"I Love Morph!" "Morph Deserves More Love!"

I love Storm ✊️✊️

Oh my queen. I admire you.

Re-blog if you're accepting anonymous asks from anyone about anything.

CHAT I'M BOUTTA-

AAAHHHHHHJAJAJAJAJAJAJJAJAJAJAAAAAAA-

Your friends have no taste lol. I also think that they look more at the hair aspect of a man than anything.

Real. I showed my bsf Oliver Stark and she said no, showed her a pic of him w curly hair, "Smash." Immediately.

Okay, so, idk who cares but,

I don't just write fanfics! This is a story I've been working on for only about a week called "All in Human Nature" and it is a Thriller Book about a group of friends who go to a cabin but something goes very, very dark in the middle of their mid-summer trip.

Hotter Than the Stage

Synopsis: After a sultry performance, Remy invites you to a private room for a personal show. The dimly lit space, charged with palpable tension, becomes the backdrop for an intimate, slow dance where every movement teases and entices. As Remy strips down and moves toward you, his every action is designed to draw you in, building an undeniable chemistry between you. What starts as a private dance quickly turns into a passionate, unforgettable night, as Remy makes it clear that tonight, you're the only one who matters.

Warnings: A little sensual. Hope you enjoy, kits! 😘

After a long, exhausting night of performances, the club was starting to quiet down, but you knew Remy wasn’t done. You’d always admired his confidence on stage, but there was something about the way he looked at you tonight that made everything feel more intense, more personal.

He beckoned you toward his dressing room, where the music had faded and the lights were dim, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. The door shut softly behind you, and as soon as it clicked, Remy turned to face you.

A sly smile curved on his lips as he approached, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. "Thought I’d give you a little private show, chérie."

You didn’t even have time to respond before he was unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his toned chest, the muscles shifting as he moved. His hands lingered on his pants, teasing you as if he had all the time in the world. The air felt charged as he stepped closer, his body radiating heat.

With a smooth motion, he guided you to sit on the couch, his hands gentle but firm as he hovered over you. “Relax, mon cœur,” he whispered, his voice low and velvety. “This is just for you.”

Before you could say a word, he was dancing around you, every move calculated and mesmerizing. He swayed his hips to an imaginary beat, each twist and turn smooth like silk. You could feel the tension between you two building with every step he took, and when he finally turned to face you, his eyes darkened with desire.

Remy slowly closed the distance between you, leaning in close enough that his breath brushed against your ear. “You know,” he said, his voice a sultry whisper, “this is just the beginning. I’m not stopping until you’ve got no doubt what you mean to me.”

His lips barely grazed your neck before he pulled away, his hands moving down his own body as he unzipped his pants, letting them fall to the floor. You swallowed hard, caught between the raw intensity of the moment and the heat swirling between you.

Without a word, he guided you to lie back on the couch, and as he climbed over you, the space between your bodies grew impossibly small. His movements were slow, sensual, teasing as he kissed your lips, your neck, your jaw. Everything he did was designed to drive you crazy, to leave you wanting more.

Finally, he stopped, pulling back just enough to look at you with that signature grin. “Told you, chérie,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. “I’m all yours tonight.”

And just like that, the world outside his dressing room ceased to exist as he gave you a night you’d never forget.

(Yall like Magic Mike!Remy?)

Playin' Hearts

Synopsis; A playful game of pickpocketing with Gambit turns into a quiet evening of jazz, dancing, and stolen moments. As the teasing gives way to sincerity, you find the courage to make the first move, discovering that some risks are worth taking. Warnings; None kits! <3

You frowned as your hand brushed against something unfamiliar in your coat pocket. Fishing it out, you discovered a playing card—a queen of hearts—marked with a small, flourished "R" in the corner. You turned it over, puzzled, trying to figure out how it had gotten there.

“You dropped somethin’, chérie,” came a familiar, honeyed voice behind you.

Spinning around, you found Remy leaning casually against the doorframe, twirling another card between his fingers. That trademark smirk of his was firmly in place, a glint of mischief lighting his red-on-black eyes.

"Did I now?" you asked, holding up the card. "Care to explain how it ended up in my pocket?"

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Can’t blame me for wantin’ to stay close to you, non? Thought you might enjoy a lil’ reminder of me.”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped closer, card in hand. “You’re telling me you pickpocketed me just to leave… this?”

“Not just any card, chère.” He tapped the queen of hearts with his fingertip. “It’s got a meanin’. You’re sharp; I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

You couldn’t help the warmth rising to your cheeks, but you refused to let him win so easily. “If you’re so good at sneaking things into my pockets, guess I’ll have to start keeping them zipped.”

“Aw, now don’t do that,” he teased, his voice a low, velvety drawl. “Would make my job so much less fun.”

Shaking your head, you tried to hide your smile as you walked away, but his chuckle followed you down the hall. When you reached into your pocket later that day and found another card—a joker this time—you couldn’t help but laugh.

Gambit always had a way of leaving an impression.

Later that evening, you wandered into the common room to find Remy sitting on the couch, shuffling his deck of cards with practiced ease. He looked up as you entered, that perpetual smirk softening into something warmer when he saw you.

“Evenin’, chère,” he drawled, sliding the cards into a neat stack and setting them aside. “Come to accuse me of more mischief?”

You crossed your arms, pretending to consider. “Depends. Find anything else to slip into my pockets?”

He stood, hands raised in mock innocence. “Now why would I risk it? You’d catch me red-handed.”

“Maybe I’d let you off easy.” The words escaped before you could think twice, and the flicker of surprise in his expression sent your heart racing.

Remy stepped closer, his movements fluid and unhurried. “Careful, mon cœur. A man could take that as an invitation.”

You tilted your head, trying to keep your composure. “And what if it is?”

For a moment, the teasing glint in his eyes shifted to something deeper, more earnest. Without a word, he reached for the old radio on the shelf and turned the dial until soft jazz crackled through the room.

“Dance with me,” he said, holding out his hand.

Caught off guard, you hesitated. “I don’t—”

“Don’t matter if you can,” he interrupted gently, taking your hand in his. “Just follow my lead.”

Before you could argue, he pulled you close, one hand settling lightly on your waist while the other held your hand securely in his. The warmth of his touch and the way he swayed with effortless rhythm made it impossible not to relax.

The world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, moving together in the soft glow of the room. You found yourself smiling as his fingers gave yours a playful squeeze.

“You’re a natural, chère,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety.

Your eyes met his, and suddenly, the teasing facade he so often wore was gone, replaced by something vulnerable and inviting. Heart pounding, you gathered every ounce of courage you had and leaned up, brushing your lips against his.

For a moment, the world stilled. Then, his hand tightened gently at your waist, pulling you closer as he returned the kiss with a slow, deliberate passion that left you breathless.

When you finally pulled back, his lips curved into a grin that could only be described as triumphant. “Took you long enough,” he teased, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d make the first move,” you countered, your boldness surprising even yourself.

Remy chuckled, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “Chérie, if I’d known that, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time with cards.”

And with that, he spun you back into the dance, holding you close as the music played on

(GAMBIT CONTENT YAY!)

That was so cute! 😭😭 we need more Toad stuff on this app

Heyyy, I'm back 😍 I'm the weirdo that said I'll give you my life for some Todd fics. And I do owe you now because you did it and I'M SO happy. Since you asked for ideas, could you do a fic about Todd with an insecure reader (specifically a plus sized reader if you could ☝️☺️❤️💪) I will literally give you my first born child.

Different People Same Feelings

Todd Tolansky x plus size reader

Words: 824

Author’s note: I tried not to delve too deep with the emotions cause I’m not good with emotional stuff and this one kinda rung home with me so sorry if it’s not what you were looking for.

Creep. Gross. Freak. Toad’s heard it all. 

But while other people’s words brought him down, yours were right there to bring him back up. 

Affectionate. Witty. Wonderful. Those were the words that came to his mind now. He got so used to your optimistic thinking that it didn’t even occur to him that you might need some of that positivity yourself. 

You weren’t the thinnest and you were okay with that. While most of the time you tried not to care for what others thought you couldn’t help but focus on your coworkers words, said earlier that week. 

“Squishy?” You repeated as you looked at yourself in the mirror, your hand grabbing at the skin of your waist when Todd threw the door open. 

“Keep your cool, the Toad-miester has arrived,” he shouted, his eyes landing on you. 

Stepping into your room he could tell the typical vibes were off but he didn’t care, he was just happy to see you. So in his bliss of happiness he hopped over, and once close enough he straightened his back and met your mouth.

His lips caught you off guard, with your mind elsewhere, but you eased into the kiss, at least before his hands landed on your waist. When his hands rested on your body you were instantly reminded of that word again. 

Squishy.

Your hands found his, as you tried to gently move them away without any detection but obviously that wasn’t the case.

Todd separated from you, his hands returning to his side as he gave you a nervous expression to which you just smiled back. It wasn’t the first time you’d done something like that recently. He was honestly going to avoid the whole conversation, afraid that if he mentioned it, it would just end up with him hurt, but something about your face moved him to ask.

“Did I do something wrong?”

That question plus the sad expression he wore made you feel guilty for even making Toad think that. “What? No, of course not, no you haven’t done anything wrong.”

You both stood in silence awkwardly, you; being unable to express yourself and him; being afraid of creating conflict. But eventually one of you had to break the tension created and it seemed like Toad was willing to take that risk. 

“If it isn’t me, then what’s wrong?”

You held your lips tight breathing in through your nose, before telling him the story. “At work my coworker was, you know, joking and telling a story, and she poked my stomach. Then she quickly removed and asked what that was that she poked? And I said my stomach and she said it felt way squished than she expected. And I know it was just a word and she probably didn’t mean anything by it, but now I’m just looking at myself. Every roll, every bump and handle. I’m just staring and thinking that everything that I try to hide about my body everyone can see. And you know when you tell yourself it’s all in your head, nobody notices it. Now I’m realizing everybody does notice and I’ve just been out here gaslighting myself.”

Toad was not prepared for any of that, he had no idea this was going on. 

“I don’t know, I just wish I was different, do you ever wish I was different?”

You knew the question was way too much, you sort of hated yourself for even asking it, but you couldn’t help but wonder what Todd thought especially considering he was on the other side of the scale with him being more slender. 

That question was just about the least depressing way you figured you could’ve worded it. 

Todd took a step back looking you up and down, “are you kidding, you’re hot!” 

You gave him a tight lipped smile, of course he would say that’s, he was your boyfriend. But honestly you didn’t want to think about it anymore, all you wanted to do was be alone.

”Thanks,” you said, turning your back to him. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he he’d your elbow turning you around again. “No, I don't wish you looked different. You’re my babe. You’re gorgeous inside and out,” in the process of his words he lifted your arms to wrap around his shoulders, “you gave me a chance. I never want you to be anything but yourself. If you think people are looking at you funny it’s me they're probably looking at.”

“Hey,” you warned while he shot you a laugh making you grin a little. 

“Do you ever wish I looked different?” He asked, using your own question against you.

You looked at him before bringing your foreheads together. “Never.”

Toad learned something new that day. He learned that there are times when you felt just as bad as he did and he learned that his words actually meant a lot to someone, and that fact itself meant alot to him.

↫Midnight Snacks↬

Synopsis: In the middle of the night, you are met with an annoyingly awake speedster. Maybe you could share this small moment with him. And maybe like it...

Warnings; none!!

The mansion was silent at this hour, the kind of quiet that made every creak of the floorboards and every hum of the refrigerator seem louder than they actually were. You shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and headed straight for the fridge.

“Midnight munchies, huh?”

You yelped, nearly slamming your head into the fridge door as you spun around. Peter was leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed and a trademark smirk plastered on his face.

“Peter!” you hissed, clutching the carton of milk you’d grabbed as if it were a weapon. “Do you get off on scaring me?”

“Pretty much,” he replied, zipping into the kitchen and leaning on the counter next to you. “So, what’s on the menu? Leftover pizza? Ice cream? A questionable combination of both?”

“Hot chocolate,” you said, setting the milk on the counter.

“Classic,” Peter said, nodding approvingly. “Mind if I join?”

“Do I have a choice?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” he said, already grabbing mugs from the cabinet at super-speed. He tossed them onto the counter with a flourish. “Allow me to assist.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling as you reached for the saucepan. “Fine. But no super-speed stirring. You’ll spill everywhere.”

Peter gasped in mock offense. “What kind of culinary amateur do you take me for?”

“The kind who’s broken three blenders trying to make milkshakes.”

“That was one time,” he protested. “Okay, maybe three. But this is different.”

While the milk heated, Peter zipped around the kitchen, gathering whipped cream, sprinkles, and a bag of marshmallows. By the time you poured the hot chocolate into the mugs, the counter looked like a sugar-filled battlefield.

“Subtle,” you said, gesturing to the mountain of toppings.

Peter shrugged. “Go big or go home.”

He grabbed a mug, piling on an absurd amount of whipped cream and marshmallows before sprinkling the whole thing with a generous handful of chocolate shavings. He took a sip and promptly got whipped cream on his nose.

You burst out laughing, setting your own mug down. “You’ve got a little something…”

“Where?” he asked, crossing his eyes in an attempt to see the mess.

“Here, let me—” You reached out to wipe it off, but before you could, Peter licked it away at super-speed, flashing you a smug grin.

“Got it,” he said.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“But charmingly so,” he countered, clinking his mug against yours. “Admit it—midnight snacks are better with me around.”

You sipped your hot chocolate, pretending to think about it. “Mmm… debatable.”

Peter gasped dramatically. “Rude! You’re lucky I like you.”

You smirked, leaning against the counter as the two of you sipped your drinks. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was warm, comfortable, the kind of quiet that came with knowing someone so well you didn’t need to fill every second with words.

“Okay,” you said after a while. “Maybe you’re not that bad.”

“Now that’s the spirit,” Peter said, giving you a playful nudge. “Told you—I’m the ultimate midnight snack buddy.”