#this was supposed to be for 100 followers

[ask-me-later23]

Weathering the Storm.

Spencer Reid x Reader in which Spencer comforts reader while they work through their intense storm anxiety.

Warnings: severe anxiety/fears of thunder and lightning.

A/N: I know this isn't everyone's cup of tea but hurricane is currently hitting FL and this is how I am coping. It might not help everyone but it helped meeee.

The noise was too much. It was all too much.

Between the quick flashes of light, the intense roars that followed, and the incessant scraping of branches against your window, it was all just too much.

It didn’t start off slowly, as you were used to with storms. No, this morning it seemed like the perfect fall day when you went to get coffee just down the block. You could even remember enjoying the soft breeze that brushed against you as you walked. This all seemed so far ago, so far away. 

The clouds rolled in quickly, followed in suit by the zips of lightning in the distance, and the grumbling that seemed to mock you. You hardly made it back inside before they began taunting you in full force. 

At any other moment you might have found this scene humorous. You’ve seen true horrors everyday, come face-to-face with real life monsters on a regular basis, yet here you are: sobbing and quivering over a thunderstorm. Brought to your knees by mother nature. 

But it is not any other moment. Right now you can’t even think straight. All you can focus on is how loud everything is. You clamp your hands over your ears in attempts to muffle the world around you, but it seeps through. It always does. 

A loud rapping at your door startles you, forcing out a loud whimper. Panic begins to set in. What happened? Is someone hurt? What’s going on? All questions you had no answers too. You hear the raps again, softer this time.

Suddenly, through the panicked haze, you remember Spencer was supposed to come over and drop off some case files. You attempt to move towards the door from your corner, but find all of your limbs refuse to answer to you anymore. Your fingers remain clenched to your head, and your legs are stuck curled up in front of you. Another whimper escapes your lips.

A moment passes and you think he gave up on you and left, but then you can hear the soft creak of the door being opened. How did he get in here? What if it isn’t him? What if it’s an intruder? What if-

“Y/N? The door was unlocked, I thought I heard something. Are yo-” Spencers concerned voice suddenly halts and footsteps begin rushing over to your currently hunched over body. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” You feel him kneel down next to you, a warm hand places itself on your knee, but your body jerks away from the sudden contact. His gaze burns a hole into the top of your head, but you can’t force yourself to look up and open your eyes. 

Suddenly another loud BANG goes off outside, sounding every single alarm inside your head once more, and you recoil from the noise. You hear Spencer readjust on the cold floor.

“The storm,” he whispers. Despite the softness to his tone, there is no question or uncertainty to his voice. 

You hear more shuffling, followed by footsteps walking away, and are suddenly worried he’s going to leave you. He didn’t sign up to be here for this, for you. He just came to drop off files. You might have a close bond but that does not mean he’s obligated to help. A soft sob escapes your lips, and then you hear the footsteps coming back towards you. 

“Shhh… It’s okay.” You feel him sit back down next to you. “You know it’s actually a myth that lightning can’t strike two places in the same spot. There are hundreds of places where lightning can strike twice. The Empire State Building gets struck about 100 times a year.” He moves closer. “Astraphobia is the actual name for an intense fear of thunder and lightning, and it is the third most common phobia in America. However, your actual chances of being struck by lightning are about 1 in 12,000.”

Slowly, you feel him brushing your back gently. This time you do not flinch. 

“In 1955 there was this huge thunderstorm in Belgium that set off over 40,000 pounds of explosives left over from the battle of Messines in World War 1. But the only casualty was a single cow.” You are enveloped in warmth that you didn’t know you needed as he slowly places a blanket over your shoulders. 

You can slowly start to feel yourself relaxing as you focus on his words. You stop shaking and your breathing begins to slow. “There’s a thunderstorm that forms regularly over Tiwi Islands that they named ‘Hector the Convector’ from September to March.” He pulls you in closer, hugging you tightly with one arm through the blanket. You slowly regain feeling into your limbs and lean into him. 

“Aristotle used to believe that thunder was caused by a collision of the clouds,” he continued his rambling as he cupped his other hand across your face.

“Thank you,” you manage to croak out. He wipes the tears away from your face and you finally manage to look up at him. His disheveled curls looked all over the place, yet framed his face perfectly. His brows were pushed together and the corners of his lips turned down in concern. “You don’t have to stay…it’s okay.”

As if wanting to make you seem a fool, mother nature sent another loud roar your way, causing you to shrink right back into his arms. “I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re okay.” His arms gripped you securely. 

You both stay there for the rest of the night, even after the clouds dissipate and the storm calms. You don’t say much, just sit wrapped in each other’s arms in comfort.

[butmakeitgayblog]

I need a one shot of the first time Clarke is alone with Sal. Do they just stare at each other? Play? Does Lexa come home to find them passed out cuddle up with empty plates lol

A summary will have to suffice because I have,,, way to many wips 😂

But it would be an experience.

Truthfully it'd be Clarke being a bit nervous but also jazzed but also very like "Lexa. He is... a dog. I'm not sure if you remember, but I raised an entire child. A human being. I think I got this. You can go, we'll be ok."

So Lexa would go. Affectionately bumping heads with the moose once in a reminder to behave himself, and kissing her girl twice on the lips in 'thank you' for holding down the fort while she runs into school for a last minute department meeting. Reminders that he won't need to eat until she's home getting tossed over her shoulder while she snatches up her keys, along with running through a checklist of toy locations, treat options, and walk times that Clarke already damn well knows.

Her last lingering kiss would be met with an eye roll and a slap on the ass to actually get herself out the door.

Sal's heavy sigh in her immediate absence would be followed by a pathetically needy sounding whine, which has Clarke just looking down into his big droopy eyes and nodding.

Cuz she gets it.

"I know, bud... 'Cept I usually make that sound when she walks into a room."

It's not surprising that her comedy is lost on the audience.

Other than that, it would be fine. Sal would know Clarke well by then, and while she is not mom, she is still very much friend shaped. So it's all good by him.

The half empty pack of hot dogs bought not-at-all as a doggie bribing tactic that Clarke keeps hidden in the back of Lexa's lunch meat drawer helps with those feelings as well.

So they'd waste the few hours going back and forth between playing catch and wiggly butting running in the back garden and watching bits and pieces of trashy television. Just a chill time between doggie and dogsitter.

Of course when Lexa comes home to a completely silent house, her first thought is,,, what the fuck happened? Because Sal always meets her at the door. Every day. Without fail. Even when she picks him up from the neighbors.

Except that day, he is nowhere to be seen.

But she keeps her cool because she trusts Clarke and there's no way something catastrophic happened in 3 hours. If there had been, Clarke absolutely would've called her. She knows this.

Which is why she's genuinely only curious as she wanders through the eerily silent house in search of her two favorite faces. Living room, empty. Hallways deserted. Kitchen, quiet as a mouse.

It's only when she loops back around from checking the backyard with the full intention of heading back out front to see if maybe they'd gone on a late afternoon walk, that she notices the display in her bedroom.

Specifically, a crashed out saint bernard taking up 3/4ths if her bed with a snoozing blonde squeezed cuddled in right behind him.

As in, if Clarke tried to roll over onto her back she'd 100% end up on the floor.

And just... What is Lexa even supposed to do with that. How is she supposed to handle that sight? How can she resist when her quiet call of, "Sal. Are you making moves on my girl, young man?" only earns her a lifted furry head and a snort of dismissal before it flops back down on her pillow.

The answer is obviously to toe her shoes off and hang her blazer on the handle, just to ease herself onto the roughly postage stamp sized bit of bed left available. The answer is obviously to gently brush the chaos of hair back from Clarke's face and press whisper soft kisses to her shoulder. To her neck. To the perfectly shaped shell of her ear, before nuzzling into the sleep warmed mess of blonde and drifting off as well.

[ninyard]

Hii, I guess this is a question not only for you but also your followers. Why wouldn't it be ok to like aftg? Like I've seen people say is problematic? But the only thing I've seen criticized is how unrealistic it is and like is a book so... idk maybe I lack critical thinking on some topics so if anyone could point me where to look I'd love to keep liking these books while being aware of it's failings :3

this is an interesting question! i guess the biggest part of whether it wouldn't be "okay" for someone to read aftg would be somewhat down to personal tastes.

re: the unrealistic part, i think if you go into a lot of books expecting them to be "realistic" you'll probably find there's a lot out there that just... isn't. i myself think that 90% of the biggest arguments i've seen about it's realism are from people who 1) refuse to suspend disbelief for the sake of enjoyment or 2) go into it with a certain expectation as to how realistic it's going to be before reading.

you can pick apart a million different books and movies and tv shows out there and find "unrealistic" parts in them all. and what do people say is even unrealistic about it? the different languages that are spoken in it? the trauma all the characters have? i understand it, to some degree, but i think people who think that fiction that is unrealistic = fiction that is bad, are probably just reading the wrong things. and that's fine. it's personal taste. but not everything has to be realistic for someone to enjoy it. that's just me.

as for the problematic aspects of it, i guess my gut instinct is to say that's once again down to personal perspective and opinion. i personally don't like or agree with some things in it, but i don't know if i can definitively say, oh it's problematic for this reason or that reason. are there triggering topics in aftg? are there uncomfortable scenes and problematic things that the characters do and say? are there bad people who do bad things? yes. that's just the truth. does that make the books themselves inherently problematic? i don't think so. but maybe i'm wrong with that. i don't know.

if you try to justify and explain and dissect everything that happens or is said in a book like aftg, i think you can probably find yourself in a real rabbit hole of is this appropriate? is this okay? is this problematic? i just feel that, it's a book, that has shitty things said and done in it, and it's up to you yourself whether you think those shitty things cross the line of being problematic or not. there's limits to everything, and while i dont think aftg crosses those limits, it doesn't mean i think it's perfect or an exception to criticism.

i guess what i mean is that if you try to find things wrong with aftg, you'll probably find something. it's not perfect. you could pick it apart if you really wanted to. but i suppose i'm just happy enough to enjoy it without doing that because it is what it is. it's a book about people who have had shitty things happen in their lives, about people who say and do shitty things, but i don't think it glamorises or makes those shitty things okay. me liking the series also doesn't mean i'm 100% a-okay super cool with everything that happens in it either. i am not the media i consume or enjoy.

but it's also really important to listen to people who talk about things that do personally hurt them or make them feel like they're not seen for who they are or what they've been through. i can say that i personally am not offended or hurt by 99% of what happens, but that doesn't invalidate someone who was. that doesn't invalidate other people who aren't me who say "it's problematic for x reason". i'm happy to share any insights into this if anyone wants to send them my way!

maybe this isn't a good answer to your question and i'm still not sure if i've gotten my point across properly. there's a million things problematic about aftg, i guess, but it's just about where you draw the line between the problematic content inside the series, and it maybe being a problematic series from the outside. i don't know exactly where to point you towards to have a balanced understanding of why it might be okay vs not okay. i'd just say to keep an open mind and listen to what people say when they raise their concerns about it.

[musicalmoritz]

Glazing TBHK again idk

There are absolutely valid critiques to be made about the writing of TBHK but I keep seeing teenagers on TikTok make the most mind-numbing takes about how the manga is problematic because it has toxic relationships. Sure there are some questionable scenes that I hate but of all the things to bitch about, you choose the relationships??? And not even a take about the way they’re written, you think a manga having toxic relationships in any capacity makes it bad???

I specified teenagers because I wanted to cut them a little bit of slack but I’ve seen grown ass adults make similar takes. Do ya’ll not watch adult shows with adult themes??? Where the relationships are much worse than what you find in a ghost romance manga aimed at tweens???

I wouldn’t even say the toxicity is glorified, they just don’t tell you how you’re supposed to feel about it 24/7. Like when Hanako says he wants Nene to live the life he gave her, or when Kou wants Mitsuba to be completely reliant on him, you’re supposed to understand that these are severely traumatized characters who’s baggage is going to weigh down their relationships. They don’t give a disclaimer every chapter that you’re not supposed to agree with them because they expect their audience to be sensible enough to come to their own conclusions on how they should feel about those scenes.

I hate to break it to ya’ll but mentally ill people have relationships irl, whether they’re ready for them or not. These relationships may go poorly or they may turn out to be very beneficial depending on how they’re handled. All types of people, whether they deal with trauma/mental illness or not, have flaws that sometimes follow them throughout life. Not all of these flaws will go away, because no human being is 100% perfect. Sometimes we hurt the people we care about even if we’re generally good people. Fiction that falls under the category of magical realism (aka TBHK) is meant to reflect reality, so we’re often going to see characters deal with flaws that they may or may not overcome.

Not to mention, half of these characters are dead, they’re not going to be capable of having normal healthy relationships. They behave realistically for their circumstances, it doesn’t have to have a moral tied up with a pretty pink bow. Most of the ships are doomed to fail anyways so them being toxic is a relevant part of the natural decline of their development. The toxicity doesn’t automatically make the series bad, in fact I’d argue that element is well-written and necessary for the progression of the story. If HanaNene weren’t a little bit toxic, we wouldn’t have gotten the Picture Perfect arc or the Severance arc

It’s perfectly fine to dislike toxic ships in fiction, but don’t ridicule authors for wanting to depict more complex themes in their work. AidaIro have certainly included some weird fan service scenes/official art in their series, but those criticisms should remain separate from creative choices you personally dislike.

[eliteseven]

If they are going to be smashing the Mirror of Loss (as they should) then I extend to you a fic idea I had some months ago but lack the ability to get into writing - A Selûnite version of Shadowheart’s Shar romance scene

Shadowheart, feeling extra spiteful after Shar’s constant pettiness, decides to do a sort of reverse Nightfall Ritual - an Act of Wickedness followed by a feast. The Act of Wickedness would be desecrating and then smashing the Mirror of Loss, while the feast would, like in the Shar romance path, be sex.

The idea is making Shar witness her failure, and see that despite her efforts to mould Shadowheart into a weapon of loss, she has found someone devoted to her, who truly loves her.

Shar is forced to witness an act of their true love through the Mirror, which they then smash with the Spear of Night (which is implied to have been Shar’s own spear, presumably wielded by her during the Time of Troubles).

Smashing the Mirror which stole so many of Shadowheart’s memories is an act of catharsis, and also ensures it can never do so again.

Can’t wait to read the next chapter, it’s going to be a lot of fun seeing Shadowheart return to her old ways to get Tav back (for the reader at least, not for her lol). Keep up the wonderful writing!

😭 oh my GOD I’m used to your genius but you’re always upping the ante!!!!!

Yeah… this is both hot and poetic as fuck!

I love love love the idea of Shadowheart using Shar’s own ritual against her. The acts of wickedness and then the feast? Watching their reflections as they devour each other? Making love so sweet and all-encompassing that they forget where they are for a moment, so lost in each other? And then shattering the mirror?

Good GOD that’s petty and 100% what Shar deserves for bugging Shadowheart so incessantly.

Shar would have to watch Shadowheart getting all the love and reverence she was supposed to have. Neither she nor Selûne fully have Shadowheart; she’s her own person, and her heart belongs to Tav. She gets to shatter the mirror and experience extreme catharsis. And she gets to feast on Serena right in front of Shar’s salad 😌🤭

I have a feeling you’d make a phenomenal writer so if you do want to keep this idea for yourself, I completely understand! If you don’t, I think it might be a really nice addition to weave in somewhere along these next couple of chapters! But thank you for sharing!!! 🥰

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Fishing Interlude

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[channnel]

I like to think they have the relationship of a Canadian goose and a human.

(Well.. Alan is probably the goose to everyone except for doe-eyes)

[deservedgrace]

it's wild that for how much evangelical culture harps on humans being evil and horrible and depraved and wicked and sinful simply by nature of existing as a human, you're really not allowed to make mistakes, even (and possibly especially) as a child

and it's wild what they consider "a mistake" and "sin"

it's genuinely disturbing that i was told jesus never cried as a baby because "a baby's first sin is crying for attention". fellas is it sinful to have the instinct to want your caregivers to take care of you?

[pinkmelodie]

First Miguel fic + 250+ follower special ୨୧

I’d like to start off by saying THANK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR ALMOST 300 FOLLOWERS !! And 2000+ notes?!? omg. I checked my inbox a few times and saw 99+ notifs every time, and when I tell you I SCREAMED. As a new writer I can’t thank you enough for all the notes and sweet comments ! I’m so grateful, so take this fic as a thank you <33

Warnings: Miguel is hinted to have slept with socks on which….is a trigger on its own apparently 😥, potentially botched ass Spanish……(no Google translate was used tho, my French teacher taught me better than that), p in v, making out, grinding, slight blood, reader has no chill nor filter but Miguels lowkey into it, degradation, bondage, banter, oral, praise, etc.

a/n: Takes place before the whole Miles incident !! I love Miguel but I can’t forgive him for doing that to my son 🤨🤨 This could also be imagined as König, since they’re both huge stubborn men <33

Pairing: Female reader x Miguel O’Hara 

Summary: Miguel is pent up and needs a release. Lucky for him, there’s a certain spider woman who’d do anything for him <3

Words: 4141 (DAMN I shocked myself w this)

. . .

Miguel runs his hand through his hair, grumbling when he feels it’s getting to a length that needs cutting again. Just another thing to add to his pile of responsibilities.

He pushes the fumbled blanket off to the side and lazily palms at his morning wood, finding the ministrations do little to help his raging hard-on. He’s shocked, mainly that he could still get one with how tense he’s been lately, but mostly that he’s actually annoyed that he has to jerk off. It feels like a chore to him now…though taking care of himself in any sense has since he became Spider-Man.

With a sleepy groan he drags himself up and to the bathroom. His mismatched socks are soft against the cool bathroom tiles where he turns on the shower. His muscles stretch when he tugs his white sweater over his head and tosses it onto the ground nearby, abs tensing and shoulders refusing to relax no matter how much stretching he did.

When the rest of his clothing join the heap on the floor he steps into the freezing cold shower, twitching at the icy droplets that felt like tiny icicles poking into his taut skin. 

He hoped the temperature would make the nuisance go down, but it raged on, standing proud at its full height. Miguel never thought he’d find himself glaring at his own dick, but here he was, horny and heavily pissed off. 

He reached down and tugged at his cock, rubbing his thumb over the angry red tip. He jerked profusely, yet all it did was leave him feeling unsatisfied and humiliated. 

“Fuck.” He cursed, washing his hand off before aggressively turning the knob to stop the flowing water. He tried to remember what he had to do today while pacing the bathroom, but he couldn’t focus with his erection clouding  his thoughts. Maybe if the blood would stay in his head…

He was an attractive guy, he knew that much. It would be easy to go out into the town and hook up with some stranger, but not so much so when he was in this constant sour mood. That sullen energy & resting bitch face paired with his looming height would scare any woman away.

Any sane woman.

You tied up the last of the criminals in your silky webs, smiling in victory. Unfortunately, the joy wasn’t long-lasting since as soon as you got home you felt boredom creeping up on you once again.

For weeks you’d been entertained by the intimidating founder of the spider society; Miguel O’Hara.You’d been bugging him for days on end, literally drooling at his feet and begging him to come back to your place.

He kicked you out multiple times, but like a cockroach you couldn’t be squashed—and neither could your need for him. You just couldn’t take a hint apparently. When he picked you up by the back of your suit and threw you back into your universe, all you focused on was how easily he carried you with just one of his big, veiny hands.

The way that suit hugged his defined chest so well, and his massive arms where you could see every vein…plus that prominent bulge? You were sunk.

He’d finally run out of patience for you when you ‘accidentally’ messed with the tech for his suit, almost making him go full commando in front of everyone in the spider society.(wouldn’t be the last time that happened…) He banned you for good, taking away your ‘multiversal gizmo’ without a second thought.

Your last words being ‘worth it!’ as you were flung back into your universe by the go-home-machine seemed like the icing on the cake to him despising you forever, but apparently that wasn’t the case because the man himself just appeared in your living room.

“Y/N.” He addressed nonchalantly.

You stared at him, jaw agape for a few moments before pinching yourself to see if you were dreaming. You had to be, he basically filed a restraining order against you. A really complicated, multiversal restraining order. Why  would he ever voluntarily come to you?

You couldn’t even respond since your throat felt so dry .. . It seemed your body had other ideas of where to soak.

“Why are you so obbsesed with me?” He suddenly asked, paying no mind to your awkward silence. 

“uhm-“

“I mean, you chased me around every day, eyed me down so intensively it was basically public sex and yet here you are, alone with me like you wanted, and now you’re speechless?” He stalked around your living room, circling you like a bird of prey.

You blushed up a storm and stood frozen in front of him, trying to discretely rub your thighs together.

He eyed you down, noticing your obvious ministrations but only chuckling. “Sometimes I had wished you were an actual spider so I could crush you under the soles of my shoes, but lately I’ve found myself feeling as horny and desperate as you.” He admitted with a smirk that revealed his sharpened fangs. 

That confession had your mind reeling to the point all you could muster up was; “I would’ve let you step on me regardless.”

His smirk grew and he started to approach you until his shadow covered you completely. You had to tilt your whole head up to look him in his glowing red eyes now—but you couldn’t handle making the eye contact anyway.

“You are just a small little thing, yet I didn’t expect you to be all bark no bite. All those filthy things you said lingered in my mind..don’t you want to take care of what you started?” He asked in a deliciously low voice. The almost mocking manner he said it in made you feel called out, and you looked down at your hands and picked at your nails to try and calm yourself.

A clawed finger tilted your head up by the chin and forced you to look into his eyes. How could you forget—in all your time spent basically stalking him you noticed how he never broke eye contact with anyone that he was speaking to. It was both exhilarating and intimidating to see, and you felt that full force while finally being on the receiving end of it. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, arañita.” He ordered, and it sent tingles shooting up your spine.

You swore you heard your neck crack from how fast you looked up at him. He looked predatory staring down at you like that, eyes gleaming in the sunlight. “So? Will you finish what you started muñeca?” He asked, as if it was even a question to you.

“Fuck yes.” You agreed without missing a beat, making him chuckle darkly. “Needy thing.”

Before your mind could catch up you were suddenly being lifted by him and thrown on his shoulder with ease. He walked through the halls of your cozy apartment and waltzed into your bedroom without even searching for it, carelessly throwing you onto the bed.

You landed with a bounce on the soft comforter, feeling even smaller now with him standing above you. “Wha- how do you know where my bedroom is?” You asked when your brain finally decided to have a rational thought. 

“I’ve done my research—wanted to make sure you weren’t a spy. It was a waste of time, really, you’re just a horny stalker.” He shrugged.

You stared at him with an offended expression (tho it was 100% true) and went to argue until your lips were suddenly sealed by sticky red webs.

 “On your back.” He ordered. 

You crossed your arms at him first until he repeated the command in a low, dangerous voice. “Now.” Any defiance you had pretended to have quickly left your body and you laid down flat on the silk sheets.

He stalked over to you, all big and menacing as always. He leaned over you and forced your wrists together, twirling more glowing silk around them until they were bound above your head. 

He smirked down at you, leaning in to pepper kisses all over your neck. He sucked dark hickeys onto the sensitive skin of your throat, enjoying your muffled moans. While before he found your voice excruciating—he was now desperate to hear it crying out his name.

He stripped the webs off your mouth and you whined at the pain. The feeling resembled a bandaid being ripped off a fresh cut. He cooed pitifully above you and leaned in, whispering “Pobre araña, why don’t I kiss it better?” 

You nodded desperately until his lips met yours with a slight sting. He growled into your mouth, swirling his tongue around yours and exploring your mouth until you were squirming. He nibbled on your bottom lip, sharp canines threatening to break the skin. He pushed his muscled thigh between your legs and pressed down on your clit with his knee, the pressure making you moan under him. Your sweet sounds drove him wild, and he couldn’t help but bite down lightly on your lip until tiny droplets of blood dripped onto his tongue.

He groaned at the taste, his animalistic split-DNA going wild. When he pulled back—lips reddened, hair tussled and fallen slightly in front of his face— you couldn’t help but stare. His face looked so much more chiseled up close, cheekbones perfectly defined and a jawline sharper than the claws currently resting on your hips. 

His toned chest rose up and down steadily while he regained his breath, the familiar spider symbol on his suit growing bigger then smaller with each rise of his lungs like it was breathing. 

“Let’s take care of these, Cariño.” He addressed your clothing as if it were nothing but a nuisance for him before slicing your shirt right off you. He did this with ease, big claws moving onto your bottoms and clawing those off as well.

“Hey! Those were nice.” You pouted, though apparently he didn’t appreciate that comment because you were now being tied up even worse than before. Webs spewed from his wrist and circled your body like serpents, tying around your waist, arms, and thighs. “Don’t be a brat.” He ordered, webs tightening in warning. Once satisfied, he admired the way they looked pulled taut against your soft skin. “Red looks lovely on you, amor.” He praised, a quick switch from his previous comment.

He lifted you and reached behind your back, unclasping your bra with one hand. He threw it onto the ground somewhere with your torn up clothes, focusing his attention on your soft tits.

He hummed in content, playing with your nipples and letting his webs circle around the soft flesh of your breasts. He licked and sucked at one while tugging on the other, making you moan and squirm under him.

“Fuck Miguel- ah! more!” You whined desperately, coaxing a chuckle out of the behemoth. 

“Such a desperate slut.” He tutted, sucking marks all over your chest to match your throat. He kissed over the already forming hickeys, grazing his teeth dangerously close to your jugular. This man was massive, and made of pure muscle like a Greek god. He could easily hold you down without the help of his webs, but he wanted to focus full attention on you. 

He finally moved down to where you needed him most, going to rip your panties straight off you before you rudely slammed your thighs shut. “You take off your suit first….” You whined, embarrassed at being nearly completely nude before him while he was still covered. He was genuinely offended by this, feeling like he’d just had a door slammed on his face, yet he grumbled and messed around with his watch until the hologram started to dissipate.

Your jaw dropped wider and wider the more you took him in. The man resembled a skillfully carved statue belonging to Olympus itself. His biceps and abs were enough to challenge even Ares himself. Your eyes trailed lower and lower, leisurely mapping him out until your eyes locked on the weapon between his legs.

His dick stood loud and proud against his toned stomach, and it was massive. The man is 6,9, you knew he’d be big, but this thing was around 9 inches and looked like it could rip you in half. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it even if you tried—I mean—the thing was basically introducing itself to you. We’re talking hello, how are you and goodbye.

Miguel basked in your ogling, his ego swelling more than it already had since he first noticed your obsession with him.

You finally snapped out of your trance when he bent down and slipped off your soaked panties, kissing up your leg as he did so. You spread both your legs for him and he took that as an invitation to lean in and lick a stripe up your wet cunt. You jumped, not expecting him to get into it so quickly, but you definitely didn’t complain.

He prodded a finger at your hole and pushed it in slowly, holding your hips down with his free hand. He made sure to be mindful of the claws adorning his fingertips since they wouldn’t go back down thanks to his clouded mind. The thick digit went in without much resistance thanks to how wet you were, until he pushed in a second and started scissoring them. 

You moaned and whimpered at the stretch, two of his thick fingers the size of nearly four of yours. He pumped them in and out quickly, the slick sounds your pretty hole made for him music to his ears. Your slick dripped down his ring and middle fingers that he was ruthlessly pumping inside you and dribbled down his veiny forearm.

He massaged your walls and pushed against them, scissoring his fingers to stretch you as much as possible. He couldn’t hit your g-spot thanks to his clawed fingertips, so he sucked at your clit to fill that extra stimulation until your head was rolling back. 

Something circled your waist and you figured it was his arm until you looked back down to see more webs. You would wriggle far too much without them, and he needed his other hand to spread your folds to drag a mix of his salvia and your slick around your twitching clit. You mewled at the overwhelming stimulation, bucking onto his face while he had a full on make out sesh with your pussy.

Only when he finally sunk four fingers into you and you were basically on the brink of tears with need did he pull away. Not without blowing on your sensitive clit, of course, just to see you twitch and squirm under the unrelenting grasp of his webs.

He stood up with a playful smile, freeing you from some of the webs just to pull you to the edge of the bed. Your ass met his pelvis with a slap when he yanked you by the ankle that quickly locked around his waist. He chuckled out something in Spanish that you didn’t understand, maybe along the lines of “Qué bonita putita…”. You didn’t bother to question it when he started to grind his rock hard dick on your drooling pussy, getting him all nice and wet to push into you. 

Only when he was coated completely in your essence did he listen to your pleas and finally line his fat tip up at your hole. Even with the all the stretching, your poor cunt had to stretch to accommodate the swollen red tip. His pre-cum mixed with your juices when it finally popped in after some resistance, and he groaned at the warm feeling.

“So fucking tight, your poor pussy can’t take it, hm? You were so confident when you were begging for it like a desperate whore.” He growled, degradation making you clench Impossibly tighter around his head until he had to bite back a groan.

“Please Mig, I can take it.” You begged, rutting your hips onto him and trying to coax him deeper until he swiftly grabbed your waist. His claws dug into your skin, threatening to break through. He pulled back and you immediately assumed he was going to tease you again for being desperate. 

Straight away you whined out apologies, stumbling over your words and pleas until he suddenly slammed back inside you, cramming 5 of his solid inches into your hole. You screamed, tears brimming on your waterline at the stretch. Your back arched off the bed and you squirmed away from the sting until he pulled back and rutted back in again, almost as if testing the waters.

With every drag of his hips his cock slowly got deeper into you until he was bottomed out completely. His tip kissed against your cervix and you looked down, amazed and horrified to see him crammed inside you so snugly. He gave you a moment to compose yourself—preoccupied on the bulge in your lower stomach. 

“My good girl, fitting around me so perfectly. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He teased, dick twitching at the fucked out moan you gave in response.

It definitely was hard, yet his dick was harder. You could feel every single vein and ridge pressing into you, rubbing against your gummy walls in a way that left you drooling. You suddenly understood why he’d prepped you for so long. It wasn’t just to tease you, this just was not an easy thing to take. 

“Move,” you pleaded, correcting youself when he raised an eyebrow, “please.”

He hummed, palming at the fat of your hips to see the way your skin sunk under his touch. “I don’t know Cariño…do you really deserve this dick?” 

You gave him your best “are you for real?” face. This man was not about to make you beg when he was the one to randomly show up in your home. You’d been begging on your knees for him for months, and now he chooses to acknowledge it?

You made it your personal mission to go against everything he’s ever ordered from you, and the grind never does stop, does it?

“Like you deserve to kiss my ass?” You jest without hesitation. 

You can see the way his whole face stretches; clearly dumbfounded at your response before he’s able to compose himself. With your cunt wrapped around him so tight and warm like that, it’s easy to forget the pretty spider underneath him is a little rascal.

“You were just whining a second ago, don’t try that,” He warned. “You’ve been begging for it for months, practically humping my leg in front of the entire Arachno-Humanoid-Poly-Universe.” 

You groaned at his insistence on calling it that, even while balls deep inside you. “I didn’t sign up to fuck a geek,” you mutter.

“With the way you approached me I’m sure you’d fuck just about anyone, puta.”

You wanted to be insulted, but your words caught in your throat when he leaned close to you to whisper right into your ear; “Quit acting like you had any dignity in the first place and beg.”

His warm breath on your nape left you shivering. Miguel wasn’t human—not completely. With DNA mixed with a spiders, he was a predator; one ready to devour you whole.

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone really when you gradually let quiet pleas spill from your mouth. Miguel had half the mind to make you speak up, but he was loosing his thin amount of patience as is. With a satisfied click of his tongue, he pulled back until his flushed head was right at your entrance “see, was that so hard?”

You knew better than to try and answer at this point when he rammed his cock back into you. Huge hands gripped your thighs and pushed your legs into your chest while he bullied his dick further and further into your cunt. 

Your pussy was embarrassingly loud for him, squelching with each brutal thrust of his hips. His muscled thighs were tense with the pure strength he put into slamming into you—beating your sensitive pussy in until it memorized his shape for life. 

“Mig- ah! Holyfuck!” You screamed, draping your arms over his shoulders and scratching at his back like a cat post.

“Go on princesa, mark me up.” He encouraged and got a better grip on your thighs, pushing your legs out to a full spread. He had you displayed like a dinner feast and bent you like a lawn chair with your lower half on his toned chest. He was actually impressed at your flexibility, yet like always he chose the worst way to phrase it.

“I’m shocked, I never expected you to do any real training.” 

“Fuck you.”

“That’s what you’ve been wanting, is it not?” He gloated with such a shit-eating expression that you just had to wipe off his face. He sunk deeper into you when you pulled him in for a kiss and it had you clenching around him.

His thrusts got more erratic until your mind was clouded with only the sounds of his dick disappearing into your cunt. His hands were dragging you back onto him by the hips at the same time, so you could feel him bumping against your cervix with each thrust.

You were too fucked out to say anything other than broken moans and mewls of his name, and he wasn’t too far off.

“So pretty Cariño,” he groaned, “all for me? mierda- yeah, all for me.”

A string of loud mewls along with shameless moans poured out of your bruised lips in response. He pounded your pussy with so much vigour that you edged forward on the ruffled mattress with each rough thrust.

He massaged your throbbing clit between his fingers, laughing at the way they kept slipping around from how much of your own arousal was dripping down your cunt. Heavy balls slapping against your soft skin filled your ears when you felt that coil in your stomach start to snap.

“Pussys gripping me like a fucking vice- you gonna cum for me?” he teased, “look baby- look at how well this sweet little pussys taking me.”

He took your hand and lead it down until it was tracing the prominent bump in your stomach - You could feel every brutal thrust and see the way he ravaged your insides. You pressed down on it, getting impossibly tighter around him and the broken moan he let out was what got you.

He quickly tore a mind-numbing orgasm out of you - thick cockhead still splitting you open while he worked your clit. You soaked his cock and squeezed against it, shaking and crying under him until you could barely take it anymore. 

He smiled in pride, sharp fangs showing and making him resemble the waiting mouth of a shark. “Such a good fucking girl, coming all over me like that. Look at the mess you’ve made,” he hummed, observing the noticeable white ring you left around the base of his cock. 

His thrusts stuttered before stilling completely inside you. He made a noise akin to an animal before spilling his hot cum inside your welcoming heat with a shudder and a broken moan.

“Mfhm- mierda.. .” He cursed, his warmth filling you up so much it started to spill out.

You felt like a rag doll under him, half-asleep and smiling dumbly up at him. He chuckled and admired one last time how pretty you looked in his glowing red webs, wrapped around you like his own custom lingerie. 

He sliced them off you and smiled warmly when you raised your arms out to him. He leaned in to let you wrap your arms around his massive shoulders with your legs now wrapping around his waist.

He picked you up with you curled into him like a koala - the warm sensation of his cum dripping down your connected bodies grounding you while he walked to your bathroom. 

He pressed soft kisses to your marked up-neck while he ran a warm bath, rubbing at the indents his claws subconsciously left on your hips. 

You didn’t remember exactly when you fell asleep; somewhere between when his large hands washed the cum off your skin or when he gently laid you down on your fresh bedsheets. 

All you knew was that you woke up to the smell of clean laundry and noticed snacks and a water bottle left on your nightstand. There was a note too that you had to reach over to grab. His handwriting was smudged but fancy, and it was so adorably him that it left you smiling ear to ear. 

“Had to leave early. Meet me in my office tomorrow and we’ll discuss how you’ll be living in my universe from now on ,seeing as how you’re now mine, mi vida.” 

. . .

[ca-3]

Shopping in Kichijoji 👓✨️

[peppered-moths]

imagine you were born hungry. imagine you were born with a hole in your gut that can never be filled, that is always writhing.

you are a mirror. you were born a mirror, surrounded by mirrors. the first thing you ever know is that you are not human. the second thing is that you are not him. you are a reflection, with his face and his voice and the people who loved him. you can mimic him, pretend so well that you are not anything else, but you cannot escape the aching hunger in your stomach, in your mouth.

he cared for the other one, the you-but-not-you. you hear that you died in his arms once. you don't know how to feel about that; you don't know him, don't care (because you're not him even though you want).

nevertheless, you are drawn to him. maybe it's the way he looks at you, guilty and frustrated and awe-struck all at once, a complicated mixture of feelings that has you shying away and inching closer, bit by bit. you decide you like the way he looks when he's happy, though you'd never say it to his face.

that's probably why you don't say anything, when the world twists, soft graphite and watercolors. because you like seeing him happy.

this world is good enough. it doesn't matter if it isn't real, it can be good enough. you can be alive. he can love you like he loved him be happier here, without the pressure, without the fear. isn't that good? why can't it be good enough for him?

you know you don't matter to him, not like the real you. you know that when he looks at your face, all he sees is the other one. he doesn't understand. it's not fair. it's not fair. you want something for yourself for once.

he says he'd die, if that's what you wanted. standing on the precipice. his heels slip over the edge, hanging in space. you want. you do not want. you want, but not like this. you imagine his body below the city lights, arranged like he's sleeping, a halo of red seeping into his hair. you wonder what forever looks like with him, what it might look like without him. he would die for you. you have never been so afraid of that.

he pulls you over the edge, hands entangled.

you are the only one who can stop this. you are the only one who can save him.

(part of you doesn't want to. part of you is selfish, and aching, and hungry.)

(what would he have done?)

you catch him. save his life. it feels like the worst thing in the world. you hate yourself, just a little bit, for not wanting it. the hunger coils in your stomach.

you leave for a while (because of the severance). you don't want to talk about it. the far shore has waves that beat endlessly against the sand, and you fell apart and shivered back together- and you don't want to talk about it.

you tell him to take you somewhere. anywhere. somewhere nice.

(a nice place to die, you think. you're too much of a coward, too much of a monster, to say it.)

it's beautiful, and he's smiling, and there's a gaping emptiness in your gut. you feel yourself shaking apart, skin to bones.

you tell him you are hungry, the words ripped from your throat like the awful truth they are. and he just looks at you, the way he always does.

and then he kills for you. not human, not yet (you wonder if he would), but it still screams as it dies.

he holds the heart in his hands. you are hungry. from here, it just looks like meat. it drips, plip-plop-plip, black blood splatting on tile. you are hungry. he offers it to you.

(despite everything, you sort of want to be human. despite everything, you sort of want to be dead.)

you close your teeth around his fingers instead. like a feral dog. like somebody who is not (has never been) human. his blood is red, and you are terribly, painfully hungry.

you tell him you are a lost cause, a monster with a pretty face and nothing behind it. that he should give up, should leave you alone, should let you die (should kill you himself, really).

he cries, salty and miserable, shoulders shaking. he cries. for you. because of you. all you can do is stare.

the heart drips on the floor between you. you are hungry.

(he does not look like an angel, or an icarus, or a savior. he looks like a fourteen year old boy in love with a monster.)

you have always been selfish.

you have always been hungry.

[tokkiasficlets]

The mouth-watering smell of Lucy’s cooking wafted from the kitchen into the living room and woke Natsu from his afternoon nap with a loud grumble of his stomach. Usually he would bolt straight in there and steal mouthfuls of the food as she tried to swat him away with her utensils, but tonight the couch was too comfy and his body just a little too heavy to jump straight in.

His restraint was rewarded when he felt Lucy’s fingers run through his hair as she tried to coax him from his presumed sleeping state before leaning down and pressing her lips to his forehead, causing his eyes to flutter open and look up at her.

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, my love,” she hummed, a gentle smile adorning her lips.

Suddenly, his eyes went wide and his face began to heat up, flushed from ear to ear at the sudden use of pet names.

“W-what?” He sputtered out, inelegantly.

“I said dinner will be ready soon,” Lucy repeated, brows raised in confusion and mild concern at his sudden odd behaviour.

“No, the other part,” Natsu clarified.

Lucy cocked her head to the side as she ran through what she said one more time in her head, trying to figure out what she had said that was so unusual to him.

“My love?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That part.”

[glouris]

I don't understand how gow youtubers that post these “whAt iS gOiNg to HaPpEn iN tHe NexT gAmE???” vids just completely ignore Atreus. They are even more in denial about Kratos stepping down from the mc role than me about Heimdall kicking the bucket, it’s crazy. That one guy deadass went “Well maybe Atreus will die and that will lead to Kratos going to another pantheon” MISS MA’AM ATREUS HAS BEEN SET UP TO GO ON THE JOURNEY TO A DIFFERENT LAND WHILE KRATOS IS HELPING SETTLE THE MATTERS IN THE 9 REALMS??

[horse-head-farms]

over 100 followers! aww yeah!!! making hypxb less of a rarepair one post at a time

[funkytoesart]

you can always tell the people who give social media advice who are naturally or conventionally attractive even without even having to look at a photo of them cause they're always the ones that recommend showing your face in reels or videos to promote your art and it's like,,, talk about pretty/skinny privilege lol

[barbwalken]

From this AU