to separate the top jacket and the pants? You wouldn't need to do that if her pants were a different color like the pilot design.

Thought about it and was confused, as a demon with an angelic father, why didn't she have wings as well? She didn't need the 6 wings like Lucifer but maybe a pair of one would appear?

Out of all the characters for the show's redesign, Her's was by far the MOST infuriating to me. Her pilot design wasn't perfect but it was good, they had to downgrade her for some reason.

I didn't have much to say about Charlie. it basically sums up to "the Pilot design was better".

On to the thought process for these two:

Valerie the fallen:

Yes, she got a rename. Sue me.

I had to remove the moth aspect of her design because it doesn't seem like it makes sense for a heaven-born to follow the sinner's rule of "gaining features based on the life you lived" since she basically never lived right?

In this redesign (and eventual rewrite), Valerie is not ashamed of her exterminator background. In fact, she was known as the most recent "fallen" in hell. her short stature doesn't make her less of a threat to the demons.

She's also visually thick with muscle because why not let one of the show's women have a body type that isn't stick-thin?

She's using the wings that were torn off of her as both an interesting article of clothing and as a way to remind others and her that she is (or more accurately 'was') an angel who could kill them if she wanted to.

Her clothes are pure black underneath the pale feathers to show that while she is an "angel", deep down, she is far from a good person.

She's also getting an actual skin color because from what I gathered myself from the show's heaven. Most of the souls there still retain a human appearance (Adam, Lute, St. Peter, and the other random human angels up there still look human..... but just don't mind the fact that most of them are white.)

Her hair is that ponytail she had in the finale because as much as I didn't like that episode, some designs looked actually decent.

Also, her hair actually covers the eye scar properly.

I wanted to keep her ribbon as a splash of brightness on her design but the OG ribbon looks a little out of place on a warrior so It became that (Plus it pays homage to her OG moth influence with its shape looking like the fluffy antennas of the moth)

Gave the spearhead a little bit of detail on it plus a chipped side so that it has a bit of charm as an old weapon she still decides to keep around.

A note about Valerie's design is that I haven't tackled the armor of angels yet so I was unsure of what pieces of the undesigned armor to give Valerie as of now.

Charlie:

I honestly actually enjoyed her Pilot hair, so I tried to put it back and also simplify it a bit so there are not a lot of strands for me to keep track of. Plus it was a genuinely cute design for her. (There's a reason that version was used in the Verbalase video.) <- I'M JOKING

Replaced her button nose with a goat's because a friend has commented how it looked like the noses of the women in a Goofy Movie and I will never be able to unsee that.

Her hair is also a lot brighter compared to her washed-out blonde color.

She has the same design thought process as Valerie, Covering the darkness of her true nature with white fluffy fur which is stylized like feathers at its ends. She has pitch-black skin underneath and looks like a proper nightmarish demon like the image below.

I ditched the tuxedo look, since almost all the cast has a similar outfit already, and gave her a jumpersuit instead. (Idk what it's really called but that's what I think it is). It's a light grey because she's a mix of bad and good (though a bright grey because she prefers to be on the good side)

Her horns are there and visible because yeah it's cute but also helps her read as the half-angel/half-demon character she is.

Tiny goat tail because can you imagine every time Valerie holds the rare angel smile of approval, her tail is visibly wagging in glee and excitement???? My heart would die. I love these lesbians with my life.

Has wings from her father.

Anyways, those are my thoughts and redesigns... I wanted to add more details to them but I didn't really know what to add that didn't feel unnecessary.

Also bonus! Concept art of Charlie's true form:

[joonie-beanie]

Side-Gig | [Peter B. Parker x Reader]

Pairing: Peter B. Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter gets worried about your apparent “side-gig” and goes snooping, only to discover your side-gig is writing Spiderman smut on commission.

Contents: Fluff, Smut, Consensual Sex, Pussy Eating, Banter, Friends to Lovers???

Author’s Note: I swore off posting fics on tumblr, but since this is just a one-shot, I figured why not. I think Peter B is charming, had to write a lil smth smth for him. And by that, I mean a 7.1k wordcount fic.

You and Peter Parker are friends. Not best friends, but pretty good friends. 

You like to say you’ve looked out for each other over the years. You don’t talk all the time, but it’s kind of an unspoken promise that when one of you needs someone to lean on, the other person will be there.

Which is why, when Peter and MJ separate, you make a point of inviting Peter over for meals. 

At first, he turns you down every time you ask, and you know it’s because he’s wallowing—depressed about his situation. And that’s understandable. You can’t exactly say you know what he’s feeling, but if you put yourself in his shoes, you’re sure you’d be a little bit fucked up about everything too.

Therefore, you give him a little space—wait for things to settle and for Peter to come around. 

Except, Peter takes it all way worse than you expect—going radio silent after your third invite in two months. Then, you really start to get worried (and also a little mad that he’s ghosting you).

So, you manage to scrounge up his new address using some internet-sleuthing skills, and show up at his door. When he opens it, he’s dressed in a greasy wife-beater, worn-out gray sweats, and white socks with a hole in the toe.

“Jesus Christ, Peter.”

You spend that evening scolding Peter and letting him cry it all out—handing him tissue after tissue as he blubbers about everything on his mind. When he’s finally done, he apologizes for ignoring your last call, and thanks you for looking out for him.

With a smile, you assure him you’ll always have his back, and that now he really has to come over for dinner, because he owes you.

Laughing, Peter agrees. And luckily, he sticks to his word.

Since then, you and Peter make a point of doing dinner twice a month—typically at your place, sometimes out at a restaurant, but never at Peter’s. Not until he deep cleans his messy apartment, and you know that won’t be happening anytime soon.

Tonight, you’re at a restaurant of your choice—a local Italian joint. Peter arrives late, per normal, and you wave him over when you see him walk in the front door. He immediately spots you and hurries over, his eyes darting to the plate of bruschetta you’d ordered for the table, that now only has two pieces left.

“Aw, that’s not fair,” he says, sliding into the booth across from you. He immediately reaches for one, shoving it into his mouth. You shrug, not sorry.

“That’s what you get for always being late. And if I waited for you, I’d be hangry by now. So really, you should be thanking me.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter says with a roll of his eyes, picking up the menu to see what it is he wants. 

“So, how have you been? I know we just saw each other two weeks ago, but—how’s work?”

You sigh at Peter’s question, resting your chin against your palm.

“Fine, I guess. Work is cutting hours since things are slow right now, so I’m gonna be pretty strapped for cash the next month or two.”

Peter blinks at your response, staring at you over the edge of the menu.

“Should we be here then? We could just get the check now and go down the street to the bodega—”

“No—no, it’s fine,” you reassure him, taking a sip from your glass. From the look of it, Peter can tell the glass is filled with rum and coke—your simple, yet timeless go-to. 

“This is kind of my last hurrah, y’know? Gotta get one last plate of carbonara in before I’m eating ramen and eggs for the next few months.”

“I dunno about that,” Peter responds. “Eggs are pretty expensive now—you might have to settle for canned tuna.”

You roll your eyes at him, yet can’t help the little giggle that escapes you.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know,” he says with a smile.

The waitress wanders back over, and you and Peter put in your orders. Peter also opts to get a drink (after all, if you’re drinking, why shouldn’t he), and a few minutes later, a cosmopolitan is placed onto the table in front of him.

You watch him with a wide smile as he picks up the girly drink and takes a long sip—his pinky sticking out and everything.

“You and your love of sweet drinks,” you say, swirling around the ice in your half-empty glass. Peter hums happily.

“Listen, this is way better than beer.”

Honestly, you can’t disagree.

“So,” he continues, picking up the previous topic. “Are you gonna be okay? Money-wise?”

It’s not like he has much help to offer. Being a masked vigilante doesn’t pay very well, after all, but still.

“Yeah,” you assure him. “I have a side-gig that brings in a little cash-flow, so that’ll help cushion the blow. But I think I should still be able to afford rent and some groceries. I’ll just have to budget better, y’know?”

Peter nods. “Oh, okay. Good—,” but then his brain repeats the phrase “side-gig”, and his words cut off.

“Wait, what kind of side-gig are we talking about here?”

Despite how long the two of you have known each other, Peter has never heard anything about any kind of “side-gig”. It’s a little concerning, honestly, since the two of you don’t really keep secrets from each other.

Although it’s not like you know he’s Spiderman.

“Yeah. It’s nothing illegal, I promise,” you tell him, your attitude remaining pleasant. Peter stares at you, waiting for you to say more, but your smile only grows wider.

“Not telling,” you say, laughing quietly to yourself when Peter huffs in annoyance and grabs his drink. “You’ll just have to trust me. I’d never do anything illegal—you know me.”

“I dunno,” he responds, a playful lilt in his tone. “In college I seem to remember you stealing soft drinks from the mess hall without paying—”

“Oh c’mon,” you shoot back, and Peter grins, knowing you hate when he brings that up. “We were already paying to go to classes! Why should I pay 3 dollars for a cup of watered down coke?!”

Peter laughs as you go on a mini tangent about how college is a ripoff—ordering both you and him two more drinks when your waitress stops in to check on your table.

After a short while, your food comes out, and the two of you catch up over the hot meal. Conversation flows like normal—touching on any other life updates, and also local news topics, and things of the like. 

At your insistence, Peter splits a tiramisu with you to close out the evening, and by the time the dessert is gone, Peter thinks he may explode.

“Ugh, why did I let you talk me into that?” Peter groans, curling over and holding his stomach as you fetch enough cash from his wallet to cover half the bill.

“Well, if you were smart like me, you would have kept half of your entree to take home with you for later, and then you would have had enough room left for dessert. Which, by the way, is too good to waste—so don’t puke it up.”

Your waitress swings by to grab the bill, and you assure her it’s all set—passing her the small stack of money taken from both your and Peter’s wallets. She thanks you with a smile, and then scurries away, leaving the two of you alone.

You reach over the table, patting Peter’s shoulder.

“You’ll be fine. Your stomachs gotten bigger, after all.”

“Hey—,” Peter frowns, lifting his head. You’re already grabbing your purse and takeout box—sliding out of the booth. He quickly follows after you.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No,” you respond, holding the door open for him as the two of you step out into the cool New York air. “You’re actually still surprisingly in-shape for someone whose diet consists of pizza and frozen meals. But, that being said, you can’t deny you’ve put on a few pounds.”

Peter places a hand on his stomach.

“Remind me again why you’re so mean to me?”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound getting lost in the crowd around you.

“You just make it too easy,” you admit, grinning up at him. Despite himself, Peter smiles back.

Being the gentleman that he is, Peter fully intends to escort you back to the doorstep of your apartment building, but—

His spidey senses tingle, and he can tell something is off. 

“Hey, um,” Peter grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Before your brain can even catch up, he’s yanking you into a quick hug, and then backpedaling towards the alleyway the two of you had just passed.

“Sorry, I just remembered there’s something I have to do. It was nice seeing you! Let’s touch base soon!”

He’s gone before you can even get a word out, disappearing around the corner. You stare after him for a moment, befuddled, and then continue on your way with a sigh. 

Same ‘ol Peter.

Exactly one hour later, Peter collapses in a pile of trash—his lungs heaving, and body aching. The fight itself hadn’t been that hard—just a few wannabe criminals with deadlier than normal weapons. 

No, the real challenge had been not barfing up his dinner while doing acrobatics across the city.

And maybe laying in a pile of trash to take a breather isn’t exactly helping his current predicament, but fuck—he doesn’t have the energy to move right now

Spreading out his limbs, Peter stares up at the smog-coated night sky, his mind wandering. He thinks about a lot of things—all the villains he’s fought in his time as Spiderman, the people who have come in and out of his life during it all, including you. You…who apparently has a “side-gig”.

…but like, what kind of side-gig?

Peter groans, knowing he won’t be able to let this go. 

You can’t just drop the knowledge that you have a secret side-gig on him and then not tell him what it is! 

And if you’re insistent on keeping it a secret, it must be something bad, right? RIGHT??

“Goddammit,” he grumbles, picking himself up. He swings off into the night, his mind reeling.

Peter lasts all of 3-days before he decides he can’t be left alone with his thoughts anymore—that he just needs to confirm what exactly your side-gig is, before his theories can get any wilder.

Because so far, his top guesses are that you’re either 1. Unknowingly acting as a middle man for some illegal trafficking operation, or 2. Providing “services” to New York sleazebags to get in their wallets.

And Peter knows it’s likely neither option—you’re too smart to get roped into something stupid. Plus, you had assured him it was nothing illegal.

But if he doesn’t figure it out, he thinks he may explode. 

So…he goes snooping. 

It’s not his brightest moment—using the spare key you had given him “in case of emergency” to sneak into your apartment one evening. (But to be fair, to him…this might just be an emergency).

He’d used his spidey senses to scope out your apartment before coming in, so he knows you're not home. Which is good, but…he doesn’t know when you’re gonna be back either, so he has to move fast.

Softly closing the front door behind him, Peter tip-toes across your apartment, deciding to start in your bedroom. He stands in the doorway for a moment, guilt bubbling up inside of him, but he decides to push forward anyway.

He’s just making sure you’re okay, he tells himself. You’re one of his closest friends, and you won’t tell him your secret—so it’s understandable he’d be worried.

Like the true Sherlock that he is, Peter starts with you dressers. He quickly checks each drawer—gently lifting up the stacks of clothes to make sure nothing is hidden beneath them. (The only time doesn’t is when he encounters the drawer with your bras and panties. He simply stares at them with flushed cheeks, rocking awkwardly on his heels, before he quietly closes the drawer. Surely nothing would be in there anyway, right?)

The small stack of papers on your nightstand ends up being recent receipts, and a manual on how to use the white noise machine you've apparently just purchased, considering it's sitting on the floor beside your nightstand, still in the box.

Getting on his hands and knees, Peter does a quick check under your bed, and freezes when he spots a covered box. He pulls it out without thinking, tugging off the fabric lined lid—

—and immediately slams it back down.

…veiny, pink, silicon—

Peter haphazardly pushes the box back under the bed, hurrying to his feet. He bustles into the kitchen with cherry-colored ears.

All-in-all, it takes Peter about half an hour to search your apartment, and unfortunately…he comes up empty handed. It seems like you have nothing to hide (except a box of sex toys under your bed, but Peter thinks that’s pretty understandable. You don't want dumb assholes like him accidentally finding it, even though Peter had—)

Sighing, Peter takes one last glance around your apartment.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t have done this,” he sighs to himself, taking a step towards the door. But—not watching where he’s going, he stubs his toe into the leg of your coffee table.

A curse leaves his lips, and your opened laptop—which had previously been dark—jolts to life. Kicking the table must have moved your wireless mouse, Peter realizes.

Having already decided to leave, Peter fully intends to continue on his way. That is…before he takes a glance at your computer screen and sees that you have it open to a Google doc titled: “Spiderman x Reader Commission #6”.

…then, he’s scrambling onto your couch and yanking your laptop towards him.

“Number six??” he hisses dramatically, his eyes scanning over the document so fast that he doesn’t actually end up reading anything. 

He has to pause and go back to try again, but the second Peter reads the sentence “Spiderman’s cock strains painfully against the tight confines of his suit, his fingers twitching against your waist as he drags you in closer”, his brain effectively blue screens.

In a panic, he clicks into a different tab that’s open—landing on your email inbox, where a thread sits open. A transaction between you and an apparent “customer”. Someone who had contacted you in regards to your open “commissions”. 

Hi there! 

I saw you’re accepting commissions, and I really enjoyed reading the other Spiderman fics you wrote! Would you be open to writing one for me? Preferably a Reader x Spiderman, and a smut/fluff genre. Based on the rate sheet, I think I can afford it, but I’d appreciate it if we could talk more and discuss the final price based on the idea I have.

Thanks!

Holy shit, Peter realizes. Your side-gig is writing Spiderman porn on commission.

He sinks back into the couch, his mind whirling. 

How long has this been going on?? Do you…are you attracted to Spiderman?? As long as Peter has known you, you’ve never really fangirled over Spiderman. If Spiderman had popped up in the news, the two of you would talk about him, but…that was it.

And now you’re writing Spiderman smut for cash? Holy hell.

Peter supposes he should be relieved that what you’re doing truly isn’t illegal. That you’re just making money in a mostly innocent way, from the safety of your home. Meaning, Peter can call it quits, and leave.

…but instead, he leans forward, clicks back onto the Google doc tab, and starts reading more.

The document is still a work-in-progress, but Peter scrolls back up to the top, wanting to see how you’ve managed to set up this scenario.

As it turns out, a villain had injected Spiderman with some sort of aphrodisiac, and the reader is a bystander, bravely offering Spiderman her services to get him out of this pickle.

While embarrassing to admit, Peter gets sucked into the story—impressed by your ability to write, and your portrayal of him—err, Spiderman. In fact, he gets so distracted by the story and the multitude of thoughts running through his head that his spidey senses don’t kick in until danger is right on his doorstep.

Or, in reality, you are on your doorstep—your key shoving into the lock on the door. 

Peter’s heart nearly rockets out of his chest, his eyes darting to the window across the room. It’s closed, and even if he used his web shooter to rocket over to it, he wouldn’t be able to safely open the window and escape outside in the two seconds it’s going to take you to finish unlocking your do—

Before he can even finish the thought, your front door shoves open, and you flick on the lights—your gaze immediately finding Peter, who is still firmly planted on your couch, looking like a deer in headlights. 

You stare at him in shock.

“Peter? What…? Why are you here?”

“I was…worried about you,” Peter responds, forcing himself to smile. And it’s not like it’s a lie.

“You said you were strapped for cash, and I…I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

You kick the door shut behind you, your purse and keys discarded on the small table beside your entryway. 

“I thought I told you to just trust me?”

You face him with a hand posed sternly on your hip. You appreciate his concern for you, but it’s a little upsetting that he hadn’t just been able to trust your word. 

“I know,” Peter responds with a sigh. He runs a hand through his graying hair, and your gaze flits to his ears, noticing how red they are. Why is he so flushed?

“And I’m sorry. I’m dumb, I should have. Trusted you, I mean. I’ll just—,” he pushes himself up, planning to excuse himself and run, but freezes half way to his feet. 

He’s half hard. Fuck.

If he gets up now, it’ll be a lot harder to hide that—especially since he’s wearing sweatpants.

Making a lil noise, Peter eases himself back down onto your couch. You cock an eyebrow.

“...you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry…back spasm.”

“Well, you don’t have to rush out. You’re welcome to stay for a while if you don’t have anywhere to be.”

You flash him a smile and turn towards the kitchen. Peter watches you as you open your fridge and bend down—fetching two bottles of water from the bottom shelf. His eyes glue to your ass the second you lean over, and Peter punches himself in the knee—forcing his gaze up towards the ceiling.

He’s going fucking insane. He’s not used to being this…feral feeling. Arousal is usually one of the emotions that evades him nowadays, but here he is—done in by fucking Spiderman fanfiction. 

Who knew he’d get turned on reading about himself fucking some nameless woman? And who knew that arousal would make him thirst after you?

(Honestly, if he thinks about it, it’s not that surprising. The two of you have been friends for years, and he feels comfortable around you. Not to mention, you’ve always been attractive, even if you do like to push his buttons—)

“Here,” you say, snapping him out of his internal panic. You plop down onto the couch next to him, handing him one of the two bottles of water. 

Peter reaches out to take it, and you notice the sweat beading on his brow. Why the hell is he—?

At that moment, you spot your laptop on the coffee table—open, and still showing the commission document you’d left open earlier on. Your first instinct is to reach over and slam your laptop shut before Peter can see—

…wait.

Peter reaches forward to take the water bottle from your grasp, but when he grips it, you don’t budge.

Confused, he looks up—only to find you intensely staring at him.

“Did you read it…?”

Peter’s face heats up, his eyes darting to the side to avoid looking at you.

Busted…

You pulse races, embarrassment blooming in your chest.

HE DID, you realize. HE READ IT. Your fucking Spiderman smut!

“Ah, shit…,” you mumble, letting go of his water bottle and crumpling in on yourself. You curl onto your side, hiding your face in the couch cushion. 

Feeling horrible that he has embarrassed you—having discovered something you’d tried to keep private—Peter hurries to try and smooth over the situation.

“Okay, yes, I did read it,” he starts by saying. “But…it was…really good! You’re a good writer, and I can see why people are commissioning you! You’ll surely make some cash with the skill you have.”

If he was smart, he’d have stopped there, but no—Peter keeps going.

“A-And hey! I’d be willing to help too. Y’know, help give you some inspiration for your stories—”

His voice dies in his throat, realizing what it is he has just offered. And obviously, you realize it too—your head immediately lifting, staring at him with curious surprise.

“Did you just…offer…to fuck? To help me with my stories?”

The insinuation is so insane that you can’t help laughing. Peter coughs, straightening his shoulders out.

“I think I’d be very good inspiration for Spiderman.”

“Really?”

There’s disbelief in your voice. Peter narrows his eyes.

“You don’t think so?”

You hum, uncapping your water bottle and taking a swig. Peter mirrors you, his throat feeling dry.

“Spiderman is…suave and heroic, and you’re…dorky. Smart, but dorky.”

Peter frowns. “I can be…suave.”

You cock an eyebrow, a playful grin breaking out on your face. Your heart is racing a million miles an hour, because never did you think you’d be sitting here with Peter, the possibility of sex between the two of you suddenly laid out on the table. You’d never deny he’s an attractive male, and maybe because it’s him, and because you’ve missed the feel of another human being, you end up saying—

“Yeah? Show me then.”

You lean back, waiting to see if Peter will make a move. 

Unfortunately, the realization that you’re open to whatever is happening right now causes Peter’s brain to stall, and he takes a second too long to act—just long enough to allow doubt to worm its way into your head.

You’re putting him on the spot. And he’s still probably dealing with some complicated feelings from the split—you shouldn’t have poked him.

Without saying anything, you decide to try and create some space. You push off of the couch, padding towards your bedroom. You’ll make an excuse about needing to fold your clothes, or something stupid—and hopefully Peter will take what you’ve said as a joke, and will move on. Yeah, that sounds like a solid plan—

Pausing in the doorway of your room, you force yourself to smile, and turn to face Peter—only to find that he’d snuck up on you—your gaze meeting his chest the second you turn around.

“Pe—,” you’re only able to get the first syllable of his name out, your chin tilting back as you look up at him. The feeling of his palm cupping your cheek is what makes your voice die out, his chestnut eyes boring into you. 

You can see the hesitation on his face. A certain lack of confidence that you’re sure stems from his past relationship issues. But beneath that, you can see desire. A craving for intimacy he hasn’t shared in a long time.

You decide to be the one to close the gap—pressing onto your toes, your palm resting flat on his pec as you lean upward—connecting your lips with his. You can feel his heart racing beneath your fingertips, and you silently convince yourself that if Peter backs out, you’ll be fine with it. 

Luckily, he doesn’t. His brain finally kicks into gear, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist as he kisses you back. 

You make a pleasantly surprised little sound, your arms lifting to wrap around his neck—effectively deepening the kiss. A wrinkle appears between Peter’s eyebrows, his grip on your waist tightening. Your chest presses flat against his torso, and he rubs his thumb against your cheek, obsessed with the plushness of your lips and the feel of you against him.

It’s been way too long since he’s been intimate like this…that’s apparent by the blood absolutely rockets into his dick.

Although, to be fair, he’d already been half-hard before this.

“You think our local hero gets hard this quick?” you mumble against his lips with a grin, giggling when Peter makes a noise of annoyance and nips at you.

“You’d be surprised,” he responds. He slots his thigh between your knees, backing you into the doorframe. His clothed cock grinds against your stomach, trapped between your bodies, and his muscles tense.

“Adrenaline can go straight to the dick sometimes…”

(Peter has lost track of how many times, after an intense fight—especially earlier in his career—he’d swung home and immediately jerked off).

“That’s fair, I suppose.”

Your fingertips coast up the nape of his neck, tangling in the messy hair at the base of his skull. You yank him downward ever so slightly, your lips connecting with the skin of his neck. He immediately shivers, the first of many embarrassing sounds ripping from his chest as you lick and suck at his flesh.

“Think Spiderman whimpers?”

You’re teasing him. As to be expected, given the dynamic of your relationship. But Peter doesn’t intend on taking it quietly.

“Maybe,” he admits, “If you make him feel good enough. But if you wanna know what I think—”

Peter surprises you by ducking down—his arms looping around your thighs as he lifts you off the floor. Your squeal, arms and legs instinctively wrapping around him since you don’t want to fall, but Peter carries you easily enough—striding into your room and depositing you onto your bed.

He doesn’t waste any time—quickly caging you down. His knee reclaims its spot between your thighs, rubbing incessantly at the dampening fabric covering your privates, and his lips find your neck—a shiver raking up your spine as his stubble scratches against your skin.  

“Peter,” you gasp when his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips ghost over your heated skin, brushing past your waist, and finding the clasp of your bra. You have to arch to give him room to work, and Peter sucks a hickey of approval into your neck. He debates telling you “good girl”, but the thought leaves him the second your bra pops open.

He needs your tits in his mouth.

“—I think Spiderman has a thing for boobs,” Peter says, finally finishing his earlier statement. This exclamation is followed with the immediate removal of your shirt and bra—Peter forcibly tugging them over your head and discarding them on the floor beside your bed. 

The sight of Peter groping you and lowering his mouth to your chest is enough to have your heart skipping a beat, and you can’t help the mewl that leaves you when Peter sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

Peter groans when your fingers fist in his hair, practically keeping his mouth trapped where it is, which he hardly minds considering he intends to lick and suck at your tits until you’re panting. 

And, that’s exactly what he does.

He lavishes your chest with his mouth—relishing in the way your hips jump at each little nip of his teeth or roll of your nipple between his fingers. It’s embarrassing, honestly, how wet it gets you—your panties feeling quite wet as you continue grinding your pussy against Peter’s thigh.

You try and think of some smart response in regard to Peter’s opinion that Spiderman is a tit man, not an ass man, but words seem to be avoiding you. You can’t think of anything coherently when Peter is touching you like this. Especially when his face finally leaves your chest, his lips peppering kisses down the length of your torso.

You lift your head to look at him, propping up on one of your arms. Peter reaches your navel, but doesn’t stop, heading towards—

“Peter,” you pant, your face flushing hotly as you realize the path he’s carving. 

Peter hums, his eyes flitting up and meeting your gaze just as he hooks his thumbs beneath the band of your pants. 

“Another thing about Spiderman…,” he begins, kissing the skin of your tummy as he inches your waistband down your hips. You watch him with blown-wide eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly—excitement and nervousness mingling inside of you.

You lift your ass off the mattress to help him shuck you of your bottoms, and Peter smiles, tossing your pants on the floor beside your other clothes.

Never in your life did you imagine the sight of Peter sinking to his knees, his hands gripping your hips and dragging you closer to him—his gaze falling between your legs. Your panties are soaked, and the sight causes more blood to rush into his dick. He’s so hard that it honestly hurts—just a little bit—but Peter still doesn’t touch himself, because—

“...Spiderman loves eating pussy.”

“He’s a people-pleaser,” you quip breathlessly, your thighs quivering in Peter’s hold when he presses a kiss to your skin, right beside your panty line. He quietly chuckles.

“Maybe.”

Peter thumbs at your clit through your panties, relishing in the whine he rips from your throat. You hips buck in his hold, craving more, and when Peter sees the desperate look on your face, he decides to not tease you.

Peeling your panties to the side, Peter finally connects his mouth with your pussy—his tongue licking a wet, broad strip between your folds.

Oh, shit, you think to yourself, the muscles in your abdomen convulsing as you watch one of your closest friends eat you out. The whole situation is making you feel light headed, so you can’t help it when you collapse back onto the mattress, your fingers fisting in the sheets as Peter groans into your cunt.

He eats you like a man starved, his face quickly becoming covered with your arousal. His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue sinks between your walls, and you full out whimper—your hips needily grinding against his mouth.

Peter’s palm presses down on your pelvis, forcing your hips to the mattress. He doesn’t want you squirming—just wants you desperate and pliant. To see you cumming on his tongue.

His name falls from your lips again, more debauched than he’s ever heard, and Peter curses.

“Shit.”

His tone is guttural, and sexy, and—

He presses a finger inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Pete—,” his name deterorates into a moan, your brain function declining as Peter begins fucking his finger inside of you. At the same time, he focuses his mouth on your clit, his tongue urgently flicking against the bundle of nerves. 

You unconsciously wriggle at the assault of stimulation, but Peter’s hand on your stomach keeps you in place.

Why is he so strong? You think to yourself, moan ripping from your chest as Peter slips in a second finger. It doesn’t take him long to locate that spongy little sweet spot inside of you. The one that causes your thighs to shake as he practically abuses it—rubbing the pads of his fingers against it repeatedly until you’re nearly sobbing.

The coil in your belly winds tight, heat searing your veins. You can feel your clit throbbing against Peter’s tongue, and the walls of your pussy tightening up around him.

“Peter,” you cry, your entire body trembling. You’re so fucking close.

“Cum,” he rasps. He needs to see you orgasm—needs to feel you unraveling on his mouth and fingers. 

Hearing the gravel of his voice is the final nail in your coffin—the tension in your muscles releasing as your orgasm washes over you. Just as he wanted, you cum all over him, your cunt gushing arousal around his fingers as his tongue continues lapping at your clit, dragging out the waves of your pleasure until you’re panting and pawing at his head, trying to push him away.

After a moment, he relents—sitting back to look at you.

You’re covered in a sheen of sweat, your chest heaving, and an arm draped over your eyes. Your tits are peppered with an array of hickies, and Peter feels his chest (and cock) swell with pride. He’s clearly done a number on you. And yet…

You feel the mattress dip, and then the room is spinning around you. When things finally settle, you find yourself laying on top of Peter.

He has one arm wrapped around your waist, his palm resting on your ass. The other brushes a few stray strands of hair out of your face when you lean back to look at him.

“Spiderman also loves being ridden,” he says with a grin. You place your hands on his chest, feeling it rumble with laughter as he watches you struggle to sit up.

“You think I have the energy to ride you after you just did that? And why do you keep saying Spiderman enjoys these things like they’re facts—you don’t know.”

“Just a feeling,” he responds, licking his lips. His hands find your hips, and he grinds you downwards. Your sensitive pussy rubs against his aching length, still trapped behind his sweatpants, and it’s hard to miss the way Peter harshly swallows at the feeling.

You sigh, scooting backwards.

“Fine.”

You shove his sweats and boxers down his thighs, careful to not snag them on his dick. And damn, he really must be aching—a sticky string of precum dripping from the head of his cock, and pooling on his abdomen. 

He opens his mouth, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything. Your fingers wrap around his cock, smearing his arousal across his length, and whatever Peter had been planning to say crumbles into a needy garble of non-words.

You can’t help but smile at the sound.

“Surprised you didn’t cream your pants already,” you tell him, but your tone is hardly teasing. No, seeing him beneath you like this—the muscles in his torso clenching with every stroke of your hand—it’s actually quite endearing.

“I’ll cum in your hand if you keep doing that,” he pants, glancing into your eyes. You spot nothing but lust there, any previous reservations gone.

“Is that so bad?” you ask, thumbing at the head of his cock. Peter’s grip on your waist tightens, and you hear him take a shaky breath.

“Yes.”

He wants to be inside you, that much is clear. And while it’d be so easy to draw it out and make him beg…you don’t feel like being mean to him. Not tonight, after he’d just given you the best oral of your life.

“Fine,” you relinquish. You scoot forward, planting one hand on his chest, and gripping the base of his cock with the other. Peter’s breath catches when you rub the head of his cock between your folds, a heady groan following a beat later as you begin sinking down onto him.

By the time his cock is fully inside of you, your thighs are shaking. Whether from the lack of energy due to your previous orgasm, the remarkable size of Peter inside of you, or both—you’re not totally sure.

“There’s no rush,” Peter reassures you, but the needy warble of his voice betrays his words.

“My legs might give out at some point,” you respond with a breathless laugh, and Peter echos you, giving your waist a squeeze.

“That’s fine. I’ll help.”

With your palms planted firmly on his chest, you begin to ride him. 

And god, you feel so fucking good.

“Fuck,” Peter bites out, watching the space between your bodies, where his cock disappears inside of you with every roll of your hips. It’s been ages since a cunt has squeezed his dick like this, and honestly, he can see himself very easily getting addicted to the feel of you.

The bounce of your tits as you ride him, the cute little sounds you make when his cock rubs against the sensitive spots inside you—he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Peter,” you whine, your pace flattering. Having his cock inside of you is incomparable to the feeling of his fingers, and very quickly, you can feel another orgasm building, but…the closer you get, the more your strength falters.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he responds, praises falling from his lips. “You’re doing so good. You feel so good.”

His words cause your walls to clench around him, and he groans—his hands sliding down to your hips as he helps rock you down onto his cock. The sloppy sound of sex fills your bedroom, and you watch Peter with half-lidded eyes, soaking up the desperation showing on his face. 

His hair is slicked back with sweat, brows pinched together in concentration as he forces you to continue riding him. At least, until he starts craving more.

With his orgasm quickly approaching—despite the immense pleasure he gains seeing you bouncing on top of him—Peter’s hunger gets the best of him.

He grabs your wrists, moves your arms so they’re wrapped around his shoulders, and then secures his arms around your back. Before you can even digest the slight change in position, Peter is fucking you.

An incoherent string of noise slips past your lips, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as his cock pistons inside of you. With his arms trapping you against his chest, you’re helpless but to take it—your orgasm rushing to the surface at the desperate yet brutal pace that Peter sets.

“Peter,” you sob into his neck.

“It’s okay,” he responds without missing a beat, his voice breathless. “I’m right there. Cum for me again, sweetheart.”

As if you could stop.

Holding onto him for dear life, you cum for the second time that night—your walls clamping down on his cock so tightly that Peter’s rhythm falters. A curse rips from his throat, and his hands find the plush of your ass—stuffing your body down onto his dick as he cums along with you—pumping you full of his seed.

The needy tension of the room melts away, and you and Peter can only lay there—a pile of sweaty yet sated flesh. It takes you both a minute to catch your breaths, and you make a quiet noise of disappointment when Peter’s cock slips out of you. 

You can feel his cum running out of your pussy.

“Your balls aren’t dried up yet?”

Peter’s chest rumbles beneath you.

“I’m in my 30’s, not my 60’s.”

You glance up at him when you feel Peter’s fingers clearing the hair away from your face, and he smiles at you. Your heart jumps.

He must know how handsome he is, right? Even with that crooked nose of his.

“Don’t you ever get tired of taking cracks at me?” he wonders, using his grip on your ass to slide you farther up his chest. You giggle, cupping his cheeks as you find yourself suddenly face to face with him. 

“Mmmm, no?”

He rolls his eyes, yet his smile widens. You lean down to kiss him, and he reciprocates easily enough.

“Feeling good?” you ask him, carding your fingers through his hair. He nods.

“Very. I…really missed that.”

“Same,” you agree, sitting back. You need to get to the bathroom before any cum gets on your nice sheets. You crawl off of Peter, swinging your legs over the side of your mattress. He rolls onto his side, watching you with furrowed brows as he tucks his dick back into his pants.

“Same? You haven’t—?”

“Not in a while,” you admit, pulling a fresh shirt and a pair of panties from your dresser drawers. You’re about to make a joke that the only action you’ve gotten recently is from the toys stashed under your bed, but when you turn to look at the spot where they’re hidden, you find that…the box has moved. It’s not where you had left it.

“Did you…find my sex toys? Before I came home?”

Peter’s face goes carefully blank, but the red flush of his ears betrays him. 

You shoot him a glare, leaving your room with a huff.

“Dude doesn’t trust me…how fucking rude…”

“Hey now—!” 

Peter’s feet pound against the floor as he chases after you, and he catches you around the waist just before you make it into your bathroom. His lips press against the crown of your head.

“Again, I’m sorry for snooping. I’m dumb.”

You sigh, wriggling around to face him.

“You are,” you agree, lightly patting his chest. “Dumb, and insistent that Spider man loves tits, eating pussy, and getting ridden. Still holding those beliefs?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Peter grins. “And I have other beliefs about his preferences as well.”

“Of course you do,” you laugh. You kiss his cheek, and then step out of his hold—heading into the bathroom. 

“I’m going to shower,” you tell him. “There’s some leftovers in the fridge if you want any.”

Peter nods, and the last thing you see is him heading for your fridge when you close the bathroom door.

30 minutes later, you exit your steaming bathroom in your fresh oversized t-shirt and panties, fully expecting to find Peter lounging around your apartment, eating all your food. But…to your utter disappointment, you don’t spot him anywhere.

You sigh, shoulders sagging. Had it been too much to assume he would have wanted to stay the night?

Shuffling into your kitchen, you spot an empty plate on your table. One that you know had previously been piled high with leftover chicken and potatoes.

“He eats my food and runs off…of course,” you mumble, picking up the plate to put it in the sink. However, before your annoyance can truly get the better of you, a piece of paper that had been stuck to the bottom of the plate floats to the ground.

You bend over to pick it up.

Hey!

Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to stay so long, so I left my apartment earlier without locking the door. I’m running back home to lock it, but I should be back at your place by 9!

Don’t get mad at me. I’d never run off without a word :p

-PB

PS. I have a working theory that Spiderman also has more stamina than you’d expect, even for a guy who’s been doing hero work for 20+ years, so…round two when I get back?

You can’t help but laugh.

What an idiot. 

But…you like him.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Counting the Minutes

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Dirty talk, masturbation, phone sex. Word count: ~1k

Summary: Separated for the Christmas break, her and Michael have to get creative.

Author's note: A little addition to The Golden Ratio, though can also be read as a standalone piece. Day twelve of the Smuffmas prompts - "promise and phone sex". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She nestles beneath the duvet, clicking through the contacts on her Nokia until she reaches Michael’s name. A faint smile tugs at her lips as her finger hovers over the call button, she can’t wait to speak to him.

They have been inseparable since the night that Oliver ditched him. They brought out the best in each other. Michael lit a fire underneath her that made her want to study harder, to strive for perfection in all things. In turn, she softened him up and taught him not to see the world through such a harsh lens. 

Their relationship had become serious enough that they had both chosen to spend their reading week together, instead of going home like the vast majority of people at their college had.

Now the term was over, and Christmas had beckoned them both home; Michael back to his mum, and her back to her dad. It’s odd not to see him every day, and though they’d stayed in touch on MSN Messenger, nothing compares to sitting with their legs entwined as they discuss their notes for their upcoming tutorials.

It’s only been a week and she misses the way he rests his chin against his hand when he’s deep in thought, how the intensity of his unblinking, blue eyed stare causes her skin to grow hot, and the smell of Imperial Leather soap and old books that she inhales when she rests her face in the crook of his neck.

Holding the phone to her ear, it rings once, twice, three times before he answers.

“Hello, you.”

His voice gives her butterflies. It’s the sound she’d attribute to how it feels to run your fingertips against plush velvet.

“Hi,” she says back with a coy smile. God, she wishes she could see him.

“How long can you talk for?” He asks.

“I put credit on my phone yesterday, ten pounds, so should be good for a while.”

“One hundred and sixty six point seven hours.”

She huffs a laugh. Of course his mind wanders to the maths of it.

“You think we could talk for that long?” 

“Hmm,” he muses, “I’m sure we could find a way to pass the time.”

“Like we did during reading week?” She asks softly, her fingers drawing lazy circles against the cotton of her bedsheets.

“Can’t really do that over the phone.”

“Have you ever had phone sex before?”

She hears him suck in a harsh breath before he replies. “What do you think?”

It causes her to giggle. Of course he hasn’t.

“Would you like to try it?” She holds the phone tighter to her ear, a lazy grin upon her lips.

“What does it entail?”

“Well,” she begins, switching her mobile from one ear to the other, and snuggling further down into the bed. “We describe what we’d like to do to each other while we touch ourselves.”

“One thousand, two hundred and fifty.”

“What?”

“On average, I can make you orgasm in about eight minutes. If we run through all of your phone credit then that’s how many times I could make you come.”

“Michael!” She gasps, feeling her insides flutter at the thought. “I don’t think that would be physically possible. I’ll settle for just the one today.”

He huffs a soft laugh, the sound breathy through the receiver. “Yes, I suppose that’s a bit impractical. Alright then, you start.”

“I wish you here right now,” she purrs seductively. “I want to push my hand up your t-shirt and run my fingers against that little trail of hair that leads all the way down your stomach, before I wrap them around your cock.”

His breathing grows heavier and she can hear the faint rustle of clothing in the background. She bites her lip, her own hand snaking beneath the duvet and into the waistband of her knickers.

“I miss the way you feel,” he tells her, voice shaky, “how tightly you grip me when I first push inside of you. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that sensation. You’re so wet, so warm…”

She can hear the slick sound of his hand pumping over his cock, the sound sends arousal pooling between her legs and she circles her pearl in earnest, the added wetness aiding her ministrations. She hadn’t expected him to focus on the sensation of physical touch quite so much, but Michael is pragmatic after all, and his innovative approach excites her.

“Mmmm,” she moans quietly, “I want you to do that thing where you grab my hips to pull me back against you as you fuck me, it feels so good.”

A broken whimper escapes him, and there’s a brief moment of just his ragged breathing before he speaks again.

“The way your thighs tighten against my waist drives me mad. I swear I can still feel you there when I close my eyes, see the way your tits bounce– fuck!”

She whines, circling her bud faster, the coil in her gut tightening. “Wanna slide my hands down to your arse, push you in as deep as you’ll go, watch how your eyes screw shut as you come inside me.”

He grunts. “Wish I could come inside of you so badly. I need to feel you clenching around me, hear the pretty sounds you make as I fill you up.”

Her hips jerk involuntarily against her hand, and she knows she’s close. It’s been a week since he’s touched her and his filthy words have sent her unravelling much faster than she anticipated.

“I’m close,” she pants.

“M–me too,” he huffs back. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard the moment we get back to college.”

“Oh god–” Her response is cut off by her pleasured cry, as she falls apart, her walls spasming around emptiness as her thighs tremble.

A grunt and heavy breathing on the other end of the line lets her know that Michael has reached his end too. There’s nothing but the sound of their shared gasps for air, as they both recover.

“Do you promise?” She finally asks. “To fuck me hard when we get back to college?”

“Tell you what, let’s go back a day early and we can spend an entire day doing just that.”

She giggles excitedly, rolling onto her side. “I’ll be counting the minutes until then.”

[rottingparts]

Confessions

[Mirage x Human!AFAB!Reader]

Summary: Mirage wants to take you out, and not with a sniper.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: SMUT!! 18+, MINORS DNI!! Human/Alien Robot Relations, mentions of clit, grinding, size difference, bruising, marking up (but not on purpose) (please let me know if i missed something! Sometimes my brain thinks it typed it out or i just miss it in general, it's not on purpose i promise!)

A/N: There is no use of pronouns! Reader is AFAB, but is written GN. This was supposed to be like, multiple characters separately, but this got a little long and i didn't wanna write the other two this long as well, so I'm posting this one by itself. I also kinda wanna do one with potentially a male reader?? Give me your thoughts🔫 -Rot

It started with a ‘I know a place’ and ended with you hopping into Mirage and going to wherever it was he wanted to take you.

The two of you wound up in some secluded area, on a hill, overlooking the sunset below you. Mirage’s door opened and you scooted out. You looked at the scenery before you and gasped. It was astounding, beautiful, and most definitely breathtaking.

“How do you know about this place?”

Mirage waved his hand, “Ah, it’s-” He seemed to not be able to come up with anything, “Noah told me about it.”

“Of course,” You smiled at Mirage, “I should have known you wouldn’t know any cool New York places on your own.”

Mirage feigned being hurt, touching his chest and giving a slight gasp. “I’m trying to spend time with you, and you say that?”

You rolled your eyes playfully and sat down in the grass, looking at the pink and orange sky above you. You lied down and closed your eyes. You sighed and heard movement beside you. You peeked over and saw Mirage sitting beside you. He was watching you, thinking. You didn’t know about what, but you could see he was thinking hard.

“Y’know…” Mirage started, shifting where he sat, “This is probably not a good time,” he rambled on, “stop me if it isn’t,” he put one of his servos up, “but, you’re really beautiful, and I can’t stop thinking about you- I think the team gets mad with how much I talk about you-”

“Mirage-”

“Now, I understand if you don’t think the same thing-”

“Mirage!” You almost shouted. He stopped. “I think- I feel the same.”

“You think you do?” His optic ridges furrowed. He sounded worried.

“No! I know I do.” You smiled at him. “Um, this is embarrassing-”

“Oh trust me,” Mirage shook his head, “It isn’t.”

You paused, “No, it is. I think about you a lot. A lot more than I, uh, probably should.”

Mirage, growing intrigued, gave you a curious look. “Oh? What do you think about? I need every detail.”

Your eyes widened. “No you don’t. All you need to know is I feel the same, and maybe then some.” You were fidgeting, playing with the grass beneath you.

Mirage’s fingers met your face, and he gently, very gently, tilted it towards him. Your eyes met his blue optics and your stomach dropped. A heat pooled between your legs and you tensed. ‘Now is not the time,’ you shouted at yourself. Your breath caught in your throat.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking, but you gotta go first.” He inched closer to you, “I don’t want my thoughts to be too weird.”

You nodded, “Okay,” your palms hit your thighs and anxiously rub down them. Mirage was still keeping you looking at him, and as soon as you closed your eyes and inhaled, Mirage was quick to ask you to keep your eyes on him. You looked back at him, “For starters, I think about you a lot at night. I think about your voice, your… servos?” You asked, pointing at them, and he nodded, “I think about what they would feel like against my skin.”

Mirage’s ego was being inflated at a speed unknown to man, “Well, you don’t have to wonder any longer.” He smirked. “I’ll share now!” He seemed excited to tell you after you shared your thoughts, “I think about how soft you would be. Your skin, oh especially your lips-”

You, without thinking, interrupted him, “Would you like to figure that out?”

Mirage cocked an optic ridge at you, “Which one?”

“Both,” You whispered, voice barely audible. Mirage was stuck. Did he think he’d get this far? Not really. “You can kiss me…”

Mirage was on you instantly. Your warm hands went to his face and cupped it. His lips pressed to yours and your stomach turned with excitement. You pulled away, faster than Mirage would have liked and he pouted at you.

“No one is gonna come up here?” There was a desire in your eyes that Mirage could not get enough of. As soon as he shook his head, you nodded. “Can I-” You motioned towards his lap. He moved back from you, sitting directly on the grass and patted his thigh. You crawled onto him and started to kiss him once more.

Mirage grabbed at your waist, dragging you up his thigh slightly, causing you to moan. Mirage took this as a chance to happily stick his tongue into your mouth. You gasped, eyes widening and fingers tensing on his face.

Mirage’s tongue explored your mouth and you rocked on his thigh. That elicited another moan from you and you felt Mirage smile. Mirage moved his leg, picking it up and dropping it, causing you to fall with it as you tried to grind against him. You whined and pulled away from Mirage. He gave you an innocent look, acting as if he didn’t just do that.

With brows furrowed, you huffed at him, “Mirage,” You whined out his name.

“Oh~” He smiled, “I can definitely get used to hearing that!”

“Come on! You’re not gonna leave me high and dry are you?” It was your turn to look at him innocently.

Mirage was melting under your stare. He could have sworn his spark stopped. “How do you wanna do this?” He was folding already. “I mean, I think you’re too small for my spike…”

You bit your lip, thinking, “I could-” You couldn’t articulate your words properly, “I want us to both feel good.”

You saying that was all Mirage needed to hear. Before you knew it you were half naked, and Mirage had his spike out. Your shirt was still on, but your bottoms were thrown by Mirage to the side. You had asked him to not destroy them. He proved to be a good listener.

Mirage positioned you against his spike. He leaned back, keeping you steady, and watching you as you started to move. Since you were quite a bit smaller than Mirage, and knew you could not feasibly take his spike, he had decided it would be best for the both of you if you just would grind against it.

You started to move, pushing yourself along the spike. As you reached the head of it, your thighs would tense together and you could feel Mirage twitching under you. You would slide back down his spike, your clit rubbing against it. You let out a loud moan and cried out Mirage’s name.

“Fuck,” You whined as you hand grabbed for Mirage’s forearm, keeping yourself upright. Your legs were going to be sore the next day. But at that moment you did not care. As you pushed yourself up and slid your way back down Mirage’s spike again, you were getting closer and closer to release. “Baby,” You whimpered, “I’m gonna-”

As soon as you said ‘baby’ Mirage was close to losing it. His hips bucked upwards and you were sure the noise he made was going to be heard a mile away. His grip on you tightened and you came hard and fast, all over his spike. You did not stop grinding against him though, not until Mirage came himself.

You watched as Mirage’s optics seemed to fizzle out, he seemed to be short circuiting momentarily. When he whimpered you were sure you could orgasm again just from that alone. Transfluid came from his spike and your grinding began to slow.

“Don’t-” Mirage’s optics were blue again, and staring straight at you, “Don’t stop.”

“Mirage,” Your voice was soft as you were growing tired, “I’m too sensitive.”

Mirage seemed to realize his grip on you was not as soft as it once was and he let go, letting you slide down onto his leg. When you felt him lift your shirt and you heard him let out a little gasp you looked down at your side.  You noticed a bruise forming, one that resembled a not so small hand, and you felt yourself snort.

“This isn’t funny!” Mirage was not laughing, “I hurt you!”

“Mirage,” You reassured him, trying to steady yourself on his thigh, “it’s a bruise, it’s gonna heal. The way you held me was kinda hot, anyway.” Mirage was conflicted. “Let’s just hope the others don’t see it…”

Something clicked, “Wait, if they do see it, they’ll know-” Mirage looked ecstatic.

“Mirage! I am not going to show off this bruise so everyone knows that I was with you.” You shook your head. “But-” You put a finger up, “If someone asks I won’t deny it…”

[infernalwitxhcraft]

All About: House Spirits

Well, it's about time I brought them up once again, in their own post. This guide may be on the lengthy side, but it's here to explain what they are and how to begin working with them.

What the hell is a house spirit?

House spirits come from all different cultures and folklore. Known as, you guessed it, guardians of the home. They protect the house itself, the land around it (they get along with the land spirit(s) most of the time), and they also protect the family if treated right. A home certainly doesn't feel like one without these presiding spirits helping. In fact it gives the home a life of it's own.

What do they look like? Are there types?

Across many cultures, there are these spirits and the folklore varies for each. In my tribe, we consider them to usually be little dwarves or goblins that must be appeased, otherwise they will cause bad luck or even resort to curses. Regular offerings are required. Then there are the land spirits, which is a whole other topic. If given regular offerings and respect, we believe that they will not only generate good luck and events for us, but protect us and help with our daily lives. For the witches of the tribe, they will often assist in rituals and spells. That all being said, this has carried over into my personal beliefs. Many cultures describe house spirits assisting with the same things and if they are displeased, bad occurrences following. As far as looks go, it depends on the folklore surrounding your area and your cultural background(s). You may believe in one or two types or an entire spectrum of house spirits from the realm of the fair folk. You could have one house spirit or twelve. It's entirely up to your home. In some cultures, there are door spirits (yes, that guard the doors) and ones that work in the kitchen, among others for different functions of the home.

Okay so, I live in an apartment building. Can I still work with them?

Yes. When I used to live in apartments, I found it was an either/or situation regarding how many were there. Some buildings have only a few that roam around, sometimes only one that protects the entire building, or there may be multiple hanging out in one apartment. Most complexes have multiple however. And then for the lucky buildings that have one for each apartment...those are nice. I've included a short offering ritual at the end of this post, which you can use to ask questions about whatever you wish to know, including how many there are in the building.

What kind of offerings do they like?

Milk, honey, bread, and herbs are a safe bet. They especially like bread baked by you, as they see it as a labor of love and that your energy is in there. Taking time to tend to the garden and taking care of your property & home in general are things they like to see. Don't leave the house a huge mess, as many prefer a tidy atmosphere. Not an offering per say, but important to mention nonetheless.

What should I put on their altar?

I keep my altar for them in the kitchen, as it is in a place that is undisturbed and can't be torn up by my land shark (aka, my dog). I also feel that most of the house spirits I have worked with in my life enjoy hanging out in this area of the home. They seem to like assisting in kitchen magic and cooking in general and the warmth of the stove. You may also want to include a small area near the front door if you believe that there are separate spirits for there. I'd recommend a shelf, as it won't take up as much space in the entryway.

Okay, back on track. Plants (if the space gets enough light), a cauldron, candles, offering bowls, a chalice, glass, or mug of some sort. A special spoon to stir the drinks or potions with. Decorative pieces from nature. Things you craft by hand.

How can I begin working with them?

Anytime, in reality. However, you do have to develop an actual relationship with them. This can take time and the more you speak to them, give offerings, and invite them in as you cook or clean, the more they will be willing to help with your spellwork, wards, and healing. Try the introduction ritual I've included. See what happens. Document it. Try again another time the following week. And just...keep going. Make sure that they know you haven't forgotten about them by leaving a small nightly glass of milk out before you head to bed. It doesn't have to be filled to the rim (hey, cost of living is ridiculous right now). It can be a splash with a squirt of honey added. Or a sprinkle of herbs on their bowl. Or maybe a small helping of what you whipped up for dinner. Point is to show them that you acknowledge and respect their presence. That will be the biggest component. Do the ritual once a week until you start seeing signs of contact. Once you do, make your own ritual with them. Incorporate them into your daily life. Ask them to help with blessing your cooking. Ask them to make sure your wards are in tact. Ask the door spirit to purify the energy of anyone that walks in & make bad people resist coming by. Start seeing if they'd like to sit in on a ritual, if you feel comfortable with that idea. Ask for a blessing when you clean the house & to assist you in removing all the bad energy.

Brief introductory ritual

To introduce yourself to your house spirits, I recommend sitting in your kitchen. If you consider your hearth to be the living room, you can choose to do it there. Make sure to bring offerings with that you feel will be applicable. Freshly baked bread (from your own hands) and some milk with honey stirred in would make a wonderful first treat. I usually introduce myself in a new home by bringing these treats to the location of choice, and start by speaking my intention aloud which goes something like:

"Spirits of the home,

Guardians and Protectors of this dwelling,

Please come sit with me and enjoy these offerings.

I wish to have a working relationship where we can honor, respect, and help each other."

I usually spend about ten-twenty minutes meditating after this is spoken aloud. Sometimes you will feel a strong presence. This is the time I take to set up my kitchen altar as well. If there is a place that I am able to create a mini-altar by the front door, I do so there for the door spirits. The land spirits get their own little thing out in the backyard. I've found in the many places I've lived, they almost always work together and some house spirits spend quite some time out there too!

From here on out, you'll develop your relationship with regular offerings and take it from there!

[cera-writes]

your gambit fics are so good you write him amazingly 💕 gambit or magneto x reader fluff pls?

Merci, mon ami! <3 For real though, thank you that is such a great compliment!! I'll definitely write for both requests! Erik x Reader will be in a separate post. But I do plan on writing for him <3 Pairing: Remy "Gambit" LeBeau x Reader Prompt: Remy shows the reader how to make his famous creole gumbo and a confession with lots of fluff ensues tags: sfw, fluff, and Remy just being his lovable ragin' Cajun self.

"Let ol' Gambit show you how it's done."

You were busy prepping supper in the kitchen of the mansion, taking over dinner duties that afternoon. Thing was though, that you couldn't quite figure out just what you wanted to make.

You'd pulled out every cookbook Professor Xavier had stored in the kitchen but nothing was quite to your liking.

You flipped through the pages, eyes scanning over every recipe on every page but nothing spoke to you. You really just didn't know what you specifically had the taste for.

You sighed, growing frustrated with your lack of a decision for picking something to eat.

"Geez, this should not be that hard," you scolded yourself. "Screw it. I'm just gonna pop a frozen lasagna in the oven."

You had just opened the freezer and pulled out the frozen food and closed the door when you nearly had a heart attack seeing Gambit standing on the other side.

You nearly dropped the frozen lasagna before Remy grabbed it out of your hands.

Gambit took one look at the monstrocity you were about to make before tossing it back into the cold tundra. He then made a disgusted face.

"Gambit know you ain't about to cook that, petite!"

You folded your arms over your chest raising a brow at him. "You have any better ideas?" You asked, daring him to give you his suggestions.

"As a matter of fact I do, chere. Let ol' Gambit show you how it's done."

You watched as he started pulling out different types of ingredients from the pantry and refrigerator.

"Help Gambit out darlin' and grab that big pot out from over there," he pointed to one of the bottom cabinets that held all the cookware.

You huffed before doing just that as he laid out all the ingredients on the counter.

"Gambit gonna show you how to make his famous gumbo."

You had no objections. "Be my guest, monsieur."

He grinned at the use of your French vocabulary.

"It may take a while to cook but this'll have everybody comin' back for seconds," he smirked, grabbing a knife from the cutlery set.

He then motioned for you to stand in front of him, guiding the knife into your hand as he helped you chop some of the ingredients up.

Your back was pressed flush to his chest and you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. It was no secret that the two of you had unspoken feelings towards each other. He always found ways to brush up against you or use some excuse to get close to you. Right now was no exception either.

"Just like that, chere..." Remy trailed off, helping you slice up the food and put it into the pot. He was so close to your ear that you felt his breath tickle the sensitive skin there. It made your heart rate quicken.

"You're doin' a mighty fine job of that," Gambit praised you, causing your cheeks to heat up. He then moved away, letting you catch your breath. He knew exactly how to rile you up. And it always seemed to work.

Soon, he had the pot boiling on the stove. "Now we let it simmer to perfection," he made a little chef's kiss motion, bringing his fingers to his lips. "But in the meantime, Gambit can find other ways to pass the time with you ma petite." He tossed you a playful wink.

His eyes then trailed over your frame, noticing what you were wearing. "Not gonna lie chere, you look delectable in an apron."

You rolled your eyes, not being able to hide your smile at his compliment. He was such a shameless flirt.

He moved closer to you again, wanting to just be near you. He loved your presence. You somehow always had a way of lighting up the room when you were around. He backed you up against the counter, placing his hands on either sides of you.

"You wanna know somethin' ma cherie?" His gaze lowered to yours, face just mere inches from kissing you. You swallowed hard, wondering what he was about to say.

"Gambit has, well, liked you for a while. And ain't referring to like in a friend sort of way. You do somethin to me and I need to show you what that means..."

He cupped a hand to your cheek, leaning in as his stubble brushed against the skin there. His lips melted into yours, causing sparks to fly in a figurative sense. You gasped softly, wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing him in closer to you.

Once you both finally pulled away for air, the pot had started boiling over.

"Merde!" Gambit cursed under his breath, reluctantly breaking away from you to tend to the food.

Once he got that settled, he immediately turned his attention back to you only to find you with your hands on your knees laughing at the whole situation. "What?" He smirked. "We almost let the food burn from makin' out."

"Exactly," you grinned, face flushed red with happiness and humor.

He couldn't help but sweep you off your feet this time as he sat you on the counter. He moved some stray hair from your face before he gazed into your eyes.

"I need to know if you feel the same for Gambit..." his voice was low and husky now and suddenly all seriousness returned back to your features as he trailed his thumb over your bottom lip.

"Do you even need to ask, Remy?"

You grabbed his shirt and crashed your lips into his this time. He kissed you back eagerly, until you both heard the sound of someone clearing their throat awkwardly.

You both turned to look and see Wolverine, Morph, Cyclops, and the rest of the X-Men standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

"Uh, It's dinner time. Or were we interrupting something else?" Cyclops raised a brow.

You both smiled sheepishly.

Remy scratched the back of his neck and smirked, "Dinner's ready," before giving you a wink as if to say we'll finish this later.

[residenthughes]

slow sundays - mat barzal

pairing: mat barzal x gender neutral reader

word count: 1k

tags/warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, no mention of y/n

summary: any day spent with barzal is always good, especially sundays.

notes: a little something i wrote when i should have been sleeping, oops! may write a longer version, may not but i'll definitely write up something else longer for barzy, as well as some other fics that i've started and am very excited to share, hehe! as always, hope this finds u well and that you enjoy this small ball of fluff. much love! <3

oh! forgot to mention, this post is inspired by this post by @novelbear! they spoil tumblr rotten with such adorable prompts! :)

Sundays are your favourite days of the week. The normal anxieties that creep in from a long lived weekend cease to exist in your timeline, a day defined by slow sweetness and sacred serenity. This year you’ve really lucked out with said day, most of Mat’s games scheduled another time and on the off chance he has practice, it’s before you can even pry yourself from the comfort of your cloud-like mattress. This is one of those Sundays, where you’re tucked away in citrus scented sheets, fast asleep as Mat presses a tender kiss on the bridge of your nose before he goes off to do what he does best, leaving you to emerge from your cocoon whenever you please.

You decide shortly after Mat departs to desert the covers, arranging them neatly with a sleepy pout set onto your puffy lips before starting your share of morning chores. Amidst the array of bits and bobs you cater to around your cosy home, you cook up a breakfast built for two - piping hot and ready to eat by the time Mat’s car pulls up the driveway. 

You drape your arms lazily around his nape, beaming a lovesick grin as you peck your long-time lover. “Good practice?”

“Great practice,” he breathes against you, minty fresh with the faint waft of his accompanying cologne. His strong arms pull you impossibly closer, your body snug in his embrace. “But I’ve got better things waiting for me right here.”

His large hands cup a handful of your butt, giving it a cheeky squeeze that involuntarily makes you jump against him, your cheeks crimsoning. “And to think, that’s the thanks I get for making us breakfast.”

Mat releases his grip as you back away, disbelief washing all over his sculpted features as he gives you a cocked eyebrow and a petty laugh. “Says the one who-”

Your hand comes up, an index finger raised. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Wordlessly, Mat holds his hands up in surrender, brazen-faced as you send him an eye-roll with crossed arms. Despite the circumstances, your hands find the top of his zipper, opening up his coat before you hang it up near the door in perfect routine. The selfless action still warrants one of your favourite kisses from your boyfriend, kisses from side-to-side - a kiss on the cheek, nose and cheek again. A simple action but one that robs you of all oxygen, a lightness in your limbs and a tingle down your spine. You soon turn around with Mat trailing not far behind as you venture back to your spacious kitchen, settling at the quaint table for two - a single vase rose separating your plates packed with all your breakfast favourites.

Before you have the chance to take your seat at your baby blue painted table, Mat comes up from behind you, cradling you in his sugary embrace as he plants a delicate kiss against your temple, your heart overflowing with the magic of your slow Sundays together. “How’d I get so lucky?”

You hum blissfully, a hand delicate against his stubble-ridden cheek as you simply exist together, limbs tangled as you savour the moment like sand slipping through your fingertips. A quick kiss against Mat’s prickly cheek puts a pause on the moment, your grin giddy as your hand takes Mat’s as you direct him to sit, which he does - no questions asked, fuschia dusted upon the apples of his cheeks.

You fall into perfect routine, your brunch a show that consists of all your favourites: Mat’s cutlery glimmering in the soft rays pouring into the windowed kitchen as he cuts his food, ceremoniously offering you the first bite of his food with the same smitten closed mouth smile that he had the first day he met you. Happily, you accept his generous offer and take a bite, beaming with full rosy cheeks as he swipes the crumbs with such an earnest shimmer in his eyes that it makes your heart squeeze with joy.

Your brunch continues in similar fashion, two enamoured partners basking in the company of another as you bond over a hearty plate of food, time lost in endless dialogues and timeless ‘I love you’s. When there’s nothing but crumbs speckled across your ceramic plates, Mat shoos you away before you can get a protest in, you resorting to sulking on the edge of couch as the sounds of plates clinking together competes with the noise coming from the TV. 

When everything’s said and done, the washing up dried and packed away, Mat shuffles into the lounge, falling into the couch with a grunt as he positions himself as close to you as possible. You can never bring yourself to mind, head falling to his broad shoulder once he’s propped his feet against the hickory coffee table with his arm circling your shoulders. Another kiss atop your head tells you he’s settled and you melt into his side, no objections sounding from your long-time boyfriend as reruns of 'The Bachelor' blare from the TV. If anything, Mat immerses just as much as you. Well, as much as the slightly fatigue man can as his fingers absently fiddle with locks of your hair, the gesture a lullaby that aids your sudden drowsiness that links hands with the warmth emitting from Mat’s body that always fits against yours like a puzzle piece.

Before you’re able to drift away into a shallow slumber, a slumber you both shall share prior to your simple plans for the day, Mat’s sleep-laced voice calls out to you. 

“Waking up next to you is the best part of my day.”

And you chuckle softly because of the simple fact you know this to be true - evidenced in the way affirmations of love fall so easily from his lips, in the way he never allows you to walk near any busy roads and buys you flowers just because. And, best of all, when your precious Sunday comes and goes, your Monday view consists of your beautiful boyfriend as you reverse out of your driveway, a sleepy smile mellowed into his features as he sees you off, hollering one and the same line wishing you a great day at work, which is nothing but granted if you’ve got him by your side. 

[theehoneeybee]

i’ve never made a fic request before but here goes! could i get a mike schmidt x reader request that’s something like….

reader is an old friend who fell out of touch with mike but they stumble into each other. one thing leads to another and they besties again <3 but both of them are like ‘wait oh NO they’re HOT’ but both are also too emotionally dense to realize each others feelings. fluff + some angst where one or the other or both think they don’t like each other but they work it out in the end??

+ bonus: abby loves reader and reader is just so good with her (maybe they draw together and reader just older sister’s abby or maybe reader emergency babysits abby and they get along perfectly or smth?) and mike is just *heart eyes*

(sorry if it’s too much… i just love this man oml… the movie was so good ;w;)

thanks~ 🧡

You really slayed with this idea. I'm obsessed. This ended up being longer than I anticipated but I'm not mad. I'm gonna write the bonus one as well in a separate post so keep a look out :) lmk if you liked it!

Word count: 1.9k

.・。.・゜✭・.

"Mike?"

It was unmistakably him. The last person you expected to run in while grocery shopping was Mike Schmidt. The grocery store was always quiet this early in the morning, most people were still asleep. Your hands gripped the handles of the cart tighter as you stared at the familiar stranger.

The last time you saw Mike was not long after his brother Garrett was taken. He wasn't the same after that. The outgoing boy you once called your best friend had disappeared. The loss of Garrett tore his family apart. You tried your best to be there for him but he shut you out, shut the world out. You kept calling him to check in but after months of silence, your calls slowly came to an end.

Even a decade later, Mike looked the same. He had the same curly brown locks and beautiful hazelnut eyes, but now they were accompanied by heavy bags. He slowly turned around, clearly not expecting any recognition today. You watched as his eyes narrowed for a moment, examining you before widening in shock.

"[Name]?"

Mike couldn't believe his eyes. His childhood best friend was standing in front of him, in a random grocery store at 6:30 in the morning. He clumsily shoved the box of cereal back on the shelf as he turned to fully face you.

"It's been a while," Mike says awkwardly. "How have you been?"

"Quite a while." A decade to be exact. "I've been doing alright, nothing special. How've you been, Mike?"

Hearing you say his name again after so many years was surreal. "I'm fine, y'know, same as always."

The two of you stood in awkward silence for a moment. "I have to keep shopping, but," you grabbed a notepad, scribbling down your number and handing him the page. "I'd like to catch up sometime. See you around, Mike."

You strolled down the isle, leaving Mike standing in silent shock. He stared down at the numbers of the page, years of childhood memories flooding his mind. He pocketed the page and promised himself he would call you.

-

Mike stared at the phone, the numbers staring back at him in anticipation. He was more nervous than he'd care to admit. Mike was going to call you but he kept putting it off. One day led to two, then almost a week later he finally decided to man up. He took one last look at the handwritten number before dialling it in. Mike held his breath as the phone rung.

Ring... Ring... Ring...

He blew it. He'd left it too late and now you're weren't going to pick up-

"Hello?" Mike couldn't speak. The words wouldn't make their way out of his mouth. "Hello?" you repeated again.

"Hi, it's uh, it's Mike."

"I thought you were never going to call."

"I'm sorry," Mike apologies. "I was going to but, I-... I'm sorry," he said with a guilty chuckle.

"I forgive you."

Mike cleared his throat. "I was thinking we should catch up." He twirled the cord of the phone between his fingers like a love-struck teenager. "We could meet at Sparky's tomorrow?"

"Does 11 suit you?"

He nodded before realising you couldn't see him through the phone. "Yeah, 11 is fine." His attempt at being nonchalant was embarrassing.

"Great, I'll see you then Mike." He could hear your smile through your voice. Mike hung up the phone and let out a breath of relief, slouching back into the uncomfortable kitchen chair.

"Someone's got a daaaaate," Abby sung in a sing-song voice from the living room.

"It's not a date!" Mike yelled back defensively. Of course it wasn't a date. Just two childhood best friends meeting up after a decade apart. Completely normal.

-

Mike stood at the doors of the diner, nervously fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone, he changed his outfit three times in anticipation. Of course he landed on his usual hoodie and jeans combo, but he couldn't understand why he was so nervous.

"Fuck it," he whispered to himself and pushed open the diner doors, the bell chiming invitingly as they swung open.

He nervously walked through the diner before he spotted you. You were sat at one of the leather booths, head resting on your chin as yo gazed out the window. The bright winter sun shone through the window, gently illuminating your face. You brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face. You looked so beautiful. He hadn't mentally prepared himself for that. In his mind, you were still the thirteen year old with braces that he remembered. You looked so different now, but you were still so remarkably yourself. He almost spun around and ran out the diner back to the safety of his car, but he didn't.

"Hey," Mike said quietly as he took a seat in the old leather booth.

You turned to face him and a sweet smile formed on your lips, sitting up straight. "Hey yourself. Here I was thinking you had forgotten about me again," you were serious but you looked at him with a sly smile. Your eyes darted over Mike's face, taking in his features. His curly brown hair shone in the sun. You may have had a little, well, rather big, crush on him when you were younger, and felt similar butterflies in your stomach.

Mike looked down sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I never meant to cut you off like that. It's just after Garrett was taken, I- I couldn't handle it. I shut down."

You held your smile, but your eyes shone with sadness. "I know. I forgive you Mike." He couldn't help the feeling of guilt rising in his stomach. "Now," you said, grabbing your menu. "What are we eating?"

The server who took your order was lovely. While he commented about how great the breakfast menu was, he insisted that the lunch one was nicer. It was the most important meal of the day after all. You ordered a simple meal of bacon and eggs on toast. Mike chose something a little different. Pancakes with ice cream. He always had a sweet tooth. You remembered back to when you would make cupcakes together as kids. Of course, it always ended with one of you smooshing frosting in the others faces.

You dug into your food and the awkward small talk slowly evolved into a conversation between friends. Mike's tired and closed-off demeanour melting away to reveal the talkative, happy kid he once was. The hours passed by in what felt like minutes as you caught up on years of life. Years you had missed out on spending together. He told you about his sister Abby. You never got to meet her since you fell out of contact before she was born. But from what Mike described, she sounded like a lovely girl. The way he talked about her with such compassion warmed your heart. He always was the best big brother.

"Did they every find out what happened to Garrett?" you quietly asked, scared you were pushing a boundary.

Mike solemnly shook his head. "No. They never found him or the guy that took him."

Your expression fell. Some part of you was holding onto the hope that they would have gotten some closure. For Mike's sake. You knew he blamed himself for Garrett's kidnapping. You gently placed your hand on top of his. It was comforting and familiar. "I'm so sorry, Mike."

"Thanks. I've accepted that they're not going to find him." The two of you sat in silence for a moment. "I never stopped thinking about you, y'know?"

Your heart skipped a beat and you felt your cheeks burn. You were certain that after all these years you had faded from Mike's memory. Hearing those words made your heart soar.

"I know you think I forgot you," Mike continued. "But I could never."

The two of you smiled, staring into each others eyes as your friendship rekindled.

-

"Gosh! They like you Mike. You're so stupid sometimes," Abby insulted, barely taking her eyes off her drawing.

You and Mike had been seeing each other non-stop for the past week. He felt himself longing for your company, wanting you to be by his side. The feeling scared him. He wasn't used to that kind of intimacy. Mike had convinced himself that there was no way you were interested in him. Slowly, he began to distance himself from you. The occasional missed called turned into cancelled plans. He felt guilty about it, just as suddenly as you shit back into your life, he was pushing you out. It was for the best.

Mike groaned and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the couch cushions. "I don't need dating advice from a ten year old."

The knocking of the door drew Mike out of his misery. Sluggishly, he got up and answered it, immediately standing up straight when he saw you waiting outside for him.

"Hey, um, what are you doing here?" Mike asked with a nervous smile.

"Just stopping by," you said calmly. "Can I come in?"

Mike slowly nodded and let you inside. His house was modest, in need of a few repairs, but it was loved. Abby's drawings were strewn around the place, with even the occasional crayon mark on the wall.

"Don't you have homework to do, Abby?" Mike turned to look at her, shooting her a knowing look.

She smiled. "Nope," but skipped off to her room regardless.

"She looks just like you," you said with a small smile as you watched the girl go.

Mike stared at you anxiously, waiting for you to yell at him, to tell him how terrible he was, but nothing came. You wandered into the living room, kneeling down to look at Abby's drawings. Mike was in almost all of them.

"Did I do something wrong?" you couldn't hide the crack in your voice, not looking at Mike as you spoke. He felt a pang in his chest.

You thought the two of you had something special. You wanted him back in your life for so many years and when you finally had that opportunity, he pushed you away yet again. You wanted Mike back, not just as your best friend, but more this time around.

Mike sighed and stared at you guiltily. "No, of course not."

"Then why are you pushing me away again?" You turned to face him, eyes glossy with tears. Mike frowned and walked over to you.

He brushed a fallen tear off your cheek and you leant into his palm. "I'm just an idiot." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I like you and I don't want to lose you, but that thought scared me. I didn't know if you felt the same so I did what I knew best. I'm sorry."

You sniffled, laughing softly through your tears. "God, I thought you didn't like me! Every time I tried to make a move you completely ignore it."

The fact you had been flirting with Mike this whole time went straight over his head. He thought you were just being nice.

Mike let out an embarrassed chuckle. "I'm just dense I guess. But I do like you, [Name]. I really like you."

"I like you too," you whispered. Mike hand drifted from your cheek, gently tilting up your chin so you met his gaze. In a moment of confidence, he lent in, his lips softly meeting yours. You lost yourself in the kiss, your hand resting on his shoulder as you melted into him.

After a moment, you slowly pulled away. "Promise not to leave me again?" your lips brushed against his as you spoke.

"I promise."

[sugardolle]

my new routine to life. 💋

how i get everything i want + succeed. 🎀

first off i don’t use subliminals neither do i participate in affirmation challenges. i use to but i grew to feel that it’s unnecessary. on my account you won’t see neither of those.

i know about affirmations, i know about non dualism, i know about states. however something about all of this did not sit right with me idc, my brain didn’t like it. all of this information and you’re bound to be confused especially with the arguments about what and what, literally for weeks. people take “do what works for you” for granted.

i didn’t throw all of these ideas and concepts away however i shaped tf out of them to fit what feels right with me, and that’s what a lot of people don’t do, hence all of these arguments for no reason ! a bunch of mad people and for what.

a @/nazdoll.e original post ( insta ).

ONE ) i know that what i want will show up for me now or what society called the future. time doesn’t exists to me, my future is my present and so is my past. manifesting on a time crunch doesn’t exist either in my book. because if i already had it, is it really a time crunch? you can’t want something so bad for it just to not show up. when you know you have this much power, whatever you want can’t not show up for you. it’s bound to at this point.

TWO ) when something isn't 'showing' up, it isn't because of me. because i know once i become aware that this thing exist in my life at some point of "time." knowing time does NOT exist. it exists now. i can easily decide on when to have it. just because i became aware of that fact. and for two; the 4D & 3D are the same exact thing. they can't exist separately it's one complete thing. so whatever it is that i want it has no choice but to show up.

THREE ) i can't fix a broken person, i'm not their momma nor a therapist. i feel like a lot of ppl should hear this! i will never take my train of thought, etc., to 'manifest' back dirt ass people !when i can use that energy to put a better person into my life that didn't fuck me over the first time. cause friendship wise i thought about it before but i thought to myself do i need this past energy in my life again?' like nooo. it’s a fresh breath of air manifesting someone new and i find it more comfortable and easier. i’m too good to do myself dirty.

FOUR ) life is effortless once you know you have zero limits, and become aware that you are in control of your own limits ! i promise just sit down one day & close your eyes and become aware of the fact that you can control the limit(s) that you think you have. you can literally erase it.

FIVE ) my mindset has no labels. if it seems correct to me, i will take this and that and follow it. what most of us need to do is relearn and go back to the "basics". the first thing we learned that got us to wherever we are now. it helped me so much, and got rid of any clutter in my mind.. with the information i have, i know i got hella options and so it was just a big spot of ink in my mind. i threw away some stuff and kept some.

i’m now one of those one people who just write down what they want and decide that i have it. fuck a state, fuck an affirmation, that’s literally how it is. obviously i’m educated about those things but i don’t take up all of my time trying to “get in a state” or “how long should i saturated for?”

if you can’t be a spoiled brat about what you want then i don’t know what to tell you. because that’s what it basically it is. 🎀

signing off — vixendolle ( kaydolle ). 🍭 ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

[wontheworld]

“we’re f**ked”

Paring: fem idol! y/n x idol !Niki

Genre: fluff (?)

Summary: Y/n and Niki are both idols that are secretly dating, y/n and Niki are chosen to be music bank mcs what happens when he flirts a little to much?

Warnings: cursing, none otherthat I know of!

Notes: not proofread! Enjoy this first Niki fic lols 🤞😻

Word Count: 626

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊

“Y/nnie!”

“Niki!”

“Music Bank!!” Y/n and Niki said smiling

“Oh Niki it seems we have vampires in the building!” y/n pouted cutely while gasping.

Niki smiled at her, “oh no y/n!! I’ll save you I won’t let them bite you!” Niki said as she still pouted.

“Niki! I think they’re romantic vampires they said come “kiss me and bite me” to me!” Y/n said gasping again.

“I’ll kiss and bite you first!” Niki said as yn looked at him.

she frowned while side eyeing him, “Niki what are you even saying- anyway let’s welcome”

“Enhypen!” They both said before separating to each side

“One! Two! Connect! Hello we are Enhypen!” The seven boys introduce theirselves.

They said a few things about their comeback and information before Niki asked a question.

“Y/n why don’t you show us some of the bite me choreography I taught you!” Niki said making the boys cheer

Y/n shook her head before covering her face in embarrassment, “I’d rather not!” She said as all the boys whined

“Come on let’s sing it so you can do it!” Jungwon said as Niki nodded

“Come here and get some 남겨줘 on my neck 네 거란 증거, just come over and bite me” the boys sang as she danced

after she finished she covered her face again as all the boys cheered, “You did so good Y/n!” Niki said as she shook her head

They finished as she bowed to them after they left and the camera turned off.

“Niki you seriously are going to get us caught” Y/n scolded him as he rolled his eyes.

“Your group is next!!” He said as she sighed before getting in the camera as her group came on the stand behind them hiding

“People keep asking me what is my ideal type Niki what should I do!!” She said sighing in-front of the camera

He hummed for a minute, “Hmmmm tell them I’m your ideal type and you’re my ideal type!” He winked as her as she smiled.

“Let’s welcome Astral!!” They both said as the girls popped up

“Resemble the stars! Hi we are Astral!” y/n and the rest of her group bowed as Niki cheered

“You guys came back with a new hit can you tell us what’s it’s about?” Niki questioned

Their leader Chaeyeon spoke, “Our new song ‘Ideal Type’ talks about of course having a ideal type and how a girl falls in love with someone that isn’t her ideal type!” Chaeyeon said as they girls smiled

“Niki do you have a ideal type!” Another member Haeun questioned.

“Yes my Ideal type is Y/n!” He said as the girls laughed while y/n frowned while shaking his head

“Just kidding my ideal type is engenes and y/n’s ideal type is starlights!” He said as the girls clapped

They finished their very last interview as Y/n sighed as the camera came off.

“Niki the hell is wrong with you you’re going to put both of us in hot water!” She said as he laughed in her face

“You looked extra pretty today how could I not flirt! With my beautiful girlfriend!” He said as she shook her head.

After she went home a notification popped up from Chaeyeon.

채언니 (chae unnie): there’s so much videos from the interview today

채언니: ㅋㅋㅋ Niki seriously got you guys exposed

yn: 😣 ik!! I told him to stop but he wouldn’t

채언니: that kpop channel Sojang already posted it saying ‘YN from Astral and Niki from Enhypen are flirting? Or even more than that, DATING!!’

yn: fuckkk!

She quickly called Niki as he picked up fast after the first ring, “Hello beautiful”

“Niki we’re fucked”

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©️wontheworld

Song for today:

[hells-wasabii]

Hi I was hoping if maybe you could do Velvette and Carmilla (poly or separate whichever you want to do) with a fem s/o that had a very abusive ex while she was alive like both physical and verbal abuse. She also has a hard time going out because she is terrified that she might run into them again. No pressure though hope you have a good day!😁

A/N: I'm so sorry i didn't write over the weekend, I got so busy it was ridiculous. Should be back to our regularly scheduled broadcast tomorrow! I'll be honest, this ask resonated with me, I immediately knew that I was gonna enjoy writing this one and you'll see why. Like i did last time, I'll be putting one drabble on one post and the other on a separate one with the ask included!

Character: Velvette

Type: Fic (Velvette x fem!reader who had an abusive ex, Angst, Fluff)

She was going to destroy them. And whatever was left of them when she was done, no one would dare touch, else they also wanted their lives burnt to ash.

Velvette was furious, livid. Needless to say, the influencer was on a war path.

Truly, she was glad that you weren’t here to see her like this. You didn’t need another reminder of that stain of a soul, though she wasn’t just going to lie or keep you in the dark. You knew where she was and what she was planning. You had been in tears when she told you in soft whispers that it was going to be okay, that she was going to ‘take care of it’. She was surprised that she had been able to keep her cool until she had left the flat.

Honestly, the influencer knew that she wasn’t supposed to know about the bastard yet. You had wanted to tell her on your own time and she respected that. But that didn’t mean that she hadn’t already suspected. When you would get nervous out in public, looking out into crowds like you were expecting to see a ghost. The flinching early in your relationship anytime she’d so much as graze your arm.

It figured that they were in hell too. It made sense, all things considered. Plus they were probably slippery enough to stay out of the path of any angels during exterminations

It had been such a peaceful day too. The both of your schedules had aligned, Velvette was between projects and you hadn’t had any real plans until later in the night, which said plans were with the overlord anyways.

It had been so long since the two of you had enjoyed a lazy morning together. Velvette was more than content simply enjoying each other’s company on the couch. You had been entangled with your lover, your arms loosely wrapped around her waist while you rest your chin on her shoulder, watching her scroll through her current feed.

She remembered so clearly how tense you became when she came across the picture. Some club goer that she would have completely ignored other wise, had it not been for the fact that you had started trembling. And then you flinched when the overlord had reached out to cup your cheek. She was quick to assure you that you had nothing to apologize for when you offered a dejected ‘sorry’.

And that was how Velvette found out about your only other serious relationship and the story of your death. Through needless apologies and countless tears.

Now, the influencer found herself storming through the halls of Vee Tower with one destination in mind. Vox’s office.

“Vox I need your help.” These were the first words out of her mouth when she burst in through the doors to the video star’s office

“Velvette, I thought you were taking today off?” The video star startled, quickly closing his current video feed. He seemed more than he would have usually. Whether it was because he hadn’t expected to see her or because of how angry she looked, the influencer didn’t know. And frankly, she didn’t give a shit, either. He could keep watching the radio demon like a creep later.

The video star leaned back in his seat when Velvette didn’t offer an answer. So instead he gesturing for the younger overlord to sit. She did not. Lacing his fingers together, Vox took in the sight that was Velvette. She was angry, that much was obvious, but why? She didn’t have any current projects that he could think of, so what in the literal hell could have her so vexed?

“What’s got you on a war path today my dear?” Though his smile didn’t meet his eyes. No, he knew something was very wrong.

“I need a favor.” This seemed to get his attention. In reality, Velvette rarely asked for favours, instead preferring to get shit done herself. Even rarer still, she was here, asking him in person instead of calling or texting him.

Vox turned to her fully now, a serious expression settling upon his screen. “Of course, what do you need?”

“Your reach is farther than mine,” She admitted, her voice soft, betraying the unbridled rage that dwelled beneath the surface. Reaching into her bag she pulled out a photo of demon who had summoned her ire, sliding a photo across his desk to show him. An eyebrow raise, the older sinner took the photo in his hand.

Mostly uninterested, Vox really wasn’t sure what he was looking at. The picture was ordinary, some demon taking a selfie at a club. Looked like some regular old schmuck to him. Returning his gaze back to his youngest cohort, he found her glaring at the offending photo so hard that he was surprised it didn’t burst into flames right there in his hand. Just to be safe, he put the photo back down on his desk.

“And what exactly did this poor bastard do to piss you off this bad?”

“That’s the fucker who used to beat on my girl.” Velvette all but hissed out, glarring down at the picture. Then, she spoke again, softer, her voice nearly trembling as a more grave expression took to her face. “They killed her, too.”

Vox froze, his screen flickering as his own temper spiked at the revelation. You were good for Velvette. He actually liked you, which was more than he could say about any other demon that the influencer had brought around the tower. Val liked you just as much. He was going to be pissed if he was left out of the fun, the video star noted as he shot the moth demon a quick text to get his ass to his office. Vox’s lips split into a vicious grin, his voice low, practically a growl as he forced out a: “Well, lets get to work then, shall we?”