#a stroke of accidental genius

[sketchingstars03]

Ya know, it’s funny. Ink is probably the “sans that doesn’t need to be a sans” that actually makes the MOST sense to be a sans anyway IMO.

But not in an in-narrative way,

It makes sense on a META LEVEL.

Think about it

The UTMV fandom’s main creative outlet has always been through Sans. So it only makes sense for its protector, the embodiment of creativity in this fandom, to be one regardless.

And the best part?

It works so well for him to make sense as a sans on a meta level..

Because Ink is a meta character.

[camgoloud]

every single goddamn time i spend a whole three hour evening writing session beating my head against the wall over the ten sentences on which a whole scene hinges and which i Just Can’t Get Right only to end up eventually throwing my hands up in frustration and shutting off my computer and going into the bathroom to get ready for bed. WITHOUT FAIL. every time i’ll be standing there at the sink toothbrush in mouth and suddenly the perfect solution will pop into my head. like. okay

[pumpkins-and-penguins]

murph has accidentally played the long game by playing a rogue in what ended up being D20s longest running series so that eventually when he reached level 11 his character would be immune to murph rolls. he could not have possibly had that foresight but it’s truly a stroke of genius.

[liliacamethyst]

Web of Secrets - Miguel O'Hara 

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 3.7K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

In your universe, you are known as the Sun Spider. It all started on a school field trip to a solar energy research center, where you were accidentally exposed to a spider that had been subjected to intense solar radiation. You woke up with a white-hot surge of power, and your life changed forever. You donned a suit of pure white, taking the name that reflected both your newfound abilities and the brightness you brought into the world: Spider-Sun.

Your ability to harness solar energy and transform it into powerful blasts or create protective shields made you a formidable superhero in your home city, Nea Yorkey. Your ability to bring light to even the darkest corners of your city earned you the love of its citizens.

However, everything changed when you were suddenly pulled into the Spider-Verse.

Upon arriving, you were greeted by the gruff leader of this interdimensional team of Spider-People, Miguel O'Hara. His reputation preceded him - the genius intellect, the imposing figure, the gruff demeanor. Everyone respected him, and some even feared him. You, on the other hand, were drawn to him. There was something about that guarded demeanor that called to your own sunny nature.

You became an integral part of the team, fighting off anomalies and working hard to maintain the balance in the Spider-Verse. And despite Miguel's stern exterior, you felt yourself falling for him.

One mission was particularly rough, and you found yourself alone with Miguel in a safe house, nursing your wounds. His usually stern face softened as he tended to your injuries. The distance that he usually maintained was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank you, Miguel," you whispered.

He looked at you, his usually hard eyes soft. "You fought well, mi sol."

There was a moment of silence, a strange tension hanging in the air. Then, Miguel leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was filled with unexpected passion.

In that moment, you were not the Sun Spider, and he was not the Spider-Man 2099. You were just two people, seeking solace in each other.

Afterwards, as you laid side by side, Miguel turned to you, a serious look on his face. "This...this can't be more than what it is. Just...you know, stress relief," he muttered, his voice just above a whisper.

His words wounded you. Naturally, they did. He had reduced your relationship to mere stress relief, as if you were some object devoid of feelings. Yet, in spite of it all, you fell for him. Perhaps you were naive, even foolish, but you didn't care. You yearned for him and were ready to accept any fraction of affection he was willing to offer, no matter how small.

During the day, as you fought alongside him against the anomalies threatening the Spider-Verse, his attention toward you was sparse. He mostly shared only necessary information, barely making eye contact. Sometimes he didn't speak at all, and you and the rest of the team would receive mission orders and briefings from Lyla, his AI assistant.

But at night, when the two of you were alone, he became a different person. He'd whisper praises into your ear, telling you how exceptionally you fought, how much he desired you. He showed you his hidden vulnerability under the cover of darkness, the sheets their only witness. He'd gently stroke your hair and peppered your jaw and temple with kisses until you fell asleep, only for you to wake up the next morning to an empty, cold spot where he once lay.

This cycle - his coldness by day, and the fervor by night - repeated itself relentlessly for months.

And so, this is how you find yourself: disoriented, frenzied, and on the verge of tears, seated on the couch of your best friend, Peter B. Parker, in Earth-616. Cradled in your arms is his sweet daughter, Mayday, who, with her innocent touch, tries to console you. Yet her wide eyes dart anxiously to her father, reflecting her own alarm at your distress.

Peter rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe we should wait until MJ gets home?" he suggests, then, with a furrowed brow, he asks, “Have you tried talking to Jess about this?”

You shake your head vigorously. "No, I haven't told anyone. I have no idea what to do," you confess, your voice breaking.

Peter, ever the caring friend, gently takes Mayday from your arms and sets her down. He turns back to face you with a sympathetic gaze. “Do you..eh.. know who the father is?” he inquires softly.

You shake your head again, even though deep down, you know the truth. “The father is out of the picture. He doesn’t know, and he never will because he doesn’t want kids,” you whisper, fighting back tears.

As you and Peter sit down on the couch in his cozy living room, you find a sense of comfort being around him. His experience as both a superhero and a parent seems like it could be a beacon in this storm you're facing. The room is quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall.

“You know, Peter,” you begin, your voice almost a whisper. “I’m terrified. What if the baby has powers? How am I going to protect them, especially if...if I can’t stop fighting anomalies?”

Peter looks thoughtful. “That’s a valid concern. First, you should know that you don’t have to do this alone. There’s a whole community of us, and we stick together. If the child does have powers, she or he will be badass like Mayday, right?”

You nod slowly but then anxieties pile on top of each other in your mind. “But... how can I hide this? Nobody and I mean nobody is supposed to know that I’m pregnant. Especially not...” You trail off, not finishing the sentence.

Peter rubs his chin, deep in thought. “We could look into modifying your suit, maybe talk to some tech geniuses in the Spider-Verse about creating something that can shield or conceal the pregnancy.”

You roll your eyes. “That kinda defies the ‘nobody is allowed to know ‘ordeal, Peter. You have to promise me that this stays between us.”

“I promise,” Peter says sincerely.

Silence fills the room again, and then you voice another fear. “Peter, what if...what if I’m not a good mother? What if I mess this up?”

Peter smiles warmly. “You know, I had those same fears when Mayday was born. I think it’s normal for any parent. But, take it from me, the fact that you’re worried about being a good parent means you’re already on the right track. You’ve got a good heart. Trust it.”

You look down at your hands, fingers interlaced. “Thank you, Peter. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he says with a reassuring smile. “We’re family, in this weird, Spider-Verse kind of way. But maybe… and I am sayig this as a father myself… reconsider telling the father. I can’t imagine any guy wanting to give up this.” He says, pointing to his precious daughter playing with a napkin she found on the floor.

"Maybe you should reconsider telling the father," Peter's words are echoing in your mind like a haunting melody. A part of you yearns for that possibility. Perhaps you're not alone in this. Maybe, just maybe, Miguel wants this as much as you do.With newfound resolve, you set off for the Spider-Verse headquarters, expecting to find Miguel tucked away in his office, immersed in maintaining the spider verse or as he calls it "arachno- something-multiverse-thingy” or something similar to that.

Upon reaching his office door, you pound on it sharply. No response. Frowning, you knock again, a little harder this time. When silence continues to greet you, you slowly turn the doorknob and peek inside. There he is, hunched over his desk, lost in a world of numbers and codes.

"Miguel, I-" you start, but his sharp voice cuts you off.

"No," he interrupts, his tone cold. "Did I say you can come in? Dios mio, why are you always so damn clingy?"

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, taken aback by his blatant disregard for your feelings. You can feel the beginnings of tears prick at the corner of your eyes, but you will them away.

He doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it like that. This mantra plays over and over in your head, like a broken record. You take a deep breath, forcing down the hurt his words cause.

"Look, Miguel," you begin, struggling to keep your voice steady. "There’s something we need to talk about, and I think it's important for you to listen to me."

“Fucking hell, woman! What exactly don’t you understand. I’m busy. I don’t care about your little problems, right now.” he barks, not even looking up.

“Miguel,” you speak up, forcing the words out through clenched teeth, “ I’ve never asked anything from you. Not once have did I ask you to stay, to feel the same I feel, to fucking talk to me when people are around. Please all I am asking you is to just ... listen to me, fpr once.” Your voice grows stronger as you speak, a determined fire igniting within you.

Miguel finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he seems taken aback by the resolve he saw there.

He rubs his temples. “Can we do this later?”

“No!” you shout. “It’s always later with you. You’re like...like a ghost. Just a figure in the hallway. I don’t need a figure, I need a person! I need someone who listens when...”

He glares at you, his eyes narrowing. “Okay, okay I will listen just not now. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“No, it can’t,” you retort, your voice shaking a bit. “Why is it that every time I try to talk to you, you just brush me off? Am I that insignificant to you?”

He stands up abruptly, the chair skidding behind him. “This? This is what you want to talk about?” he says with a tone of annoyance. “Look, I have a million things to deal with and-”

“And what? And I’m not one of them? Just five minutes, Miguel! That’s all I ask!”

The room is tense. Your heart is racing. His eyes are fiery. It's a standoff.

“And what is so important that you have to disrupt everything right now?” he challenges.

Your breath catches in your throat. This is it. You're about to say it.

“I...” you stammer. “I need to tell you that...”

Suddenly, the door to the office swings open and Jess storms in.

“Miguel, we have a major issue in Sector 12! The anomalies...” she starts, then catches sight of your tear-streaked face. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”

Miguel seems to shake off the tension and slips back into commander mode. “No nothing important. What’s happening in Sector 12?”

You can't believe it. Just like that, he turns away. It feels like your heart is being squeezed.

Jess starts rattling off data and scenarios. The two of them are talking, but you don’t hear it anymore. All you can think of is how you almost told him. How you just wanted five minutes.

Your hands shake and you quietly step out of the room. The door closes behind you, and it feels like a chapter that you can’t read has been sealed away.

The next day you are on Earth-8311, an anthropomorphic animal-dominated universe. It's the home of Peter Porker, the Spectacular Spider-Ham, and you can't help but find it amusing.

The mission: to transport an anomaly, which resembles an enormous floating jellyfish, back to its home universe. It's been pure chaos here, and you are determined to set things right.

The team: Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker. You're all in your suits, eyes sharp, and webs at the ready.

"Alright, Spiders. Let's round this jelly up and send it home," Peter B. Parker takes charge, shooting a web towards a nearby building.

You swing alongside him, your thoughts a whirlwind. The world around you blurs - the animal citizens, the bustling cityscape, the strange yet familiar surroundings.

The anomaly appears before you, thrashing and pulsating as it floats through the sky. It releases blasts of energy that ripple through the air.

"Watch out, Sunny!" Gwen calls out as she dodges a blast.

You, however, are a split second too late. Your reflexes are off, your movements sluggish. The blast sends you spiraling towards the ground.

Hobie swings in and catches you mid-air, his guitar strapped on his back. “Get it together, Sun!” he shouts over the noise, his punk-styled hair waving wildly.

You shake off your daze and look up to see Peter B. Parker shooting webs to pull the anomaly back down, while Gwen is deploying a device to open a portal back to its home universe.

Your heart races as you focus on the task at hand. You need to get this right, not just for yourself, but for the life you’re now carrying. Your suit seems to glow even brighter in the chaos.

With a final combined effort, you manage to lasso the anomaly and push it through the portal. The anomaly disappears, and the portal closes behind it.

The team regroups on a rooftop. Gwen is catching her breath, Hobie is tuning his guitar, and Peter B. Parker gives you a concerned look.

“Are you okay?” Gwen asks, her voice laced with worry. “You weren’t yourself up there.”

The weight of the secret you’re carrying feels unbearable. But you're not ready to share it.

“Promise me you won’t tell Miguel about this,” you say, your voice barely audible.

Gwen raises an eyebrow, while Hobie crosses his arms. Peter B. Parker simply nods.

“Nah, Bossman doesn’t need to know about this,” Hobie says, and there’s a firmness in his voice that is strangely comforting.

Back in the HQ, your head spins, and your stomach feels like it's doing somersaults. You mumble a quick excuse about feeling nauseous and practically sprint to the nearest restroom.

Meanwhile, Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker head to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.

As they sit down at a table with their trays, Gwen breaks the silence. “Is it okay if I say that this mission was kind of easy? Like, I’ve seen Sunny take down Doc Ock from Earth-818, and she did that without any problem. So what was that today?” Gwen’s concern is apparent.

Hobie, munching on a sandwich, nods in agreement. "Yeah, it's like her spidey senses were jammed or somethin'. Never seen her like that before."

Peter B. Parker looks thoughtfully at his sandwich, then glances up at Gwen and Hobie. He’s torn, having promised you to keep your secret but also wanting your friends to understand why you were off your game.

"You guys remember when she fought Morlun on Earth-001? She was a totally smashin’ it, and today, she nearly got turned into spider-paste by a floating jellyfish. That ain’t right," Hobie adds.

Gwen’s eyes suddenly widen. "Oh my God! Do you think she’s in trouble? Like, something from her universe? Or maybe she's having an identity crisis! Should we stage an intervention?"

Peter B. Parker clears his throat. “Maybe she’s just having an off day.”

Gwen’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes Peter. “You know something, don’t you?”

Peter scratches the back of his head, obviously uncomfortable. “Nope, no idea.”

Hobie puts down his sandwich and leans in. "Oi, mate. Spill your guts. There's something dodgy going on. She's always been our burst of sunshine, lifting the mood. But now she's... dimmed. What's going on with our Sunny, Parker?"

Before Peter B. Parker could answer Gwen’s barrage of questions, Jess - Spider-Woman - appears, her belly showing. She takes a seat at the table and, oblivious to the serious conversation that was taking place, asks them about their latest mission.

"So, how did your mission go?" Jessica asks, while munching on her Burger.

"Nothing to report, Jess," Gwen answers, a little too quickly, her face all sunshine and false smiles. Peter simply nod in agreement.

“Yah, all good!” Hobie chimes in, flashing a grin that seems a little too bright.

“How about you? How are you holding up?” Peter asks Jess, trying to steer the conversation away from the mission.

Jessica shrugs, not overly concerned, and bites into her burger. "'M good. You know,  I'm so glad I can finally eat a burger again. At the beginning of my pregnancy, practically every food made me nauseous, especially after swinging around on missions.”

Suddenly, there's a moment of collective realization among Gwen, Hobie. It’s as if their spider senses are tingling in unison. They exchange knowing looks, all of them silently putting the pieces together.

Gwen’s eyes are wide, Hobie’s eyebrows are raised, and they both turn to look at Peter, who simply nods.

Jess, noticing the silent exchange, squints at them. “What is up with you guys? You’re acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.”

“Uh, nothin’!” Hobie says, a little too quickly.

“Yeah, just tired from the mission,” Gwen adds, trying to play it cool.

Jess rolls her eyes and stands up. “Alright, weirdos. I’m gonna go find some normal people to talk to,” she says jokingly and walks away.

After she leaves, the trio leans in.

“Sunny’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Gwen whispers.

Hobie's eyes are as wide as saucers. “That would explain everything!”

Peter B. Parker nods. “We need to be there for her, but remember, it’s her news to share when she’s ready.”

They make a pact to support you without pushing you to reveal anything before you're ready.

As you walk back into the cafeteria, you find your friends huddled together. They break apart when they see you and welcome you back with smiles and light conversation, but something in their demeanor is different but you can’t put your finger on it. They are being more attentive, considerate, and frankly, a little too curious about your well-being.

"Are you sure you're okay, Sunny?" Gwen asks for the third time since you sat down. Her concern is genuine, but her intensity is slightly off-putting.

"Yeah, do you need anything?" Hobie offers, his eyes gleaming with unspoken curiosity. "Food, drink, or maybe... pickles?" Pickles? Thats oddly specific.

There's a burst of laughter from Gwen, and even Peter is suppressing a chuckle.

"What's up with the pickles?" You ask, looking at them suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing!" Gwen says, a little too quickly, trying to hold back her laughter.

"Hmm, pickles and ice cream, a weird combo, innit?" Hobie wonders aloud, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Again, there's suppressed laughter, and you look at each of them, a realization slowly dawning on you. You turn to Peter, your gaze steady and serious. "You told them, didn't you?" Peter looks shocked, but quickly composes himself. "I didn't exactly tell them, per se," he confesses, "I might've confirmed their suspicions when they asked, but they figured it out on their own. Spider senses and all that jazz.”

Before you could respond, Gwen and Hobie jump in, both talking over each other in an attempt to apologize.

"We're sorry, Sunny," Gwen says sincerely. "We didn't mean to invade your privacy, it's just that... we're worried about you. Please don’t be mad."

Hobie nods, adding, "And we're right behind ya, whatever comes our way. We've got your back, no doubt about it."

You are happy, while the situation isn't ideal, but at least you're not alone. You have friends who care about you and, despite their unconventional way of showing it, they are there for you. You smile, comforted by their concern, and grateful for their support.

"Yeah," you finally say, "I guess we’re gonna need a lot more pickles and ice cream around here, huh?"

“Sooo...who’s the dad? Is he hot?” Gwen, leaning on the table with her elbows, asks shyly after a while.

You let out a long sigh, “He’s very hot... but also a colossal jerk.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “You took my advice and talked to him then?”

You shake your head, your eyes starting to well up. “No, I tried. But he wouldn’t listen to me. He was busy, and I guess I wasn’t important enough. So, the baby won’t be either,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hobie's eyes narrow, and his face is flushed with anger. "Who's this bloke, eh? I swear on me nan's grave, I'll give him a right proper earful! No one treats our Sunny like a tosser and gets away with it!"

Gwen jumps in, her eyes wide with speculation, “Wait, is he a Spider? Is it Peter? Or the other Peter? Or—”

“Guys, guys!” you cut them off, your voice cracking. “Please, it doesn’t matter. He made it clear where I stand, and it’s not with him.”

There’s a silence that settles over the table as your friends look at each other and then back to you. Their faces are a mix of concern, sadness, and frustration.

Peter B. is the first to break the silence. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You’ve got us. If the dad doesn’t want to step up, then he’s missing out on something amazing.”

Gwen nods, her eyes firm with resolve. “Yeah, we’re family. We’ve got your back, no matter what.”

Hobie, still fuming, finally calms down enough to say, "All you gotta do is whistle, love, and we'll be there in a blink. Even if it means thumping some manners into this mystery idiot."

You can't help but crack a small smile, despite the tears. You’re overwhelmed by the love and support your friends are giving you.

“Thanks, guys. You don't know how much this means to me.” 

They all reach out and there’s a group hug right in the middle of the cafeteria. You didn’t know how much you needed this until it happened.

Part 2 “Webs of Fate”

a/n: Thank you guys for all your love on this fic so far.I really appreciate each like, comment, reblog <3. I still can’t reply to your comments so please if you want to tagged (and are not already) comment on part 2 and I’ll do my best and add you.Also I am open to requests, critic and wishes. Have a wonderful day. xx

[astridthevalkyrie]

“You think people ever look at us and wonder why you would be with me?” Rafayel had frozen in place, his hand mid paint stroke as he gazed down at you from his ladder. You’d been curled up on the couch, watching him comfortably while your thoughts took a depressing turn that was anything but comfortable. “No,” he’d said, “absolutely not. No one in their right mind would think that.”

contains: afab reader, edging, rafayel making reader praise themselves, rafayel speaks in hindi, probably ooc and with grammatical errors sorry i wrote this all in like one hour at 10 PM and i was crying for half of it

it's been a while since my own insecurities have actually given me the creative kick to write something like this, so sucks to be insecure i guess, but yay fic!!!!

Insecurity. What a bitch.

It’s life-ruining, at its worst. It makes you look into the mirror and imagine even the reflection looking back and sneering at what it sees. It makes your heart pound as you walk in public, wondering how many people would smile once they get the privilege of losing sight of you. It makes you sob at night when you’re alone, mind knowing that there is no one in the world who is uniquely terrible, but your heart convinced that you’re the exception.

It makes you say something, accidentally, to your boyfriend.

“You think people ever look at us and wonder why you would be with me?”

Rafayel had frozen in place, his hand mid paint stroke as he gazed down at you from his ladder. You’d been curled up on the couch, watching him comfortably while your thoughts took a depressing turn that was anything but comfortable.

“No,” he’d said, “absolutely not. No one in their right mind would think that.”

If you’d been more acute in the moment, you might have heard the warning in his voice, the irk of a god who has just had his most precious jewel taunted.

But you’d continued instead. “They would. You’re so handsome, so gorgeous. Ethereal. Not to mention incredibly talented. And I love you, and I think we’re really compatible personality wise, but looks…you have to admit you could do a lot better.”

It was then you’d began to note how it felt much hotter in the studio than it had a few minutes ago. Like there was an unseen furnace, prickling with an angry fire about to grow into an inferno.

Rafayel’s voice had been, ironically, icy. “How could I do better than you?”

“C’mon, be real, Raf.” It had been hard to keep the pain out of your words, and impossible to keep the thoughts choking you inside. You’d started to plead, some part of you convinced that it would help if he would simply agree that your every insecurity was valid. “I’m not a supermodel. I’m not a genius. I’m not an angel, either. There’s nothing about me that’s extraordinary. Not like you are.”

And then he’d moved.

And now, you’re still on the couch, crying out brokenly with nothing to grip onto, as his hand holds your wrists above your head, and his cock thrusts in and out of you in the most maddening pace you’ve ever experienced.

He’s never been like this. When you plead, Rafayel gives in. He is weak to you, as he’s shown time and time again. But not today. No matter how much you beg with teary eyes for him to go faster, he shakes his head, slowing down even more. With a punishing growl, he pushes all the way in, and all the way out, leaving your drooling cunt clenching around nothing.

It’s torture. Pure and simple.

“What was it you said?” he breathes harshly, leaning down to press hot kisses on your neck that burn so perfectly you sob. “Ethereal? Talented? A supermodel?”

“Rafayel,” you gasp. He ignores it. His eyes are a violent shade of purple, the most dangerous you’ve ever seen them. There are scales blooming all over his body, as though denying you is the key to awake this dormant side of him, to make you submit.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he whispers, biting and leaving a fresh bruise planted on your skin. “Just tell me what I want to hear. Go on.”

He pulls out and you feel the tears running down your cheeks.

“Say, ‘I’m beautiful.’”

In.

“Say, ‘I’m gorgeous.’”

Out.

“Say, “I’m fucking ethereal.’”

You can taste salt from your own sobs, both from being denied, and from the unimaginable cruelty of having to praise yourself. It’s impossible. You want the reward so bad, but you can’t claw your way to it, because the rules are too imposing. The conditions, blinding.

“Be real,” he taunts, repeating your own words back to you, “come on, start easy. ‘I’m pretty.’ Go on.”

Heaving in a breath, you taste the bitter words on your tongue. “I-I’m pretty.”

Your back arches off the couch as he rewards you with his fingers on your clit, rubbing soft circles while he’s inside you. “Mmhm. You are. And?”

“Please, Rafayel.” You’re clenching so tight around him, and you can see from how he shudders that it pains him just as much as it pains you, this wait, this little game of keep-away. “Please don’t make me—“

You’re cut off by his hand cupping your cheeks, and his lips stealing a salty, breathless kiss. “Meri pyaari gurya,” he groans, kissing you again, “meri chand.” Kiss. “Meri humsafar.” Kiss. “Mine, mine, mine.” Kiss, kiss, kiss. "Do you think I keep anything that isn’t worthy of the Sea God?”

You shut your eyes, crying harder. The logic is loud, but your thoughts are louder. He’s only saying it to reassure you, he’s only saying it to be nice, he’s only saying it because he pities you…

“Meri dulhaniya,” he saves for last, because he knows it’ll break you, “I have nowhere to be. I’m fine staying buried inside you, all day and all night, while your sweet little pussy gushes for me. I’ll bring you to the brink, again and again, but I won’t let you cum, my pretty muse, because either you admit that you’re the most beautiful human in this world, or I’ll fuck it into you till you forget otherwise.”

Trembling, you open your eyes. There is nothing but conviction in his gaze. Conviction, and hunger.

And you realize two very important things. One, that your stamina is nothing compared to his, and you will never hold out against him, and two, that is not something one does out of pity, but out of unyielding, undying adoration.

“I’m,” you swallow, cheeks burning, “beautiful.”

A sharp thrust of his hips makes you moan his name, mouth falling open as he kisses you deeply, and you swear you can feel him hardening even more inside you.

“I’m gorgeous.”

“Yes,” Rafayel hisses, fingers rubbing your clit to match his thrusts.

Eyes rolling back, you cry out, “I-I’m…”

“Fucking ethereal,” he provides, and you think you can feel fire flicking from his lips on your cheeks.

“Fucking ethereal,” you whine, pulling him into a kiss this time.

His hips slam against yours and you cry out against his mouth as his tongue ravages yours. There is nothing Rafayel hates more than someone misunderstanding his art, least of all the art itself.

Your toes curl and your nerves are electrified, everything fading away except you and Rafayel, and his cock and his fingers and his lips, and the couch he’s pounding you into, and you tug at his hair and practically scream as you cum.

He’s still softly licking at your lips as you come down from your high, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. The air escaping you is light, and for the first time in a long time, there is nothing stuck in your chest, a soft fluttery feeling replacing the heaviness that you’ve been carrying what feels like your whole life.

Gazing back up your lover, you cradle his face, noticing that his lovely purple hues have morphed into an even lovelier pink, only a second before you notice he hasn’t cum yet.

“That’s a good start,” Rafayel whispers, capturing your lower lip between his teeth and tugging.

It bounces back into place for him to kiss softly, before he continues, “Now, let’s try ‘most beautiful human in the world.’ If you get there, I might consider letting you have a break.”

[sincerelybubbles]

s. reid x fem!reader \\ sleepless

Spencer, running on approximately three hours of sleep and an unsettling amount of caffeine, goes on an unprompted tangent at 3 A.M.

She stirs, blinking blearily at the clock on the nightstand. 3:12 A.M.

A groan drags from her throat as she burrows deeper into the pillows. "Spencer, why are you awake?"

There’s a pause. A brief, deceptive moment of silence.

And then, from the other side of the bed—

"Did you know that octopuses have three hearts?"

She exhales slowly, pressing her face into the mattress as if she can physically escape the conversation. "Spencer."

"And that when they sleep, they sometimes change colors, which suggests they might be capable of dreaming? Isn’t that amazing?"

She forces her eyes open and rolls onto her side, peering at him through the dim light. He’s lying on his back, eyes wide and unblinking, his hands gesturing subtly even as he speaks, the restless energy of his thoughts spilling out into movement.

"Spence," she murmurs, rubbing at her face. "Go to sleep."

"I can't," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I accidentally drank an espresso at 11 P.M. and now I’m thinking about cephalopods."

She inhales deeply, stares at the ceiling. "Of course you are."

Silence, for a beat. A pause, just long enough for her to think—maybe, maybe—he's done.

And then—

"Also, sloths can hold their breath longer than dolphins."

She lets out a low, suffering noise and grabs the nearest pillow. With what little energy she can muster, she lobs it at him. It lands with a soft thump against his chest.

He catches it, startled, before shifting onto his side to face her, grinning through the darkness. "That wasn’t very nice."

"You waking me up to talk about sloths wasn’t very nice," she counters, voice muffled against the blankets.

Another beat of silence.

And then, quieter—she can practically hear him fighting the urge—

"Did you also know that sea otters have a special pocket in their armpits where they keep their favorite rocks?"

She groans, reaching blindly for another pillow. He’s already laughing before she even throws it, a soft, breathy sound that makes it difficult to stay annoyed, even at this ungodly hour.

The pillow misses. Barely. He shifts just in time, and it flops uselessly against the mattress instead of hitting its mark.

"Okay, okay," he says, hands raised in surrender, but his voice is still full of barely contained amusement. "I’ll stop."

She eyes him suspiciously, one hand hovering over the remaining pillow in silent warning. "You sure?"

A pause.

Then, far too innocently—"Did you know that wombat poop is cube-shaped?"

A frustrated noise tears from her throat as she abandons her pillow strategy entirely, rolling over to shove at his shoulder. "Spencer!"

He laughs again, unrepentant, and somehow, she finds herself smiling despite her exhaustion. It’s hard not to, when he’s like this—giddy from lack of sleep, running entirely on caffeine and the endless stream of knowledge constantly bouncing around his brain.

She sighs, dragging a hand down her face before opening her arms. "C’mere, genius."

Spencer stills. Blinks at her. "What?"

She gestures, barely suppressing another yawn. "Come here. Lay down."

There’s a moment of hesitation, like he’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of trap. But eventually, he shifts, sliding closer, tucking himself against her. She guides his head to her chest, fingers threading through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp in slow, rhythmic motions.

He melts almost instantly. The tension in his body eases, and the weight of him against her is warm, solid. His breathing evens out, slower, deeper.

"Feels nice," he mumbles, voice already thick with impending sleep.

"Mm," she hums, still stroking his hair. "Good. Now shut up and go to sleep."

A beat of silence. Then, so faint she almost doesn’t catch it—

"…Did you also know that ducks can put half their brain to sleep while the other half stays awake—?"

She tugs lightly at his hair in warning.

He lets out a drowsy chuckle. "Okay, okay. I’m done."

She waits. One second. Two. Three.

And then, finally—Spencer sighs, shifts a little closer, and lets himself drift.

[venusbyline]

Birthday ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 19, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Spencer Reid x sex worker!reader x Derek Morgan x Aaron Hotchner

— type: smut, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: foursome FMMM

— summary: Morgan hires a prostitute to her finally take his best friend's virginity.

— word count: 1.2k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 19th day, female!reader, virgin!Reid, shy!Reid, foursome (female/male/male/male), oral (male receiving), loss of virginity, praise kink, cowgirl position, handjob (male giving), Moreid, age gap (older men/older woman/younger man), birthday present, prostitution, drunk sex, rough kissing, orgy, corruption kink, implied/referenced cheating, infidelity, light overstimulation, breast worship, butt worship, nipple play, minor Aaron Hotchner x Haley Hotchner, bisexual(?)!Reid, bisexual!Morgan, married!Hotch, Lila Archer Mentioned, minor Spencer Reid x Lila Archer, ambiguous/open ending, curse words, sub!Reid, dom!Morgan, dom!Hotch, switch!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917

— crossposting: AO3

"You're gonna love your birthday present, Pretty Boy."

That's what Morgan said to Spencer after his birthday party. He was finally becoming more of an adult, gaining more respect from the team. Everything was going perfectly. Now, Spencer Reid was no longer just a shy and genius little boy, he was also proving to be a man worthy of working in the BAU, not just because of his extremely intelligent brain.

Reid was not as shy as before, he was slowly loosening up. His germophobia was also getting better and better. Everything was going well. He was maturing.

However, he still had his virginity intact.

The entire BAU was surprised when Spencer accidentally confessed about his lack of sexual experience during his birthday party. It was a shock to everyone, even though it was so obvious. The team thought he would have at least one experience or another for the roster, but the fact that he entered college as a teenager had ruined everything. Even though he was handsome as hell now, Spencer was a complex person whose brain worked too fast for anyone to even try to fully understand, no girl never had much patience to flirt with him for more than a few days, and his excessive shyness did not do much for his situation. The few kisses he had already exchanged with some girls had never gone further. The only time he felt tempted to continue had been with Lila Archer, which did not happen.

Spencer did not plan on telling anyone about his virginity. It was a shameful matter that he would rather keep secret forever. If it were not for the alcohol consumed during the night, he might never have confessed. None of his friends would know about this part of his life. If it were not for the whiskey, he would probably remain a virgin forever.

"F-Fuck. I can't..." Reid whimpered like a pathetic little boy as he squirmed in his seat, clenching his hands into fists and arching his head back, eyes closed and lips pink and already swollen from biting them. "Her mouth is so good..."

Morgan laughed at the sight of his best friend becoming a noisy mess every time you on your knees in front of him masterfully sucked on the tip of his cock. The boy's moans echoed in the room and went straight to Morgan's cock.

"How do you feel?" Morgan asked Reid, stroking his friend's brown hair as he finally opened his eyes, biting his lip again and trying to give a concentrated answer, but it went from tearful moans, which caused a chuckle from both Morgan and Hotch, who was just watching the scene. "You should try to have fun with us."

"Men aren't my thing, much less the kid one there." Hotch grumbled and Spencer pouted his lips sadly, giving his boss his puppy eyes.

It was Morgan's turn to roll his eyes, pulling Spencer's hair back a little to lick his neck, his teeth nibbling on the soft, vulnerable skin, causing Spencer to start to lift his hips desperately with his cock inside your mouth, in a desperate attempt to reach orgasm faster. "See, sweetheart? You're doing amazing."

Morgan used his free hand to stroke your hair, your eyes shining at him in confirmation, before you turned to Spencer, letting go of his cock when you noticed he was going to cum any moment ago. The big sad eyes on Reid's face caused laughter between you and the other two agents.

"Relax, kid. If you cum inside her mouth now, you won't be able to fuck her tight pussy anytime soon." It was Hotch who muttered a little grumpily, trying to hide the slightly sadistic smirk when he saw the tears of despair running down the genius' face.

Morgan gestured for you to stand up, your body covered by only a white lace panties that seemed to be tucked into your ass, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Hotch and Morgan bit their lips, while Spencer whimpered, trying to squirm in the seat so he could touch you. He had never touched a woman's breasts or ass before.

Hotch scoffed when he saw the pleading in Spencer's face. "Looks like someone is very eager."

Morgan followed Hotch's gaze, diverting his attention from your ass for a while so he could watch the younger boy's despair, enjoying it. "I guess you should stop his suffering for a bit. His brain is gonna break if you don't let him fuck you soon."

Morgan's suggestion made you laugh. "Virgins..." You rolled your eyes playfully, but it caused a sad pout from Reid, too confused and desperate to understand that it was nothing more than a teasing. As soon as you took off the lace fabric and threw it to Hotch, you heard him growl. He did not like prostitutes and had been completely against hiring one for Spencer to lose his virginity. But Morgan had convinced him. At first, he had said he would just watch, but the moment you wrapped the condom around Spencer's cock and gently fitted it in, his mind went into a frenzy.

That was one of the hottest scenes Hotch had ever seen. The youngest of the team crying with so much pleasure after having his cock stuck in a wet pussy for the first time. Your ass shaking every time you bounced on him, your own hands cupping your breasts and staring into Spencer's submissive gaze, those beautiful eyes filled with tears. The way Morgan grabbed Spencer by the neck, distracting him from watching your pretty breasts for a while, while now he felt his thin lips being crushed by Morgan's mouth with an aggressive kiss, his hand going down the older agent's pants by instinct.

Hotch had not liked that plan at all. He thought it was absurd. He did not like prostitutes. He did not like it when two BAU members got involved, even casually. This should all be disgusting and repulsive.

However, when Morgan and Spencer were still kissing, Morgan's bit heavy hand crushing your breast while Spencer's slender fingers played with your other nipple, it all became too much. Every moan that left your lips with the overstimulation caused by your breasts being used or by your wet pussy riding non-stop on Spencer's virgin cock. The whimpers that came out of Spencer at the new and incredible sensation, in addition to Morgan's intense kisses. The growls that Morgan let out while Spencer hangjob him with an inexperienced and almost stupid way, which made everything even more perfect.

Hotch should hate this and go away, go back to his wife and pretend he did not see any of it. The problem was, he knew that would be impossible. He wanted to continue, he wanted to feel everything too. Feeling his sex life a little more interesting in all the chaos that was his career and his marriage.

"I'm serious. I really don't like guys." Hotch warned again with an uncomfortable face, almost as uncomfortable as the tightness in his pants. You, Morgan, and even Spencer shared a few soft chuckles when Hotch snorted and took off his tie, unbuttoning his white dress shirt and throwing it to the floor before grabbing you by the neck, kissing your skin while you continued to ride Spencer.

"So that won't be a problem, Sir. I'm not a guy, I'm just a whore. All of you three can use me however you want." You scoffed and Hotch huffed, nodding then and licking your earlobe, his hands moving your hips to encourage you to go faster on top of Reid.

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[unionizedwizard]

so. many people have already pointed that koana is sort of like an ARR alphinaud remix and while it is not untrue, i think this analysis is only superficially correct. because the salient point of koana's character is that he feels shame and resentment towards his roots & origins and therefore overcompensates with sharlayan weabooism (well-intentioned, but still unsuitable). he comes off as really weird and stuck up, in the beginning especially, where it's like. "what the fuck is this guy's problem" in a way that's rather similar to the average player's reaction to ARR alphinaud.

BUT!

the thing with ARR alphinaud is that he was the Quintessential Sharlayan, both on account of his upbringing and family tree, and of his personal interests and achievements. he was (and still is) secure in his origins and cultural identity. koana's case is different, because he clearly loathes tradition and turali cultural practices in a way that comes across (and fundamentally is) really weird and destructive, which comes to bite him in the ass on many occasions during the rite of succession (and understandably so).

it all starts to make sense when you learn about his backstory though. while we know that wuk lamat doesn't remember anything of her own childhood, having been adopted by gulool ja ja as a toddler, koana was adopted at a much older age. he remembers his early years, and that's what fuels his entire vision for the future of tural. as he tells it, he was born to one of the most traditionalist hhetsarro tribes in tural, and abandoned (accidentally(?) left behind) during one of their yearly migrations, only surviving thanks to a pelupelu merchant who rescued and took him in before employing him in his tuliyollal shop. an obviously incredibly traumatic event that would shape everything about his future mindset: he's closed off and withdrawn to the extreme, highly analytical, values self-sufficiency and independence and technical innovations above all else, because that's how he survived to begin with. because his nomadic, highly traditional, presumably (from what we've seen of the one hhetsarro tribe we've met so far) tight-knit, spiritual and social tribe rejected and abandoned him. it would make sense that he'd rationalize this unfathomable violence by leaning hard into the opposite, and letting his own pain and resentment color his entire vision, turning his own feelings into a more general mindset of shame, resentful inadequacy, and complete rejection of anything "traditional"

i think sharlayan was a good choice for him because it's pretty much, indeed, the opposite atmosphere: in sharlayan culture, family ties are a lot less emphasized, while the kind of ties that colleagues, peers, teachers and students develop are considered as very important (see pretty much every sidequest and margrat's custom deliveries and all). all these relationships based on a common work and aspirations rather than origins would indeed agree with koana's character better, and his analytical skills, vision and intelligence are pretty much the most valued traits to them.

which is why it was actually such a stroke of genius to have thancred and urianger specifically support him. of course, both of them had a character development arc that echoed with koana's issues: learning how to express himself more openly and acknowledge his feelings, all that, meaning they were uniquely able to help him. but when you look more closely, they can also relate to him on a more personal level: thancred was "adopted" by louisoix as an orphaned lominsan street urchin, probably at a similar age as koana when he was adopted by gulool ja ja; and urianger's parents notably "abandoned" him to the point he was mostly tagging along at moenbryda's house and, later, at the leveilleur estate, as louisoix's disciple and honorary uncle to the twins (also worth noting that urianger and koana share the same flavor of autism).

so the rite of succession was a much-needed window into his own biases and (literal) coping mechanisms, and must have been quite difficult to deal with considering pretty much all the feats involved interacting with and strengthening tight-knit smaller communities with strong traditions and family ties. luckily, partly thanks to thancred and urianger (but not only! he did the work himself), he was clear-minded enough to realize his own failings, and well-intentioned enough to step down - because he did not want power for its own sake, unlike zoraal ja; he wanted to protect the turali people from a potential invasion by leaning hard into foreign technological advances, therefore mimicking his own personal journey and adapting his own tried-and-true methods of survival: anticipating the hardships, being as independent and self-sufficient as possible, and choosing isolationism.

and finally i want to point out that the new techniques and technologies he imported from sharlayan are all (safe, fast and reliable) modes of transportation: aetherytes, dirigibles (including the alpaca carriage adaptation), and trains. interesting choice, moreso considering that while aetherytes are the #1 sharlayan specialty, they have neither dirigibles nor trains; which takes on a whole new layer of meaning when you remember that his original tribe was nomadic and that he specifically was left behind, stranded in the desert, during one of their traditional migrations............

in this regard he truly IS green g'raha, considering that g'raha was, similarly, raised in a traditional seeker manner before being sent to sharlayan for his own (and the tribe's) safety; of course the difference is that g'raha embraced his heritage by locking himself in the crystal tower by the end of ARR, since the G tribe was tasked with guarding the remaining allagan ruins and weapons, to make sure their power would not be misused by yet another imperialist military force (he locked himself in the tower to reinforce its defenses and make sure the garlean empire would not access it to conquer eorzea)

thank you for your time 👍

[sreidisms]

Stress Release

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!GN!Reader

Summary: Spencer needs you to take care of him after a rough couple of days at his new job.

Genre: smut

Word Count: 861

Warnings: pegging, reader is GN but uses a strap-on so?? afab implied, slight cum play, slight overstimulation if you squint, many many pet names (sweet boy, love, sweetheart, darling, baby).

A/N: I needed something to get my creative juices going because I've been in the worst writing slump of my life, so enjoy this quick little blurb of the cutest, subbiest Spence <3

Spencer was splayed out on your shared bed, his previously-gelled hair tousled and spread out on the fresh sheets like a halo around his head, however juxtaposing the current situation he was in - it was far from holy as your strap-on was gliding in and out of him with lewd ease.

The excuse from your boyfriend was that he needed the stress fucked out of him - maybe not put as crudely as that, but you knew what words were floating through his head. Paperwork, cases, and meeting people had been too much for the new agent, and he just wanted you to fuck him dumb for a while, for positive psychological purposes only obviously.

“How’s that feeling, sweet boy?” you cooed, pressing his knees further back to get the right angle to hit that lovely spot deep inside his abdomen.

“Mmm … g-great,” he mumbled, licking his lips and letting his mouth fall open once again.

“That’s good, Spence. Keep your legs like this, please, love.” Your hands moved to hold his slender and naked waist, thus providing you with the perfect leverage to smoothly thrust the thick dildo into his tight hole.

Pegging had been a recent addition to your sex life and you had been surprised when Spencer brought it up one day, timidly explaining how he had stumbled upon it online and wanted to try it out; little did he know, you had been dreaming about that scenario for months. With gentle steps and a good amount of research, it soon became a favourite activity for the both of you.

Spencer didn’t know why he liked it so much. It was probably a mix of being able to let go for once in his life and let someone else do the taking care of, he reflected. And besides, it was nice to not have to think about the logistics of something for a change.

For you? Oh, you loved watching your bright and loquacious genius be reduced to whines and pants every once in a while. It wasn’t a secret that he overworked himself and so you wanted to allow him the space to lay back when needed.

Now, one of your hands had found its way to your boyfriend’s throbbing cock, setting a relentless pace, up and down to give him more relief.

“O-Oh fuck,” he whined as he grasped your arm with a tight grip. “Don’t … stop, d-don’t …” His sentence was cut off when your thumb stroked the underside of his tip, forcing out a guttural moan and a harsh thud as his head hit the mattress again.

You hushed him. “You don’t have to worry, darling. Just relax, I’m here to make you feel good.” He nodded frantically, sucking his lower lip with his teeth to stifle the noises that were begging to escape his mouth.

As much as it was embarrassing, you were sure that your neighbours on the floor beneath your apartment could hear the never-ending squeak of the bed frame grinding against the linoleum, but you couldn’t care less in that moment. Your mind was set on bringing the highest of pleasures to your boyfriend as you skilfully hit his prostate over and over, each push of your hips punctuated with a moan from Spencer.

“P-Please …”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you asked worriedly, quickly cupping his cheek with the hand that was resting on his waist. “Are you close?”

“Uh huh … please, please l-let me …” The sentence died at the back of his throat.

“Go ahead, you’ve been such a good boy, you deserve this.”

You stopped your actions for a second and swiftly pulled him closer to you from his legs, accidentally ramming the tip of your strap-on painfully hard against his sweet spot. It wasn’t your intention but cum gently dribbled down his flushed dick as he panted.

In an effort to not leave him with a ruined orgasm, you planted your fists on the bed, Spencer’s angelic face between them, and you hiked your knees up onto the edge of the bed before picking up the pace once more and driving the fake cock deep inside him.

“O-Oh …” The man was too far gone drowning in pleasure to have the energy to make noise, eyes screwed shut and fingers fisting the sheets.

“There we go,” you purred. The feeling of more cum being fucked out of him spread across both of your stomachs, creating the most delicious mess you could imagine.

You eventually took pity on him and slowed down your hips and teasingly pressed on his legs to spread them further, pulling back to see his weeping length softening against his porcelain skin.

“You did so well, Spence.” You took your pointer finger and spread the viscous liquid across his tummy, and then slowly traced it to the head of his cock. His hips bucked forward and he hissed.

“D-Don’t … sensitive.”

You giggled and leaned down to give him a soft kiss. “Sorry, baby, you’re so easy to tease.”

Spencer’s eyes opened to meet your loving expression and he smiled in return. “I love you.”

“I love you too, always.”

I hope you enjoyed this! I promise I'll get to writing all the suggestions in my inbox eventually, it means so much to me that people show interest :) thank you

[kaz-dekadent]

Not necessarily a writing request but! What do we think of extra submissive Viktor who cries and when he gets horny over any display of dominance :( But this only comes up with people he trusts ofc..🤭

omg crying viktor 👀👀👀 you'll definitely get it in the rockstar fic but i have to finish this thing first

about the second oneeee

im sorry 😭

as much as i write him as a sub, i don't think he would be super docile (and definitely not shy). more under the cut

trans viktor because i haven't written him for long, fingering, darcyphilia, bratting, gn reader

he gets wet everytime you guide him by his waist, or hold it when someone flirts with him, or when you call him your good boy (just don't do it when he's with jayce). or when you stroke his hair, kiss his forehead and call him your genius boy after he shows you one of his scientific projects. but he pretends he is unaffected just to mess with you.

vik is definitely the type to provoke and tease you until he gets what he wants. he would pretend to mistake your lap for a chair or lean on you and make cute faces, maybe unbutton a part of his shirt, "accidentally" exposing his collarbones, waiting until you snap and pin him to the wall. then he would smirk, and you would kiss his neck, making him whine for more, waiting until he gets your cock/strap.

or in public, he would pretend to be interested in people just to make you jealous and possesive, so when you two get some privacy, you would bend him over the nearest surface and finger him until he cries. he would clench everytime you tell him "you're mine."

even when he's not in the mood for bratting, maybe on the days he is in more pain, he would still initiate. he would whine, reach his arms, ask you to cuddle him, and when he's snuggled in your chest, he would ask you to finger him with such cute voice and a fake innocent look in his golden eyes.. and when it would turn into fucking/strapping, he would cry, and when you ask him if you should stop, he would just shake his head, then come with tears streaming down his red face, getting some relief of his pains.

but when it's you initiating, he lets you do whatever you want to him until one of you wants to stop. if you're rougher, as above, he cries. if you're gentle, praise and call him yours, he would moan so cutely, as he's snuggling into you. it makes him feel loved and cared for.

you're also the only one that he lets tell him what to do or be protective of him. it took a long time for him to understand it's not because you look down on him, or think his disability makes him incapable of thinking for himself, but that it's because you love him and want him to be safe. for example, when you make sure he's safe during his experiments or watch over him when they have to get dangerous and when you tend to his wounds after he gets injured. you're the only one he lets make him take a break from his work or carry him to the couch (you don't want to see people he doesn't trust enough try to do it) (they end up with bruises from his cane).

so yeah

[sketchingstars03]

honestly I think the fact that Ink and Error have been unintentionally written to parallel each other is super interesting

For instance

Ink, while being the embodiment of creativity, can be a bit destructive (causing chaos with his shenanigans and making messes of paint)

And Error, while being the embodiment of destruction, can be a bit creative (knowing how to knit and making dolls of various AU characters)

Both were created completely separately, without their creators considering the other at ALL when making them. And yet they work so well as near polar opposites. (emphasis on NEAR. They still have lots in common)

**This post is NOT about 3rror!nk**

[fourthavecafe]

Rafayel using you a live canvas

Rafayel stood over you, palette in one hand, brush in the other, his intense gaze focused on the “canvas” before him—your body. “You agreed to this, remember?” he remarked with his usual sass, a smirk tugging at his lips as he dipped the brush into the paint. His eyes met yours and despite his calm demeanor, you could feel the teasing energy radiating from him.

“I know, but did you really have to start with my stomach?” you shot back, narrowing your eyes as his brush hovered over your exposed tummy. “It’s like you’re doing this on purpose.”

“On purpose?” Rafayel repeated, raising a brow. “Please, do you really think I have time for such childish games?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm, and you knew full well that he absolutely had time for those games.

As the bristles of his brush gently touched your skin, you couldn’t hold back the involuntary giggle that slipped out. You squirmed, the light strokes tickling more than you’d anticipated.

“Stay still” Rafayel instructed, trying to sound serious, though you caught the slight curve of his lips. “I can’t create my masterpiece if you keep moving.”

“You’re the one who can’t paint without tickling me!” you retorted, stifling more laughter as his brush moved over your stomach. “Admit it, you’re doing this on purpose.”

Rafayel feigned offense, his purple hair catching the light as he leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “I swear on my artistic integrity, I am not doing this on purpose.”

“Uh-huh” you said, unconvinced, as another giggle escaped when his brush swept across your side. You couldn’t help but sass back “Sure, Mr. Serious Artist, just ‘accidentally’ tickling me, right?”

He sighed dramatically, clearly enjoying the banter. “Oh, please. As if I’d need to stoop so low for mere entertainment.”

Just when you were about to respond, Rafayel’s brush dipped low, teasingly brushing right into your bellybutton with an exaggerated “whoops.”

You jolted, a burst of laughter spilling out as the ticklish sensation caught you off guard. “Rafayel!” you squealed, twisting under his touch, your body reacting to the playful attack.

He stood back, an innocent expression plastered across his face. “What? That was clearly an accident.”

“Accident, my ass!” you gasped between fits of laughter. “You did that on purpose!”

Rafayel smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Maybe. But if it made you laugh, then I’d say it was a successful stroke of genius.” He twirled his brush in his fingers and looked down at you with mock seriousness. “Now, hold still. We wouldn’t want another ‘accident,’ would we?”

You gave him a playful glare but the threat of more tickling hung in the air, making it impossible not to smile. “You’re insufferable” you muttered, trying to compose yourself but Rafayel only grinned wider.

“That’s why I’m your favorite” he quipped, bending back down to finish his work—though you had a feeling this masterpiece was going to be more laughter than art.

[cantwritethetword]

(2024) TickleTober Day 9: Shock - I'm Helping

Fic Descript - Miles tries to use his electricity to help Pav's sore muscles, but when Pav starts giggling after each controlled shock, Miles puts his powers to a much more entertaining use.

~A/N  - SDJKHAKSFJH SORRY I KINDA DROPPED THE BALL FOR A WEEK A FEW DAYS

I'M TRYING TO CATCH UP BUT IN THE MEANTIME HAVE THIS LITTLE ATSV FIC AS A SNACK

<3 much love

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @fullsongphilosopher | @inneedofsupervision

Masterpost Link 

TickleTober Masterpost

Miles might as well open up his own physiotherapy clinic at this point.

After a (completely accidental) discovery that his mildest shocks could be used like a weird TENS unit [that's Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation if you were curious], a mighty hoard of spider-people swarmed him after every training session, anomaly mission, or particularly awkward sleep to fix their aching muscles.

Pavitr was the most recent to join the patient base.

"I've heard great things Miles, hope you won't disappoint." Pav groaned as he lay on the coach, arms flopped over his face. "I don't what I did yesterday but my abs feel AWFUL."

"Too much flexing in the mirror?" Miles jabbed with a smirk before resting his fingers on Pavitr's stomach.

He elected to ignore the subtle jump his friend made when his fingers made contact, putting it down to nerves. Understandable, it wasn't every day you asked your best friend to use his knockout-level shocking ability to ease some muscle cramps.

But once the current started bubbling into Pavitr's core, something else started bubbling out of it.

"You ok?" Miles raised an eyebrow, attention still focused on controlling how much shock he was administering.

Pav gave a groan in response, which only worried Miles further. Maybe he had started too strong? Pav was one of the smaller spider-people, he should probably ease up.

As Miles reduced his shock level though, Pavitr seemed to struggle even more to contain himself. His arms had moved from comfortably propping his head up to covering his face - with one hand gripping the couch cushions like his life depended on it.

Miles was completely perplexed. "Pav? What's going on?" He asked, shifting his hands higher on the kid's torso as a last ditch attempt to see if a different muscle might be easier for Pav to work with.

Apparently that did it, though.

Pavitr gave a noise somewhere between a screech and TV static, before locking his hands around Miles' wrists and bursting into giggles.

"Okokokokahahay Mihihiles wahahait!" Pav begged, curling in on himself with his hair falling over his face.

Miles grinned, completely abandoning his idea from 30 seconds ago to give up and let Pav leave. "Ohhh...."

"Shuhuhut uhuhup!" Pav cackled. "I cahan't help ihihit!"

"This whole time, you were just too ticklish to handle it?" Miles laughed, moving his hands lower again onto Pavitr's abs.

"I am not!" Pav shrieked at the movement, before straightening himself up to prove his point.

"You sure?"

In a stroke of evil genius, Miles switched tactics. He gripped around Pav's hips and sent pulsing shocks at random intervals through the bone.

The poor spiderman didn't stand a chance. Pav launched himself as far into the couch cushions as possible (so about 10cm from his initial position) with a squeal, hips bucking with every shock.

"NONONO Miles please I cAHAHAN'T HAHAndle ihit wAHAIT!" Pavitr gasped, his face redder than his suit.

"But Pav..." Miles said, mock-sympathy tainting his innocent face. "I'm helping."

[baobpn]

❝ A picture is worth a thousand words ❞ (Chapter 1)

——— A idiom used to say that it is often easier to show something in a picture than to describe it with words.

Rafayel is a genius artist who is widely esteemed for his works while you are someone who prefers to keep to the shadows. Both of you start off on the wrong foot but eventually learn to understand with very little words exchanged.

⬩ Relationship: Rafayel x Selectively Mute!Reader

⬩ Word Count: 1052

⬩ Tags: Coffee shop setting • Slow burn (sorta) • Gender Neutral Reader

Rafayel was an artist who lived through strokes of paint and the feeling of the canvas underneath his fingertips. Commonly he found solace in the solitude of his studio but recently he has been diseased. Yes, the disease that even geniuses such as him are bound to contract: art block. The suggested cure to this was to go outside and find inspiration. However, inspiration was not something that can be forced. Yesterday was grim, the day before even grimmer, and today felt like the gloomiest of all. The constant spring showers soaking Linkon had clearly taken their toll on the man.

Rafayel thumped the pencil against his sketchbook as he stared out of the wide window. He was currently sitting in the newly opened café-library, The Coconut Brew, at Whitesand Bay. Although the cafe was beautifully decorated and thriving with business, it offered no help to the struggling artist. Rafayel let out a small sigh and proceeded to pack up his things. For the past two weeks he has made zero progress on his upcoming project. “Thomas is going to pester me for progress eventually… can’t ghost him forever…”

Thomas had signed him up for an public art exhibit that was focusing on the theme "Isolation”. "It’s perfect for you! Who can do it better than the most anti-social man I know?" Thomas had jested. Rafayel knew it was a joke but he couldn’t help but feel offended by it.

Lost in thought, Rafayel accidentally bumped into someone, sending both his belongings and the other person’s tumbling to the floor. Snapped back to reality, Rafayel quickly apologizes and bends down to pick up the dropped books. As he looks up to hand you one of your books, he notices a brown stain on your shirt. “Shit—I am so sorry. I was not paying attention to where I was looking so let me-” Before Rafayel could even make amends, you grabbed the book from his hand and quickly bent down to collect the rest of the items. He watched as you hurried toward the back of the café, presumably heading to the bathroom. Rubbing the back of his neck, Rafayel resumed picking up his scattered papers and book.

Before he exited the premises, he approached one of the baristas. “Hey, I accidentally made someone spill their drink. When they come back, can you retake their order?” He describes your appearance to the server so she would know who to give the money to.

After Rafayel left the café, he made his way toward the docks. Much to his dismay, the rainfall began to intensify. He glanced up at the sky, frowning. "This week couldn’t possibly get any worse," he muttered.

─── ⬩✦⬩ ───

Things could have gotten worse this week. On the other end of the call, Thomas spoke as Rafayel paced anxiously back and forth in his studio. “Look, just go back to the library and see if your sketchbook has been returned.” Thomas was trying to calm him down, but to no avail.

“I did! I called them yesterday and they said no one has turned in my sketchbook!” Rafayel snapped, “It’s been three days since I bumped into that person—oh my god, what if they were a tourist?!”

Thomas let out a muffled sigh, “Listen Rafayel, you said you've been struggling to come up with an idea, so what’s the loss if it’s gone?”

“Listen, you may not care about losing your ideas, but I do care,” Rafayel rebuked. In the background Thomas yelled “Since when?”, but Rafayel ignored him. It was true that the sketchbook being gone wasn't a major setback for his current project. In addition, he doesn’t always treat his supplies with the utmost care. The only reason why he held a strong attachment towards this particular sketchbook was because it was a gift from his aunt. Rafayel refused to admit this, knowing it would only prompt more teasing (or criticism) from Thomas. He already felt guilty enough and didn’t want his friend to make it worse.

“Listen, the exhibit is in 15 days, and you don’t even have a sketch ready. The only reason why so many people are planning to attend is because your name was listed. If you don’t have an idea in three days, I will call to request your removal,” Thomas said firmly.

The idea of being removed was tempting, but this was something Rafayel had actually been working hard on. Quitting now would mean all his frustration would have been for nothing. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. “Alright… I’ll have something by then.” He ended the call and sank onto his sofa, feeling defeated. “I need to cool off…”

─── ⬩✦⬩ ───

The evening dusk was settling into the studio as Rafayel returned. He had spent the day visiting several thrift stores, hoping to find odd trinkets that might spark some inspiration. He placed the bag on the table and adjusted his chair to face forward. Sitting down, he rested his face in his hand and pulled one of the items from the bag. With a bored expression, he rolled a black marble between his fingers. It slowly changed color, but it wasn’t captivating. His eyes then drifted to the doppelganger sketchbook on the table.

Placing down the marble, he reaches forward to grab the book. It was rude to look through another artist’s sketchbook but considering the other person had his, it seemed only fair that he got a chance to peek as well. Rafayel flips through the pages slowly, but nothing really catches his eye. Most of it was filled with reference sketches, doodles, and notes he didn’t feel like reading. It wasn’t until the very end of the sketchbook that something caught his attention. It was a painting of an opaque glass wall, cracked with white lines. In several spots, pieces of the glass were chipped away, revealing a colorful scene behind it. On the wall itself, there were faint handprints, as if someone had been leaning against it to look beyond the boundary.

Rafayel muttered to himself, "The feeling of loneliness and yearning…" Suddenly, a moment of realization struck him, and he jumped to his feet. Heading toward his canvas, he felt a surge of clarity, finally knowing what he was going to create.

✦ Dividers Credit plum98, ianrkives, and daddldee

[glossykissies]

🌟Headcanons for readers if they were supes.🌟

Deer reader would have powers of suggestion through eye contact , mind control type stuff very cutesy and demure. + healing(like she could heal ppl and also herself or maybe just herself up to u) . This power would tire her out and she’d have wobbly spells like you’ve said before! with pope catching her omg that was cute. Very useful to the boys to have the girl with the enchanting eyes (literally) do reconnaissance for them. Had to work her up to it tho cuz she’s shy

Puppy reader would be invulnerable and super speed maybe? Both or one of them. I feel like it’s just so her with how active and adventurous she is. Much slower than A train but still VERY fast unfortunately she hasn’t got the hang of it yet so ends up burning her shoes and getting her socks on fire when stopping. Why the invulnerability comes in handy!

Kitty reader would be able to turn invisible very cunty very her. also teleportation into shadows cuz again how chic and black cat coded. But her clothes can’t turn invisible like the girl from fantastic 4 , actually most invisibility powers would like that. She’d be very useful on the boys missions and it could open up to situations between soldier boy , butcher , MM 🤭 reminder for myself to look up fics abt MM.

Bunny reader rlly stumped me omg but the best I could come up with is ability to control fire or liquify or soldify matter idk i think I need u and the council to weigh in with thoughts cuz I’m so lost ☹️ maybe the reason she was on the team u said earlier

you’re a genius i love thisssss !!!

deer having wobbly spells even in this universe yes !! the boys get so used to it that everytime she uses her power one of them are already behind her ready to catch her if need be <3 she’s the biggest sweetheart n theyd die for her !!!!

pup having super speed and accidentally setting her socks on fire whenever she runs on carpet without shoes !!! i love that idea sooo much, having that as a background scene and seeing m.m or frenchie chasing her around trying to put her out would be so funny !!

kitty is def an invisible girlie <3 if anyone ever yells at her and she’s not in the mood to yell back because she’s feeling sensitive she goes invisible so no one can see her cry :( i can also see her shape shifting into a cat form … she uses it to throw ppl off me thinks … kinda like a whole puss in boots vibe when she wanders up to whoever they’re tryna take down and gives them the 🥺 eyes and when they lean down to stroke her she attacks, clawing their eyes out !

hmm bun is difficult cos i can’t rlly see her being a supe originally !! much like the spoilt brat reader i see her being useful to them as she’s on the inside, a socialite, knows all the right people and has the key codes to any building from flirting with the right people … just all around useful ….. but if she’s gonna be a supe — she’s gonna be voughts favourite cash cow. a supe popstar, marketed towards teen - 20s girls, super cute aesthetic like sabrina carpenter. her power would be kinda like deers, she can compel people (think tvd style compelling) so they send her to conventions for self help where all she needs to do is bat her eyelashes, look someone in the eye and say “you will never smoke again” to heal them. homelander refers to her as ‘his little moneymaker’, but of course she gets tired of the constant sexualisation from the men in the seven >:( maybe she finally breaks….. going to her new friends for help…….

[abalidoth]

Advertising this very theta-delta looking dog chew toy on the autistic puppygirl website was an accidental stroke of genius.

Keep your furry friend entertained, indeed.