begging to whatever god will listen for Gaz to bite me, i am parched, thirsty, everything in between, I am an offering up the altar to be sacrificed I need his teeth in my throat STAT 😵💫
ill-advised. anon. you should never say this to Gaz. don't encourage this behavior. you already stimulate the cute aggression part of his brain. he has too many reasons to bite you already:
mark you (because he likes to see it)
mark you (to remind you of him when he's not around <3)
hear you squeak
feel you wiggle
shows other people you're spoken for (so fuck off) even if you're not officially his (yet)
world hard and cold; flesh soft and warm.
and the way he catalogs all his favorite places to bite you:
your lip (cute when you're not expecting it; hot when you reciprocate; you're not getting away after that)
your ear (socially acceptable in public, but the reaction it provokes in you is not)
your neck (makes you go all docile; very submissive + breedable of you)
your shoulder (during sex when you're bouncing in his lap or when he's taking you from behind)
your fingertips (you pout about it, but it takes negative two seconds of having any part of you in his mouth to turn him on)
nsfw ⬇
your chest (if nipples weren't meant to be biteable, why are they shaped all tempting like that? why do they stand up when he starts playing with you??)
your thighs (yeah, on the inside, and you'd better not try to hide it. you're wearing shorts out <3)
your ass (flipping you over while he's eating you out? he's not even gonna try to resist a nip or two when he slides his fingers into you and your back arches up. you tease)
your clit (when he's eating you out and you have the audacity to look away; your eyes need to be on him. plus gentle closing of the teeth around your clit makes you squirm like crazy)
rest assured, if you offer your throat up to gaz, he's not gonna be responsible about it.
and if you offer yourself up as a sacrifice?? okay, baby, you're his forever. no take backs.
...
more Gaz / masterlist tag
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hii can you do colby and reader having a secret relationship and sam and kat walk in on them making out and sam was recording and he starts screaming? thank you!!!
Warnings: kissing/making out, getting caught, fluff, cute, Sam and Kat are together in this
Enjoy!
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“Colby.” You whisper as your hands slide up his clothed chest, “We’re going to get caught.” Colby’s hands squeeze your hips and he pulls his lips away from your neck, “I missed you today.”
You smile, “I know, Colbs. I miss you, too.” You run your hand through his hair, looking down at him, “Why don’t we just te-“
Colby crashes his lips onto yours, mumbling against them, “Not ready.” You nod, sliding your hands to his neck as you deepen the kiss. You grind down onto him and he groans out, “Not enough time, princess.”
“After?” You ask and he nods, smirking as he looks at you. “oh yeah. You. Me. And this bed.” He points to the bed below him and you laugh, “It’s a date.” You lean in to connect your lips again when all of a sudden the door swings open.
“Colby have you se- whooooa!” Sam screams and you and Colby freeze, staring at them like deer in headlights, “what’s going ooooon!?”
“Are you-“ Kat stops, shaking her head slightly, “Are you guys fucking dating!?” You laugh nervously, still straddling Colby to block the boner that is quickly working its way down now that Sam has a camera pointed at you.
“Sam. Turn that thing off.” Colby laughs and Sam shakes his head, “I’m vlogging.”
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Thank you so much for reading. I truly appreciate everyone’s patience as I try and push these out. I love you all so much. Thank you, again. I love yas!
Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!
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“You—“ She took a hitching breath. “You came.”
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Break-Ins and Bandages
Here is my 1500 Followers Celebratory Snippet! Thank you for helping me brainstorm, @surplus-of-sarcasm and @lilywolfgray!
The sound of the window opening had Hero whipping their head around so fast it gave them a bout of dizziness. They had been perched on the end of their mattress, holding a pack of ice to their throbbing head and trying not to aggravate the rest of the wounds littered across their battered body. As the window opened the rest of the way, Hero’s heart leapt into their throat. Villain climbed over the sill into the bedroom. Hero jumped to their feet… and promptly keeled over. Villain sped over and caught them before they could hit the floor.
“Easy, easy,” Villain said, depositing them back on their bed, “not here to hurt you. I think I did enough of that this afternoon.”
“Why- how-?”
“I banged you up pretty bad, I felt like I should try to fix it.”
Villain had a bag slung over their shoulder, and as Hero got a proper look at it, they could see it was stuffed to the brim with medical supplies.
“After I gave the cops the slip, I may have followed you home… heh, sorry.”
Villain gave them a lopsided, apologetic smile. Hero’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“Don’t give me that look! I’m a villain, not a monster! Now, let’s have a look at you.”
Despite their protests, Villain helped Hero out of their shirt and started to examine them.
“Hm,” Villain said, “I really pack a punch, huh?”
“Ya think?” Hero winced as Villain touched a particularly tender spot.
“Okay.” Villain started to rummage in their bag, “let me start with the antiseptic.”
Villain pulled out a bottle and a cotton pad. Hero scuttled back on the bed.
“Villain, I appreciate this, but please don’t-”
“Hush.”
Villain lunged with the antiseptic. Hero cried out when Villain started to clean their cuts.
“You big baby,” Villain teased, “you can survive buildings falling on you, but a little wound tending is gonna be your undoing?”
“YES!” Hero hissed, their knuckle-white fists gripping the blanket under them.
Villain shook their head with a chuckle. Once every wound was cleaned, they started to medicate them and bandage them up.
“…Thanks,” Hero said uncertainly.
“Yep,” Villain said with a satisfied smile.
Villain started to put everything away. They were about to climb back out the window when Hero found themselves grabbing their arm.
“Uh…yes?” Villain asked, quirking an eyebrow.
Hero blushed in embarrassment.
“Um… I have some old movies on DVD… if you weren’t doing anything after this…”
Villain smiled knowingly.
“Because,” Hero added quickly, “I’m still injured, someone should probably keep an eye on me so I don’t aggravate the wounds, and-”
A peck on the cheek shut Hero up straight away.
“Took you long enough, gumshoe,” Villain said.
Villain set the bag down, closed the window, and swept Hero up into a bridal carry. Hero yelped.
“Villain! Put me down!”
“You’re still injured, you said so yourself,” Villain said, “where’s your living room?”
A huff from Hero and some directions later, and the crime-fighter was nodding off on Villain’s shoulder to some fantasy movie. Villain kissed Hero on the crown of their head. Mission accomplished.
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snippet #2 - the villain surprises the hero
warning: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, harmful behavior, touchy villain (not nsfw), depictions and descriptions of physical violence, may be uncomfortable or triggering for some readers, reader discretion is advised.
The hero had been captured again, tied to a chair, blindfolded, and beaten to a pulp until the only thing they could taste, smell, feel, was their blood.
It was routine at this point.
Get captured, refuse to give up information, get a few new scars before their team showed up. At a certain point, these so-called villains became predictable. None of them truly scared the hero anymore.
The hero’s head came up at the sound of a door creaking open then slamming shut, footsteps following behind. They clenched their fists against their restraints, sighing, preparing themselves for another round of mediocre scare tactics.
The footsteps of the person started to become louder and louder, the hero could hear them slowly circling their chair like they were tracking prey.
They stopped right behind the hero, their breath tickling their ear, making the hero shiver behind their blindfold.
Their captors before had never gotten this close, at least without a weapon or some weak verbal threats. This felt… different somehow. It made the hero a bit antsy. Their chest became heavier as they listened to the sounds of the person’s even breathing.
Their gut was trying to tell them something.
Something was wrong-
Their heart stopped when they heard the person’s whispered voice.
“Hello, Darling.”
No.
The hero frantically jerked at their restraints but they wouldn’t budge, it only made the rope dig more into their body. Loud and panicked sounds escaped them as their heart started to beat in their head.
The person only chuckled at their attempts to free themselves.
No. No.
They— there… it’s not possible.
“Did you miss me?”
No. They needed to get out. Tears started to seep through their blindfold, as well as sweat as they jerked their head around. They couldn’t get out, they couldn’t even see where they were. The hero was frantic, horribly panicked, and the villain reveled in it.
The villain was the only one who could evoke genuine terror from their hero. Turn them into a screaming, begging mess at their feet.
The villain trailed their hand delicately over the hero’s neck, wrapping their fingers around them and stroking. The hero let out a choked whimper, their body completely shivering.
“You never thought you’d feel this again, did you?” The villain smiled, “My touch making you deliciously crazy?”
No. They didn’t. The villain was supposed to be dead.
The hero’s breathing grew more erratic by the second, more and more tears streamed down their face, mixing with the dried blood and stinging their fresh shallow cuts.
They saw their dead body. They buried them in that grave. They stuck that knife in their chest so many times they lost count as they watched the life drain out of them. How?
“It’s been far too long, my love,” the villain said, “I think we should relive some good memories.”
The hero couldn’t answer, only cry out and tried to wiggle their way out of their restraints again and again and again. It was a pity, the sight of someone trying to escape the inevitable.
The villain started to slowly lift the hero’s ripped sleeves, rolling them to expose their skin. No. No. No. Anything but that.
The villain watched in awe as their hero completely lost it and tried so hard to escape them, even though their hero was smart enough to know there was no hope. No one was coming to save them.
“Sh, sh, sh,” the villain cooed, their hand sickenly stroking the hero’s neck like comfort, “There’s no need for that, you know you're not escaping me.”
The villain trailed their hands softly up their hero’s arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. They loved how their hero tried to push them off, completely losing it when the villain finally touched their scars.
They had dreamed of touching these sensitive things again. The deep scars they left all over. They hated the scars others dared to leave. They already killed those others who dared to call themselves ‘villains’, who dared to touch the hero. Only they were allowed to touch their little hero like this.
“All our fun times, etched into your skin,” the villain said in awe. Their hero tried to get out of their hold, their sobs echoing across the room.
The scars felt different this time, some of them. The hero must have tried to rid themselves of their marks, but failed miserably. How cute.
Their hero should know better than to try to rid themselves of the villain.
They continued to trace over the uneven skin, the memories of the many long lovely torture sessions they subjected their hero to flooding their brain, and they were sure their hero was reliving it too.
“Stop,” the hero whispered, choking on their sobs, “Please-
“Just like my scars,” they cut in, pressing delicate kisses to the skin making the hero’s body shiver, “I will never leave you, love.”
It has been so long since the hero felt that terror, the feeling of adrenaline rushing through their veins, their heartbeat reaching heights that could kill them. Their breathing was so rapid, their body was in a state of complete shock and panic.
They forgot what it felt like to be terrified, and they wished it stayed that way. They thought they made sure it would.
“But, you did leave me,” The villain dug into one of their scars, making them gasp, reopening it and letting their hero’s blood trickle down their fingers.
“You left me to rot in the ground,”
“I-I didn’t-”
“Let the world forget about me.”
The villain dug in deeper. The hero cried out.
“Let yourself forget about me,” the villain whispered, their breath over the hero’s mouth.
“I’m- sorry.. please— I’ll do-“
The hero jerked and sobbed again as the villain ripped off their blindfold, the light seering their eyes.
“Your begging is pitiful,” they spat.
The hero’s eyes adjusted to the sudden light as they looked up into the villain’s. They jerked their head away. Those same eyes haunted them when the hero slept, even when they thought they were buried deep underground.
The villain grabbed the hero’s chin, digging their nails into the skin and forced their head back up.
“You really thought you could get rid of me?” the villain snapped, venom lacing every syllable.
The hero sniffled, their eyes completely bloodshot from their tears.
“I’m not going anywhere,” the villain whispered with crazy in their eyes, “and neither are you.”
The hero couldn’t answer, only cry out as exhaustion took over their body. Their body stopped fighting, just twitching every so often from the adrenaline. They were slowly accepting their fate.
“I’m keeping you, Darling,” the villain smiled, stroking the hero’s chin, “and I promise you, this time, you’ll never be able to forget me.”
The hero whimpered a slur of incoherent words in response.
The villain loved their hero like this, shaking and on the verge of insanity knowing what things the villain was about to subject them to. It was a sight the villain was going to come back to every single day. They planned to come back every night, keep them tied up, bloodied and bruised, completely helpless and at their mercy. Then afterwards, they’ll really get to work on molding their hero into perfection.
The villain mercilessly tied the hero’s blindfold into a gag, enjoying the way the hero jerked in response, and took a syringe out. Their hero’s eyes winded, as they tried to plead behind the fabric, but the thing was too tight.
They sobbed. The hero knew what was coming next. They remembered, those memories were burned inside of them. Cut into their skin.
“Don’t worry,” they whispered, kissing their hero’s tear and blood-soaked cheek, “I’ll be all you ever think about soon enough.”
They could only cry and try to plead through their eyes, shaking their head. The villain though had no mercy for them whatsoever.
Their hero betrayed them. They stuck a knife in their heart when the villain let themselves believe someone actually cared for them, they finally let themselves trust and their little hero shattered it.
They stuck the syringe right in their scar. Their hero let out a scream of terror covered by the fabric.
Now it was only fair they would shatter them in return.
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thinking about obsessive Gaz still…him being a bit of a weird bff. Male reader.
It’s not a shrine. Shrines are childish, weird things built by freaks who obsess over people, complete creeps who probably have bones in their closets and lick printouts. It’s….a refuse drawer, that happens to have acquired a theme. Not even a collection, that would imply Kyle was being deliberate, which he isn’t. He’s only keeping your things so he can return them, but he can’t exactly show up at your house with just a toothbrush now, can he? It’s only polite, and he’s sure when he finally has enough knicknacks you’ll smile and pat Kyle on the cheek like you always do when you’re pleased and somehow manage to get away with it without being condescending. Maybe even knock your heads together, like you do when you’re sleepy and staying over for a movie, giving him long molasses moments with his nose to yours. He isn’t some weirdo following some girl around and stealing her panties. Kyle hasn’t touched a pair of your boxers, though he hasn’t been able to get you to stay more than one night. He thumbs over Ghost’s contact in his phone and thinks about crime statistics a normal amount.
He doesn’t have a drawer for Johnny or his other guy friends because they’re assholes, that’s all. You’re just his nice friend, the one who smiles and genuinely talks about your life and encourages him to be soft and sweet and buttery instead of raucous and harsh. Kyle wants to smooth his rough edges in your presence, wants to charm you and see things how you do, he wants his ladykiller smile to soften to something genuine. That involves picking up the things you leave behind with a pure kind and full intentions to return them, not in some creepy, awful manner that would make you call him gross and shut the door in his face.
Kyle is a considerate friend to you, dutiful and generous. When you’re hurrying out of the door, one foot in a hangover, he passes you the closest jacket. It’s his, by sheer coincidence, his rack is solely his own clothes, and yours had gone missing from atop the couch mysteriously during the night. Kyle doesn’t mention folding it and tucking it away, it’s his right to have a clean home and he’s a good host tidying up after his guest. He pretends to find it a half hour after you’ve left, ensuring the temptation to use it as an excuse to catch up to you or drop by and steal an extra conversation. Sometimes he struggles with long term rewards over the short term, and you’re no help. It’s the lottery ticket in your pocket, he’s discussing to himself, what else could he be speaking about? He considers laundry for half a second, holding the jacket tightly in his hands. It smells like you more than the deodorant does, deeper, and Kyle decides he shouldn’t make assumptions about your clothes. What if it’s dry clean only, or he uses the wrong temperature setting and ruins it? It’d be rude to assume your nondescript hoodie isn’t anything special to you. He picks up the glasses both of you had used and if he forgets to wash yours before he takes a sip, he’s a bachelor living alone and can blame it on habit.
Kyle likes inviting you over more than he likes going over to yours. Your apartment isn’t far, and it isn’t ugly or overly cramped, and you are never anything but an angel to him there, but Kyle needs sleep and he finds himself face down on your couch, staring into the black all night. Or wandering home, restless and chewing his fingers bloody for hours afterwards. He’s so antsy in a room filled with nothing but you and your things. He catches his fingers in a door once out of impulse, trying desperately to shove away the urge to pick up a little statuette from some sudden uncontrollable kleptomaniac urge, and you notice and fuss and soothe and suddenly he has the desperate urge to smash something and take it to his skin and he wonders if you would stitch it together and kiss it afterwards. Kyle keeps the bandage. He sits on the couch and stares through the tv and thinks about it and he can’t bring himself to look at you because if he does, that unnamed, unknowable buzzing under his skin promises something and he’s too scared of himself to find out.
In his apartment it’s better. Kyle can cling to himself, a better man, a good man, when it’s soft and more controlled. You’re comfortable among his things and he doesn’t feel the drive to take the place around him apart. It feels like someone has taken a hot knife to him when you leave, which is fine. He counts the days before it’s too needy and strange to ask again. When he gives you back the hoodie, it smells like the two of you and he fibs about finding it under the couch while cleaning. Kyle digs his nails into his arm under the coffee table when you ask about his day and he wonders wildly if you knew about it. He wants to show you the marks on his arm, prick tears into his eyes and have you soothe him, but Kyle knows better than that. He doesn’t have a response to your inevitable questions. It’s not weird for him to want to seek the affection either. He’s like everybody else in this, starved for attention and cradling the source of it. He’s just smart enough to not grip too tightly and bruise you.
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sunday snippet!
idk y'all i wrote some words. @homosociallyyours this is for you. a taste of dirtbag harry. he's not even dirtbaggy. idk.
“I don’t want you for a night, Harry,” Louis said as he wrenched Harry's hands from his hips and pushed them into Harry's chest, grip tight around his wrists. Harry sucked in a sharp breath, heart thundering in his chest when Louis didn't let go, and instead leaned in, lips brushing Harry's ear as he whispered, “And you won’t touch me like you touch them.”
Harry huffed a laugh, his entire body flushing hot at the rejection, and he looked down at their hands tangled together and pressed against his bare skin, wondering if the blush heating his chest and neck and face was visible. The floodlights at the entrance to the marina barely reached where they stood, and the lights along the length of the dock were meant to illuminate the path without ruining the view.
“You don’t want me to suck your cock, Louis?” Harry asked, annoyed at the tremor in his voice. He looked away, focusing on their boats docked side by side—the contrast of the gleaming white and cool blue of Louis’ late model yacht and the dull green hull of Harry's ancient cabin cruiser beside it an excellent visual metaphor. Shaking off his agitation, Harry cleared his throat and turned back, holding Louis’ gaze and pitching his voice lower, “I could take every inch of you. You could fuck my mouth… My throat… I can make you feel good, Louis. Better than you’ve—”
“No,” Louis snapped, quiet but demanding, and Harry bit his lip hard enough to hurt. Water lapped at the pilings, the bumpers knocking the edges of the dock and against the boats, the air tranquil except for Harry's harsh breaths. Staring unabashedly at Harry, Louis licked his lips, and moved in closer, crowding Harry, forcing him to hold his ground or step back, and for a brief, brilliant moment, Harry thought he was finally going to be kissed. Then Louis shrugged, releasing Harry's hands, and said, “All or nothing.”
He left Harry standing there and returned to his boat. The lights on Louis’ yacht flicked off, and Harry gasped, holding a hand to his bare chest where Louis had touched him. Shaking his head, Harry tried to rid himself of the heavy, desperate want, but it clung to him.
An hour later and it’s still there, thrumming alongside his heartbeat.
if you read this, post a snippet! also i'm tagging some people: @louandhazaf @crinkle-eyed-boo @homosociallyyours @disgruntledkittenface @laynefaire @enchantedlandcoffee @phdmama @absoloutenonsense @karamelised (i see you!) @greenfeelings @bananaheathen @lululawrence
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Monday snippet whatever
Idk what the usual Monday thing is but I needed an excuse to share a snippet. Thanks to the 'make me write' post (which you can still send asks for) I got back into rewriting my 'Buck finds out he has a daughter' fic.
His breath catches, “That’s why you asked about the guestroom. You want to live with me.”
“Duh,” she answers, giving him a look. “You’re my father. You didn’t give up your parental rights so you don’t even need to adopt me… unless you don’t… want me.” She trails off. For a moment there is a deep sadness on her face, but she masks it quickly.
God. He’s only known her for, what, ten minutes? And he already sees so much of him in her.
“I do,” he answers. And he means it, he realizes. There’s suddenly a desperate feeling to protect her. To love her.
She looks up again, hesitant. “Are you sure? I’m a lot.”
He can’t help but laugh, “Yeah, you are my daughter.”
Interested in more? Send me the emoji in my ask haha
Taglist:
@buddieswhvre @diazsdimples @tizniz @steadfastsaturnsrings @watchyourbuck @theotherbuckley @jesuiscenseedormir @loveyouanyway @bidisasterbuckdiaz @chaosandwolves @mattsire @mel-vaz @inkmortal-trash389 @princess-of-the-snake-pit @nilletellsstories @laundryandtaxesworld @specialbrownieeater @m1kayu
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Hiii, I love your writing! It's so great that you're back! Could you write something like two actors are playing hero/villain in a movie or theater, but both of them sometimes just gets too in character/or just gets too stuck in character, so for like moments they actually forget that they are just acting?
“You didn’t think I’d let you die by anyone else’s hand but mine, did you?” The villain cocked their head to the side, grinning.
Distantly, the hero registered the whispering of stage commands, but tuned it out.
“You can’t just kill anyone who threatens me,” they argued back. They watched as the villain’s grin sharpened.
“Watch me,” the villain whispered, stepping closer. Fake blood was drying on the side of the hero’s head, and it itched more than usual. Must be a new brand from costuming.
“I could arrest you,” they offered, but they let the hesitation show on their face. Visible enough for the camera to catch their unwillingness, no matter how fake it was. Good enough nobody could tell the difference between real and not.
“You won’t.”
The hero tipped one head to the side
“And why’s that?”
The hero shifted, leaning in towards the villain.
“Because you’re mine,” the villain whispered, tone playful as their eyes seared into the hero’s.
The hero’s mouth went dry. It wasn’t on purpose.
Something kindled in their chest.
“Oh yeah?”
The villain shrugged one shoulder in perfect time to the script, and the hero pulled the next line to the tip of their tongue—
“Prove it.”
That was not the next line.
That wasn’t a line at all.
The villain blinked just once, the only sign of surprise they would allow, before their grin widened. Their shoulders loosened into something feral, something that delighted in this change.
Something that belonged off-stage.
“I’m covered in the blood of the people who hurt you,” the villain’s voice was smooth sliding down the hero’s spine. They shivered. “What more proof do you want, love.”
They blushed furiously at the nickname, even underneath the stage makeup, and at the pleased look on the villain’s face, it was visible.
What was the line what was the line what—
Their hands fisted into the front of the villain’s costume, dragging them closer. The villain let them, hand settling on the hero’s waist in a movement far too smooth.
“I don’t know,” the hero murmured, and they were just as surprised as the villain when their lips hovered just over the other’s ear. “Why don’t you stop trying to kill me, for starters.”
The villain tugged them closer, and the hero’s eyes went to their lips.
The villain looked at the hero like they wanted to devour them.
Fuck, what had been the line—
“Oh, but you’re so pretty covered in blood, Hero,” the villain crooned, and the hero opened their mouth to say something, their tongue a separate entity from their brain at this point—
“Hold!” Someone off-stage called, and they both froze. A second later, they were halfway across the stage from one another. Slipping out of being the hero and back into being themself felt like hitting a brick wall.
If the way the villain shuddered was any indication, they had forgotten they were playing a character too.
The hero turned away to face the tech crew, hand settling over their face to hide their blush.
The villain’s gaze was molten and heavy on their shoulders, even from as far away as they were.
“I don’t think that’s in the blocking,” the stage manager frowned, flipping through the script.
None of that was the blocking. No matter how much the stage manager searched those pages they would never find those lines.
Fuck.
“Improv,” the hero choked out, flushing. “It was, uh. A creative choice—“
From behind one of the curtains, they heard a crew member snort, muttering something about teenage actors and horniness—
The villain was smirking, a wicked thing.
“Right,” the stage manager said slowly, brow furrowed from where they sat. They murmured something into their headset, eyes shifting up between the villain and the hero, before they slid a screen in front of themself.
Just barely, the hero could make out the shape of the scene they had just filmed.
The screen went black, the room silent for a moment, before the stage manager let out a long suffering sigh.
“We’re changing the blocking.”
“What?” The hero yelped.
The villain settled their hands into their pockets, unbothered and grinning.
“We’re keeping the scene,” the stage manager nodded towards their tablet, and the hero almost passed out on the spot. They watched the stage manager eye the pleased and possessive look on the villain’s face. “For now, though, let’s call it a wrap for the day.”
Shuffling began, lights flickering off, and the hero escaped to their own dressing room, panting slightly.
Dear god, they were so fucked. They had forgotten they were acting, again—
“Improv, hm?” The villain grinned, lock sliding into place. The hero hadn’t even heard them come in.
The hero groaned. “I don’t know what happened—“
“Yeah,” the villain nodded, and they were closer than they had been a moment ago.
The hero swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
The villain raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
The hero waved one hand between them. “For, you know—“
The villain was still smiling.
It was then they remember who had fought so hard in the writers’ room for the villain and the hero to end up together.
‘Enemies to lovers,’ the villain had said, eyes dark. ‘The fans will love it. There’s been sub plot for the last two seasons.’
The directors had pushed back, but now—
Oh. The villain wasn’t mad.
They were pleased.
The hero choked.
“You,” the hero tried.
“Me,” the villain agreed, and then they were kissing, all-consuming and desperate.
They made a noise in the back of their throat, the villain twining their hand into the hero’s hair.
“You forgot you were acting,” the villain murmured against their lips, and kissed them again before the hero could defend themself. “That I’m not really your villain and you aren’t my hero.”
The villain settled the hero onto the counter, coming to stand between their legs, one hand on their hip.
“Fuck,” they gasped, and they could feel the villain’s grin against their skin.
“Mhm.”
Somehow, the hero’s arms had ended up looped over the villain’s shoulders.
“Maybe stop killing people, and I’ll consider it,” they said between breaths.
“What?” The villain pulled back slightly.
“The line I forgot,” the hero said. They could drown in the villain’s eyes, they were sure of it. “Maybe stop killing people—“
“Don’t care,” the villain bit out, and then their mouth was on the hero’s again and nothing else mattered.
Maybe they weren’t truly hero and villain—but god were they good at pretending.
Three months later, the internet couldn’t decide what was better—that finally, after years, the hero and villain had ended up together on screen; or that off stage, their actors were desperately, hopelessly in love too.
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A princeling fair to see, the pearl of minstrelsy [Oltyx/Yenekh snippet]
(I started scribbling this after seeing @eleooooooo's take on necrontyr Yenekh a few days ago, holy hell that boy is fine. And such a fine boy deserved another. IDK if I'm going to make this a full thing, but it's been a long time without any content from my end... and we could all do with something sweet, always 👍)
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On the day Kynazh Oltyx's statue was unveiled on Sedh Yenekh recognized the sweetbitter inkling of his fate.
News seldom came so fast in fringeworlds such as theirs. The young prince had recently returned from war, and the dynast Unnas in his pride had commissioned for him this statue, a copy of which was to be instilled in every world held by Ithakas. As Yenekh made his way to the central square, it seemed that over half the planet had joined him to bear witness. Patriot champion, the whole city whispered, a fine lad and a strong warrior, a true leader to his men. And since the lot of everybody on Sedh was tied to the mercy of their high command, they were very interested to know what this one promised, and were all in all pleasantly surprised.
Yenekh had never seen anything like it. Royalty for him had always been stoic. Aloof and distant, most of the time, crushingly immediate when they deigned to gaze upon Sedh. That was how Unnas was depicted, indeed all the kings of Ithakas before him, towering over the people in their bold-faced majesty. That was how Kynazh Djoseras was depicted, the elder prince who'd drawn similar crowds some years before, his slim face uncannily stern as he stared straight ahead of him. (Unlike his father he was only ever shown alone, and only as a side profile, though his judging gaze was felt by all who saw him.)
But there was no precedent for Oltyx's statue, not among royalty, nemesors or overlords. His was a full-body sculpture, unlike his father and his brother carved in friezes. It was of realistic size too; the statue was set on a high plinth, the bodily proportions slightly magnified to account for perspective, but otherwise one could almost believe it was the real kynazh standing up there. Already that was too down to earth to be the norm, but what really shocked the denizens of Sedh was the expression - for yes, Kynazh Oltyx had an expression, a genuine marker of personality. The fair prince stood with glaive in one hand, the other held palm-up as if in hail, and he was smiling.
It was not a vivid smile, nor a triumphant smile. They would have understood that, although privately, they might've thought it uncouth to show that much emotion when a stoic stare would have done just as well. No, his was a demure smile, so subtle that it seemed a sculptor's secret grace: the prince's eyes were slightly downcast, hooded as if he were sharing sweet mysteries, and the curve of his mouth rose so delicately one might think it a trick of the light. His raised arm seemed almost inviting, as if to swear oaths to a lover, or to clasp his admirers in an embrace.
It was a sight to take Yenekh's breath away. Indeed, it was the closest thing to benevolence any of them had ever seen from the heart of Antikef. It was so unusual, so unlike royalty, that as Yenekh stood there starstruck his elders began debating whether this was a serious depiction of the prince or not.
Though, well, surely it was. Like Yenekh and the other warriors of his ilk Kynazh Oltyx had come of age during wartime. This was the first time his image had been presented all over the Ithakan kemmeht, the royal court had to get it right. The dominant consensus was that the sculpture would not have been approved, neither by his older brother nor his father, if it hadn't reflected something about the prince's reality - a point which Yenekh's father considered paramount, and took great care to impress upon his son.
"After all, you are soon to present yourself at the royal court," he said, resting a warm hand on Yenekh's shoulder. "The war is over - the body politic, within and out of Antikef, must resume its role - you are the next branch of Sedh's nobility, and among our finest, and it won't be long before the future of this world rests on your shoulders. Go, see if you might seek the younger prince's favour. I daresay we'd flourish somewhat if he were to look kindly upon Sedh, even if it were he alone who did so."
Back then nothing was more important to Yenekh than the will of his father. "I will." He said, and prepared to present his home in the best light, though he didn't seriously think anything would come of it at the time. Yenekh's father had once heard the same words from his father. His father's father, too, and that father's brother all the way up the House of Aetis, and little had changed for their pains.
It was not for lack of faith in Sedh. Yenekh loved Sedh, thought the world of it even, but they were just too far away from the crownworld to merit royal attention. That was not for lack of faith in Antikef, either, the distance was not negotiable. From the royal court's perspective Sedh was not even in the provinces, they were beyond the provinces, where the kemmeht was stretched so thin that one might peer through it like a veil. The lords of Sedh were not weak - they'd defended the border for uncountable generations, they had strength, they had pride - but there were a million things they could beg of royalty, while royalty required nothing from Sedh other than its continued obedience. If its lords did not plead for grace they wouldn't see any at all.
How could Yenekh alone possibly change this state of affairs?
Yes, he supposed the young prince was wondrous fair. (Yenekh began to dream of him often from the day he laid eyes on the statue.) Perhaps he might even be kind. That wasn't a good reason to tie an entire world's hopes on one person, not that it'd stopped them doing it to Yenekh. Such is the kinship of youth, the warrior thought wryly, and he kept all this in mind until his first official engagement came around.
He was among innumerable youths from the kemmeht. All were sturdy and bright-eyed. All had favours to seek.
Much to Yenekh's surprise, those were the only correct predictions he'd made about his lot. It was his first time encountering the royal court, but it wasn't at Antikef; no, it was with the Nihilakh, at Gheden's famous Lantern Festival to hail the new year. He did not blend in as thoroughly as he'd expected, though it wasn't in a bad way; for the first time in his life Yenekh was made to understand he was beautiful, though no one at Sedh had ever remarked on it. (Compared to the lords of the inner worlds he'd thought he was so plain, but his white-and-blue robes accentuated his form gracefully, his silver belt and collar shining bright.) And although he could never have hoped for a prince to look directly upon him, that was exactly what Kynazh Oltyx did on the day they met, the central square teeming with the lords of a hundred dynasties.
Yenekh knew the prince at once, at the faintest snatch of his rich warm voice. He moved carefully past the youths of Ithakas - the kynazh was turning his head, just as Yenekh reached the front of the group - as Oltyx looked upon the darkest and faintest star of his high kingdom, his brown eyes widened, and he smiled that same gentle smile Yenekh had admired upon the plinth.
"Gosh." He said. "You're pretty."
In that instant Yenekh was consumed by love's first flame, and he yielded to it as he’d never yielded before.
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(Moonwater! I really need to write them their own fic. The nerds deserve to be happy together.)
A shadow falls over their table before James composes a reply.
“Hey, Reg. Didn’t expect to find you here, but it’s a nice surprise.” Remus accompanies the greeting with a friendly grin. “James,” he adds with a flinch. Didn’t he notice James at first? But why would he approach them in the first place otherwise? Side note, this hiding spot sucks if so many people found him here. But also. Reg? Since when are Remus and Regulus, which, by the way, sounds like one of those muggle myths Lily told him about, on a nickname basis? As troubled as he is by Regulus’ news and worried about Sirius, he can’t help but observe the scene in front of him with fascination.
Remus is still watching Regulus with a gentle smile, crooked thanks to the scar that tugs at the left corner of his lips, and James expects a scathing reply, possibly containing any or all of the following: filth, half-breed, scum, impure, not worth to lick the soles of my shoes. Or at least that’s what Sirius has him believe. Instead, the younger Black’s behavior performs a complete turnaround. The aloof amusement shrouding him during the conversation with James disappears as if Remus has put a Disillusionment spell on him. Red blotches pop up on his cheeks, and he sputters for a moment before he replies, and when he does, his voice comes out all squeaky, all its posh enunciation gone.
“Hi, Remus, uh. Sorry. Hope I’m not intruding. I’ve had—a thing, well, a problem, really, I needed to discuss with James.”
“No, of course not. I’m just surprised because you usually take the nook under the stairs, right?” Remus says as if his familiarity with Regulus’ study habits is normal, then blushes furiously.
What in Godric’s name is happening here?
“Yeah.” Regulus meets Remus’ eyes.
“Quietest place in the library,” they say in unison, both turning even redder than before.
James bites his lips to stop himself from doubling over in laughter. Oh, this is beyond excellent. Regulus, stand-offish, holier-than-though, stuck-up Regulus, the pureblood heir par excellence, has a crush on the resident werewolf. You can’t come up with this stuff. And Remus seems to be crushing right back. He’ll so owe him for the wingman service he’s about to provide.
“Regulus was just telling me how he needs help with his transfiguration work. Don’t you, Reg?” he says, dragging out the nickname. Savoring it. The younger Black stares daggers at him but holds his tongue. Clever boy. He understands James is working in his favor here.
“Really? I’ve got Transfiguration to review for the NEWTS. Maybe I could help you?” Remus offers, guileless. Regulus swivels his focus to him, and the daggers melt into puppy eyes in an instant. If James weren’t beside himself with worry about Sirius, he’d pop over to the kitchens for some snacks and then spend the rest of the evening sitting here, enjoying the show.
“That’d be, um, appreciated,” Regulus mumbles.
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Hello, thank you for the tag :)
I looked through the list and got intrigued with Soap Accidental 01?
for sure! i'm looking forward to seeing your list!!
Soap Accidental 01 for the wip ask game--it's bff!soap :) just a completely normal chill night with your good buddy :) with no blackmail whatsoever.
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"Am no' bein' a dick," Soap retorts, pointing at you with his scotch bottle hand. "An' I don' regret a damn word. Your boy toy needed a reality check."
"Reality check?" you echo in disbelief. "There is no reality in what you said. You sound like a crazy ex-boyfriend."
"Maybe I do, best pal." Soap leans closer, still holding your wrist tightly. “So, are you gonna keep our little secret, or are you coming clean with him?”
Your heart stutters when he leans in, and you shy away. "There's nothing to come clean about. You already told him we slept together before he and I hooked up."
“But you don’t plan to tell him how much you enjoyed it, do you?”
"Why the fuck would I tell him that?"
“Why indeed.” Soap gives your wrist a tight squeeze. “I’d hate for someone else to tell him.”
...
wip ask game / more Soap / masterlist tag
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OOO can you write fem reader x jake fluff to smut? Like reader having been away to film a vid with sam n colby in another country and she finally gets back? love your writing its MWAH
Warnings: strong language, sexual and suggestive language, hints at sexting, fluff mostly I’ll do a part 2 at some point
Enjoy!
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“I bet Jake is itching to see you.” Sam chuckles, “This is the first time you’ve been away from each other for more than a few days right?” You look at Sam and nod, “Two days is the most, anything more is..” you sigh and shake your head, laughing as the flight attendant announces take off.
You make sure neither boy on either side of you are looking at your phone before you open the thread because as you suspected, photos you sent Jake to hold him over for the duration of the plane ride are on full display.
You text him - quickly, On the plane getting ready for take off. I love you. I can’t wait fuck, I mean hug and kiss you. You hit send and put your phone on airplane mode. You get out your headphones, slipping them over your ears before you turn on your music.
You smile as one of Jake’s favorite songs plays. You try to follow along to the words, the beat of the music, but you just can’t.
You were needing Jake.
Craving, aching, yearning for him.
You knew you were flying home to some good welcome home sex, but you needed to calm down now. You glanced over to the window, smiling at Colby when he looks over at you. He gives you a thumbs up and you nod, giving him a thumbs up back before resting your head back.
You needed Jake’s hands on you. Recovering your body in his fingerprints, his touch that makes you weak no matter what way he touches you.
You tried pushing the thoughts away, mainly because they were just causing you to be uncomfortable because you were forcing yourself to sit still. You were scared to sleep. No matter how tired you were, you didn’t want to risk announcing in your sleep to the whole plane that you’re having a wet dream.
You took a deep, quiet, and calming breath before closing your eyes. All you could picture was seeing Jake in the airport. It’s going to be late when you get in, but you know neither you nor Jake will be tired once you get your hands on each other.
You eventually make it through the long flight, basically if you didn’t have Sam or colby to talk to, you would have died from boredom.
As you make your way off the plane and to the baggage claim, you feel your heart start racing faster and faster. You felt like you were meeting Jake for the very first time all over again.
You love and hated it.
“So you see them?” Sam asks and Colby looks around, “No, not yet.” Your eyes search the crowd around you and you suddenly spot Jake over everybody.
You gasp, tapping Colby’s side with your hand, “There.” You point and Jake and Johnnie wave. Sam looks at you, “Go.” He nods towards Jake, “I got your bags.”
You smile and let go of your suitcase, ripping off your backpack and taking off towards Jake. As soon as you’re close enough, you push yourself off the ground, leaping into his open arms.
He catches your and your arms and legs wrap around him. He hugs you right, “Mmm.” He squeezes your body, “I missed you.” He leans his head back and scans his eyes over your face, “Gimme a kiss, sugar lips.”
You laugh and lean in, pressing your lips to his. His arms tighten around your body and he hums lowly, “I hope you’re not tired.” He chuckles and leans back to look at you.
You bite your lip, “Don’t worry, I feel a second wind coming on.” You smirk and he nods, “Good, because I have a schedule, and it’s a lengthy schedule.” He winks and you laugh. You honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he did have a schedule.
You talk amongst each other, mainly about the investigation, as you make your way to his car. Colby leans forward once he shuts the door and you look over at him, “What’s up?”
“Is it cool if we find a close hotel to crash at?” Colby asks and your eyes move up to Jake. You look forward to hide your smirk and nod, “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”
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Thank you so much for reading! As always, let me know what you thought. I love you all! 🖤
Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!
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are you planning on continuing with n00b updates? I'd love to read more but I know you're busy and don't always stick with one fic
Hopefully this snippet from the next chapter will answer your question.
Josie: Again with the instant obedience.
You know you don't HAVE to do what I say every time?
Bacon4Algernon: that is not what that was i was going to change it back anyway and you just happened to ask me to do it at the same time
Josie: You obey me and yet you claim to hate me.
You're just an enigma wrapped in an enigma, aren't you?
Bacon4Algernon: i am not
i'm a paragon of openness
i'm a harbinger of truth
i am a man
Josie: As swift as the coursing river, sure.
Wormtail: You guys are so romcom coded lol
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Last line challenge
Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like).
Thank you for the tag, @marbled-polecat! 💜💜
I've been elbow deep in a surprise Steddie smut fic that just keeps growing and growing 🤣 Here's the last little bit I wrote, because it made me laugh.
“Dude!” Steve says. “Put your pants back on!”
“Why?” Eddie calls over his shoulder as he moves into the other room.
Steve sits up and starts doing his pants back up. “You can’t be Donald Ducking it around my house, man, that’s fucking weird.” He reaches for the remote and turns off the useless redhead and her screechy wailing.
Eddie doesn’t say anything, but a second later his dirty shirt sails out of the kitchen and lands in the middle of the living room floor.
“Oh, real nice, Eds!” Steve yells. “That’s unsanitary!”
Eddie, he thinks, is starting to get a little too comfortable around here.
I will tag @mapleowl18 @wolveria (hiiii!!) @hawthornsword and @sexysmeagolshitposting. Play if you like, fine friends, but no pressure!
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“YOU!”
Jason turned his head to see a small guy with black hair pointing at him. He was wearing a light grey hoodie and jeans.
“Your ancestor has been haunting me for MONTHS!” Danny tilted his head, looking at Hood’s chest. “They weren’t wrong, you really do need to see a ghost doctor. What the fuck is up with your ecto?”
“My what?” Red Hood said. “ are you the guy people around here have been talking about? The one who can talk to the dead?”
“More like the dead won’t stop talking to me.”
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