Prompt: "Do You Plan On Kissing Me, Or Just Staring At My Lips Like They're Your Dinner?"

Prompt: "Do you plan on kissing me, or just staring at my lips like they're your dinner?"

Summary: just the gay mutant road trip. This is mostly a Drabble.

Charles lay sprawled out on the couch, headache buzzing at the back of his mind. Recruitment today was...well, a 'shit show' in no uncertain terms. Charles had been in the city for most of the day, which (for a telepath), meant a killer headache. Once the pain had finally subsided enough to form coherent thought, he'd realized what little food he actually had today, finally noticing the festering hunger by the pit of his stomach. Erik had just entered from the bathroom.

"Erik," Charles beckoned from the couch.

"Yes?" Erik turned to see Charles splayed out on the couch. He wore only a robe—motel issued, of course—and white briefs. Erik put massive amounts of effort into not looking at Charle's dick, which you could vaguely see the outline of.

"I'm hungry."

"And?" Erik raised a brow, now standing in front of Charles.

"Food. I want it." Erik smirked a little at the way Charles was acting. 'Cute' was the word bouncing around in his mind; he would never admit it though. Erik could see the desperation in Charles' eyes, almost a pout. He promptly decided that it was a matter of national importance to annoy the ever-loving shit out of Charles.

"What's the magic word?" Charles shifted to lying on the couch now, head propped up by one hand.

"Erik you're amazing, wonderful, handsome, and I love you?" Charles looked up to see a visibly nervous, startled, bumbling, blushing, Erik.

Okay, maybe it's a matter of local importance?

In reaction, Charles' mouth slightly opened, eyes wide, eyebrows raised for only a fraction of a second. Because, fuck, that's hot, but also, he can't know that.

Still flushed, Erik coughed and said "that will suffice." Erik then grabbed the hotel phone, calling down room service—while also, actively paying no mind to Charles. About a minute later, Charles piped up.

"I can flirt too, you know." Erik raised a brow and snapped to Charles' eyes.

"Yes, I've seen it in action. I often watch it with abject horror."

"You weren't staring at my ass in abject horror," Charles mumbled, breaking eye contact with Erik (who is, once again, a mess).

"No, I was staring at your ass with uncertain lust. Your ass isn't you flirting though, Charles. Your flirting is 'oh, hello attractive person, may I unzip your genes?" This time, Charles went red in the face, and let out a scoff.

"Erik, I purposefully shake my ass in front of you. I bite on the tip of my pen, I walk around half naked more often then normal, I leave the door open when I shower."

"I... I thought that was just you."

"It is, it's me when I'm around you"

Suddenly, a knock on the door breaks the trance both men were looped into. Erik shuffles around to open the door and mumbles a "thanks" to the worker. Charles loses himself in thought and Erik sifts through the food. He brings Charles his lava cake on the couch, where he sits down next to him with his coffee. Erik has to push around Charles' legs to make room. Once settled, Charles just places his legs on top of Erik's—both men sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, facing towards each other. Charles finally begins to dig into his lava cake, making aggressive eye contact with Erik. After a while, he shifts his fork around on the empty plate, still staring at Erik. Charles’ eyes landed on Erik’s lips; a shot of anticipation went up his spine. He’d thought about this many times before, and his thoughts began to spiral, replaying old fantasies. I don’t know where I want his lips first. Maybe we’d make out a bit first, then he’d kiss down my neck. Maybe he’d find that spot right behind my ear. Maybe I’d get to see his lips wrapped around my-

"Charles, are you still hungry?" Both men now sat 'pretzel style' still facing each other, when they got there remains a mystery. Charles now met Erik’s eyes, blood rushing up to his cheeks.

"No, I'm plenty full, why?" Charles leaned in slightly

"Okay, then do you plan on kissing me or just staring at my lips like they're your desert?"

Charles' eyes go dark with lust; his body stills. He nearly throws the plate down, muttering something along the lines of "bastard," and surges forward to meet Erik. Erik's hands frame the sides of Charles' face; Charles' hands grasp the older man's hair. Their noses were touching, breath burning each other's skin, mere inches away from kissing. Charles' eyes frantically searched Erik's, as if attempting to commit the moment to memory.

"Do you always play with your food, Charles?" Erik asked, and Charles could feel the question against his mouth. Charles let out a soft "fuck you" before finally closing the distance. As their lips met, they began to slowly devour one another. Their kiss was surprisingly... non-aggressive; sweet, even. Still full of passion, lust, and desire, but it was clear that neither of them were in a rush. Both men savored their (now) lover's taste. Erik let out a breathy laugh, and Charles did the same. Words left unsaid, declarations of love, and pure adoration were confessed against each other's lips.

Charles tugged against Erik's hair, and Erik groaned. Erik, in retaliation, shifted his hands down to Charles' ass, making him yelp. He lifted Charles closer, placing him atop his own lap. The couple broke apart for air, now panting in to each other's mouths. Erik's hands found Charles' face again, thumbs stroking softly.

“You taste like chocolate," Erik rasped, because honestly, he has no clue what to say. Charles placed a chaste kiss on the corner of Erik's mouth. He responded, in a similar tone, with "you taste like bastard."

Erik laughed, and oh god, that's one of Charles' favorite sounds.

"And, pray tell, what does bastard taste like, Charles?" Oh fuck, he's never said my name like that before.

"It tastes like the idiot who agreed to travel with me." Both men leaned back slightly, now looking into one another's eyes. "Tell me more about this idiot," Erik purred, one hand now roaming across Charles' neck. Charles released Erik's hair, and instead, wrapped his hands around Erik's arms.

"Well, he's stubborn," Charles began, Erik contenting with a mhm. Charles contemplated his next words, before trying again.

"He's stubborn, handsome… probably my best friend, and has these piercing, stormy eyes. He speaks five languages, and I swoon every time he speaks his native tongue. To be fair, I swoon every time he speaks period. His laugh is one of my favorite sounds in the world, and he's the only person I enjoy arguing with. He's a beautiful masterpiece of passion, even though he can't see it. Sometimes it scares me—how honest I am with him. He's very vocal about mutant rights, he's a wonderful addition to my life, and I think I might be a little bit in love with him." Erik's thumb stopped moving, and his body stilled.

"I think that idiot is a little bit in love with you too."

Please send me requests if you have any! I do !x reader’s too, I just haven’t had a good idea for one.

A Gift (Loki x Reader)

Summary: Loki gives the reader a sword for valentines day and teaches them how to use it. Thor mistakes the gift as proof of an engagement.

Note: Screw roses and chocolate, I want a sword as a declaration of love! Also, screw canon and characters dying; everyone is alive and happy and healed. Please let me know what you think, feedback makes me strong and keeps me motivated to write more! Have a great day :D

Words: 1817

It wasn’t the fact that someone had snuck into your room in the dead of night that bothered you. After all, FRIDAY would have alerted you if they meant harm and if, by some terrifying twist of genius, they’d evaded her scanners then they still hadn’t meant to hurt you as they’d left you sleeping peacefully through the night.

It wasn’t even that they’d tidied up - although that was rather strange. No, what bothered you was that, after silently cleaning your apartment, the intruder had left nothing but a long box on your table. No note, no explanation. Just a box, wrapped beautifully in dark green paper.

Naturally, you had FRIDAY run a few tests on the box to prove that it was safe to open. She confirmed that there were no dangerous trace readings or anything to be worried about but suggested caution nonetheless. Expecting some kind of biological weapon or hidden explosives, you were quite surprised to find a sword.

It was beyond beautiful. The blade was perfectly balanced, just the right side of heavy for you to comfortably lift and manoeuvre it, but deceptively sharp. (The first thing you’d done was run your fingers along the immaculate surface and cut yourself on the edge.) The hilt was like something from a fairytale. Made of a golden alloy of some kind, decorated with the most intricate swirling designs, you surmised it had to be centuries old at least; craftmanship of this quality simply didn’t exist nowadays.

It was everything you could have dreamed of in a sword - and you had dreamed of owning one for so long - but it didn’t explain why it was there or why your mysterious giftee wanted to remain anonymous.

However, you’d come to accept that life - your life, especially - rarely made much sense so, instead of worrying, you grabbed the sword and did what any normal person in your position would have done. (Probably; you’d spent so many years surrounded by super assassins and aliens that your definition of ‘normal’ was somewhat screwed.) You strode through the Compound like a proud soldier off to war, down to the training room where you intended to slash and stab the crap out of the training dummies.

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ohlookitsrex

2 years ago

a lot of the lighting in Goncharov is absolutely stunning. I was inspired to do a study of katya during the cafe scene.

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ohlookitsrex

3 years ago

Cry why don’t you. Weep those NFT tears.

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ohlookitsrex

2 years ago

If I had a nickel for every big name Harry Potter fanfic writer who started their own cult, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice.

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ohlookitsrex

2 years ago

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ohlookitsrex

4 years ago

Spiderverse Gwen x Reader where The reader is out as les/bi/pan whatever and Gwen is scared to tell her she likes her?

AND➝ Gwen is ready to start letting people back into her life after the events of Spiderverse. MJ, aware of Gwen trying to open her social circle, tells her about a nice girl from her apartment building and brings the reader along at their next band practice to introduce her. Gwen sets eyes on her and is VEEEERY attracted to this VEEEERY pretty girl. In Gwen’s bisexual distress, she starts rambling nervously, and probably says something embarrassing about herself. MJ saves them from an awkward situation and starts band practice, Gwen doesn’t see reader outside of school again after that, but Gwen shamelessly stares at her during class. Gwen starts to overthink the situation and gets worried she blew her chance. Later, there’s a situation that she as Spider-Gwen saves reader from. Reader is minorly hurt but SG has to go before she can help reader as authorities arrive. Feeling guilty, her spider sense leads SG to the reader’s apartment, she goes to check on her that night. Confident with her mask on, she strikes up a conversation, compliments her and even drops a bit of a flirty remark about reader before taking her leave. I didnt know where to go from there I’m new to requesting so I hope this isn’t too long but I hope that’ll be enough to get the ball rolling? -🍀

deeply sorry it took me so long to get to these again! i changed a few things, but it’s pretty much still the same idea. i hope the nonnie who requested this finds it and doesn’t think i ignored them :( ily, y’all deserve better.

——-

➹she plays bass➹(spider-gwen x fem!reader)

That feeling when there’s a cute girl who plays bass in your band and you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

Gwen needs help figuring out her feelings. Like, immediately.

word count: 11.6k (oops i did it again)

a/n: i’m sorry this new fic is the size of the bible like the last one, i’ll try to make the next one shorter lmaooo. but it’s what my fave girl deserves due to the unacceptable lack of stories about her on this site. plus, i swear that once you read it it’s so much shorter than it seems. i’m hoping i can post at least one more story before the end of the year, but if i don’t, happy holidays and new year ! y’all were the best part about my 2019 :) hope whoever is reading this has a lovely week. mwah.

warnings: violence, guns, swearing.

——-

She played bass.

You played bass, to be more specific. And Mary Jane Watson took satisfaction in believing that she was nice. More than simply ‘just nice’ on good days, even. Being the most courteous person was a duty she considered to be hers ever since she was six-years-old and accompanied that girl who always seemed to be left behind in the playground, and years later, in high school when she punched a creep hassling one of her bandmates. Last but most certainly not least, Betty Brant, bass guitar player of the Mary Janes, slipped and fell backwards one unfortunate evening, and she shot out her left arm behind her to break the fall and save her ice cream from hitting the ground. Good news: her ice cream did not hit the ground. Bad news, however, her left hand did— in an odd, twisted position. Needless to say, Betty Brant now had a broken wrist.

At first glance, they’re all unrelated events, stars belonging to separate constellations, and they would have remained so— undisturbed, simply coexisting in the same sky. That was, until Gwen came into the picture and drew a line connecting the bright flecks when she opened her mouth.

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