#Anon Snippet

[lilac-den]

Perhaps it was a dream. A dream that proved it's all too much to take on.

You woke up hurt. Feeling your bones and blood cried as if they're screaming when you tried to recover from the ground.

You're not sure what happened. But you felt like a lost soul trapped in a body that may not have been yours in the first place.

And so, you wander.

You left your chamber. You began to stroll mindlessly.

There's no one here at the moment. Just a few guards. But that shouldn't be a problem, the wind magic will carry you past them like a cold breeze too strong to handle.

And so, you kept on walking.

That's when you saw him.

And you felt your heart numbing.

—

He left his study in the castle by the time of midnight.

A few guards greeted him as he passed them, so he walked faster.

It wouldn't be annoying if he hadn't learned beforehand that at least twice out of every 10 guards would be out to get him.

Luckily nothing happened tonight. They're being careful. And so is he.

For now, two can play a game.

Until he saw her.

"Wanderer?" Maverick muttered as he approached the pale figure in a turquoise gown embroidered with faint details. "What are you doing here?"

She didn't answer, just looked at him. Or rather, somewhere on him.

He followed her gaze to his fingers. There was a small cut on them from the paper edge.

"Oh?" Not sure why, but he explained. "It's just a small cut. Don't worry."

The wanderer still wouldn't meet his eyes.

Maverick lifted the fingers of his left arm up. And just as he thought, she looked up too.

And he witnessed something that instantly teared him.

"What happened?" His tone were harsh, with worries.

She looked like someone with no attachment to life at all.

The Wanderer, is losing herself. He could feel it.

"Come on, we should...!"

Maverick couldn't move at all, as he watched. Her pale lips were pressed on those cuts. So careful, hesitantly. Like she meant to do so years ago.

"There," She smiled at him. "Now you wouldn't be hurt, Rick."

——I'm here, Rick. I'm right here.

"Your lord?"

Maverick snapped back from the sudden memories, and to his surprise, the Wanderer looked normal. Like a living person, as she should be.

"What are you doing here?" She asked.

Something's not right. He figured it immediately. Something's definitely not right about the Wanderer.

And it has to do with him.

"Nothing." Maverick was lying. He didn't want to. But he couldn't help it. "Just happened to be here."

He watched as her eyebrows furrowed. "Okay...?"

"Come on. I'll take you home."

"I'm capable of taking care myself..."

Maverick turned around, perhaps a little too quickly, which was why the Wanderer slammed into his chest, and why he trapped her small frame inside of him.

He could feel her getting flustered.

"My lord, I'm so sorry——"

"Rick." He demanded.

"Pardon?"

"Call me Rick. Please."

Stop calling me as my lord. Not when we're so closed. In those dreams.

"Rick...?"

Maverick smiled. He's not sure why. But he's satisfied.

For now, those dreams can fucked off.

The Wanderer's here now. With him. Not the guy with a face almost identical to him.

He pressed a kiss to her neck. And smirked as he felt her skin warmed.

"Good girl."

——

Been thinking Maverick so here's a second snippet since last! Hope I'm not being OOC, but I do feel like Maverick would get jealous of his past self lol.

Thank you for sharing more of your lovely snippets! :3

And Maverick jealous of his past life's self...Who can say~ XD

Again, thank you for sharing your snippet! :D and ur love for the noble ice man!

[lay-z]

We maybe getting a 141 x reader sex pollen fic you say? Putting these ideas in my head while I’m ovulating? Are you flirting with me?

Yes, I am flirting with you! 😏 Here, a snippet:

Suddenly, Ghost’s gravelly voice interrupts the Captain’s speech. One harshly uttered word enough as a warning: “Johnny.“  

Soap, who has been trying his best to ignore the way you keep grinding your ass against his crotch in this position, ducks his head at the sharp and sudden reprimand, all too familiar with that certain tone coming from his Lt.

“Wha’? ’m not a-ah doin’ anythin’,” he grunts before sucking in a sharp breath as his cock keeps stirring and twitching inside his rough cargo pants. “Fuck, lass, please–” 

He tries to keep you from moving as his ungloved hands get a firm hold of your hips, but you’re practically panting and mewling in his lap, making it harder for him not to crumble under the pressure building up in his dick, and Gaz is swift to simply pluck you out of the younger man's embrace like you're some ragdoll with a judgmental frown etched on his handsome face.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ perv, Soap,” Gaz snaps, now cradling you in his arms, where you immediately begin pawing at his compression shirt, trying to get your warm palms under the tight fabric and on his bare skin. “She cannot fuckin' consent, mate!”  

It’s Price who approaches the bed then, while Ghost stays back, leaning against the doorframe and keeping a keen eye on the situation unfolding.

“Enough! Both of you,” he barks. “It might help if–“ John stops mid-sentence, clenching his strong jaw as he considers his next words carefully.

He can’t believe what he is about to say and he crosses his arms over his chest again, feigning control while he internally braces himself for the chaos that will most likely ensue.

“Those bloody doctors said it might help if she… climaxes.” 

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

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

[writtenbyan-aries]

Colby brock hate sex makeup sex smut after argument?🎀🎀🎀

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, swearing, dominant!Colby, rough actions, choking, rough unprotected sex, pet names cute and dirty, creampie, biting, hair pulling, breeding kink? Pregnancy talk? filth

I’ve gotten a TON of this request, so if you sent in the anon about feeling like I’ve been ignoring you, I’m sorry!! I hope this makes up for it. Ily 🖤

Enjoy! | not edited

══════════════════

Arguing. That’s what you’ve been doing with your boyfriend, or ex? You aren’t sure at this point, for the last three hours.

Screaming and bitching back and forth between one another. Claims being made that aren’t true. Anger driving both of your minds without any clarity whatsoever.

“Can I just fu-“

“See! See.” Colby motions to you, cutting you off, “I can’t even fuck spe-“ You groan and he groans louder as you as you yell over him, “You should know by now that Jake doesn’t know shit when he’s shit fucking faced.”

Colby stands there, anger painting his face as he stays silent. You lift your arms and let them fall, slapping against your thighs as you sigh, “To add, two other girls had the same dress as me, so it could have been an-y-bo-dy.”

Colby stares at you for a few more seconds, “if you cut me off, one more fuckin’ time.” He blows air through his nose, “You’re not gonna like it, y/n.”

Government name. Someone’s is trouble.

You were tempted. Majorly tempted, but Colby was pretty pissed. You weren’t sure why at you, because you were literally with Tara the whole night. Not one person touched you in anyway Colby does.

You stare back at him, pretending to zip your lips and toss the key behind you. You motion for him to take the floor and you cross your arms.

“I ju-“ Colby shakes his head, spinning around to turn away from you as he laughs, “Jesus Christ.” He drops his hands to his sides, turning back towards you, “You drive me in-fucking-sane.”

He steps towards you, “I know.. I know, you’re telling me the truth, I just..” You innocently bite your lip, nodding your head as you look up at him. He looks down at you and licks his lips, “Just the thought of another man touching you..” he pauses, reaching out to brush your cheek with his thumb, “Literally drives me to the brink of insanity.”

You purse your lips, waiting for your turn to speak but he smirks, nodding his head, “I know what I’m gonna do.” You tilt your head and Colby nods, “Go to the bedroom and get undressed for me, sweetheart.”

Colby pats your ass as he walks by you, giving you a smirk as he walks up the steps and into the bathroom. You follow in his direction, but make your way into the bedroom, doing as he said.

You take a deep breath before taking off your t-shirt and sweats, dropping them into a pile at the end of the bed. You slowly crawl up, turning to sit down in the middle at the top.

A few minutes later, Colby comes in and there’s a towel around his waist. You can see that his cock is growing harder the longer he looks at you, so you give him a smirk.

“Good girl.” He smirks, watching your face drop as soon as the words slip off his tongue, “That’s what I thought.” He mumbles as he closes the door and walks over to you, stopping at the end of the bed, “Lay down.”

He watches as you move to lay down, eyes staying on him until he pulls his towel off, letting it lay with your clothes. Your eyes watch as he crawls up towards you, moving all the way up to pin your hands down by your head, “If you so much as say one word, I’m stopping.” He tilts his head, “and I don’t think you want me to stop, do you?”

You shake your head, biting down on your lip as his eyes stay on yours, “Since I’m so pissed right now, is it okay if I use that pussy of yours?” You nod and he smirks, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You soak up the gentleness of his kiss now, because you know it’s straight roughness from here on out.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you after, I’m just so pissed at anyone that isn’t you right now.” He taps your hip, “Roll over for me.” You roll over onto your stomach and hold yourself up on your elbows.

When you’re least expecting it, a sharp sting is smacked onto your right ass cheek, causing you to yelp. You look back at Colby and he bites his lower lip, massaging the print of his hand on your skin.

He lifts his hand and you watch, whimpering out as his other hand comes down to deliver the same mark onto your opposite cheek. “Fuck.” Colby groans, making your ass jiggle with his hands, “I can’t blame anyone for wanting to touch you.”

Colby moves and is now straddling your thighs, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He drags his hand up your back and your brace yourself for him to rip at your hair, but he doesn’t, instead he lifts your hips a little and you can feel spit sliding down to be collected by the head of his cock.

“Pussy is fucking..” he groans as he slides in, gripping your hips as he pulls you all the way onto him, “Sluttiest fucking pussy for me.” You let out a moan, heavily fighting back the urge to moan out his name. Colby pulls out, but not all the way, and digs his fingertips deeper as he rails back in.

He slides a hand up, fingers tangling around as much hair he can get. He gives your upper body a yank, lifting you up onto the flat of your hands with a whimper, his cock still railing into you from behind. Colby leans down, planting kissing up your shoulder until he reaches your ear, “Who are you?”

He pushes his cock all the way into you, holding it there as he breathes against your neck. He lifts his head, tone whimperish, “Who. Are. You?” He starts to thrust and you grip the sheets, crying out, “Yours, baby! Fuck, I-I’m yours!”

“That’s right.” Colby turns your head, planting sloppy kissing to what he can reach of your lips, “I don’t want anyone else feeling this pussy.” He groans out, “Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours!” You whimper out squeezing his cock and he groans, “My little slut gonna cum for me, huh? I can feel that pussy squeezing me.” You nod as much as you can with his grip still on your hair, “Y-yes. P-pl-please.”

Colby’s thrust remain strong, hard and rough. He moans, “Have you been a good girl? A good little whore for me?” The whine you let out gets cut short by his hand sliding around your neck, squeezing, “Ye-s. I’ve been a good little whore.” Colby tilts your head back, “Do you deserve it?” You moan loudly as you feel your orgasm teetering on the edge, “Fuck.” You cry out, “I deserve your cock, baby, please please please.”

Colby sits up, pulling out to roll you onto your back, quickly resuming the thrusts he left off with. Your back arches and your eyes roll back as the pleasures starts to mix with a growing ache, “F-Fuck, Colby!” You squeeze his cock and your legs wrap tightly around his waist.

His hands have your wrist pinned down by your head, but if you had your hands on him, you know you’d be leaving red lines up and down his back, “F-Fuck.” Colby continues his pace, quickly causing a feeling of overstimulation to slowly flood in.

His thrust weren’t caring, the grip on your wrist and what he had on your hips weren’t either. You just hope they don’t bruise, but at the same time, you kind of wanted them.

Colby’s thrusts quickly grow sloppy and he leans down, lips connecting to your lips, “Can I cum in this pussy? Mark it as mine, sweetheart?” Half dazed, you nod and gasp as you feel his cock twitch inside of you. You moan out quietly as Colby leans down, “Maybe this’ll put a baby in you so people know that you’re mine.”

You close your eyes as you feel Colby’s cock slip out of you and your legs fall to the right when he moves from in between them.

You lay there for a few minutes, eyes closed until you feel the bed dip down beside you. You turn your head, slowly opening your eyes, “Are you still mad?” Colby presses his lips to yours and hums, “No. I know you wouldn’t ever do anything. You were right, I let my anger get the best of me. I’m sorry.”

You reach up, laying a hand on his cheek, “I think we both lost our cool for like three hours.” He sighs, smiling, “Are you okay? You good?” He looks over your body and back to your face. You take a deep breathe, “I think I want to go for a bath, and when we get back..” you smile up at him, poking his cheek, “You’re going to do what you promised me you were going to do.”

He turns his head to kiss the palm of your head, “Deal.”

══════════════════

Hi, thanks for reading! Tell me what you thought and as always, I love yas! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[the-broken-pen]

love your writing yo can I ask for a little hurt-comfort mlm

“Oh. Oh. That’s—that’s a lot of blood,” the voice above him sounded strangled, like they were choking on every word.

The hero cracked an eye open, dizzy and cold and tired, and hummed something that could have been an agreement.

“Hey,” he said, voice raw, and his friend stifled a sob as they collapsed onto their knees at his side.

Their hands pressed hesitantly against the wound, and they were trembling. His hands were slick with blood. It took everything in them to drag them, shaking, to rest on top of his friends, and press down hard.

The pained noise he made caught in the back of his throat. Just barely.

“You have to press harder,” he managed. The pain had swelled to something almost unbearable. He was drowning in it, to the point where it was almost the kind of pain where it became something wretched, something else that swallowed you whole. “The bleeding, it—“ he had to stop, gasping for a breath.

His friend had started crying, but they pressed harder, dutifully. He loved them for it.

“I don’t know what to do,” they sobbed. “You don’t do hospitals. What do I do.”

He let go of his friends hand, digging for his pocket. His grip slipped the first two times; he managed it on the third, sliding his phone onto his stomach.

“Speed dial,” he offered, and closed his eyes before the look on his friend’s face made him vomit.

“Speed dial? Speed dial. Okay. Okay,” his friend said. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.” He was certain his friend wasn’t saying it to him. Their free hand scrambled for his phone.

By the time they managed to get it to ring, the world around him had turned into something muffled and cotton around him.

“You? You’re his speed dial—don’t…I don’t know what….bleeding…not responding…please, just….”

A crack cleaved the air, the smell of ozone suddenly stronger than the smell of his own suffering, and then a hand was replacing his friend’s. The other found the side of his face, thumb curving under his jaw.

“Hey,” and oh, he knew that voice—something raw in his chest eased. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

He managed, just barely, and the villain peered down at him.

“Hey,” he croaked.

“You’re bleeding out,” the villain said, and it was the softest he’d ever heard him. “You need care, or you’re going to die. Can I move you?”

Do you trust me?

“Always,” he tried, but it came out weak and desperate.

The villain pressed harder, and he keened high and pained in the back of his throat. On instinct, his hand darted up to the villain’s wrist, latching on too tight for anyone without superpowers to handle. The villain didn’t flinch.

“You’re okay,” the villain murmured. His thumb brushed over the hero’s jaw, soothing.

There was something the hero was forgetting—

“My friend,” he choked out. “Where—are they—where—“ he struggled to sit up, and the villain simply guided him back down.

“They’re fine,” the villain promised. “I sent them home. Maybe a little traumatized, but they’re okay.”

“Okay.” The hero nodded to himself, or he tried, or he didn’t. “Okay. They’re okay, okay, I’m—“

“Okay,” the villain finished for him, and even half sick in pain the hero could tell he was intentionally keeping his voice easy. “You’re okay. You’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

His hand shifted underneath the hero’s back.

“Breathe for me?” The hero tried, and managed a half wheeze. The villain just nodded. “Good. This is gonna suck.”

His other hand wormed its way underneath the hero’s knees. He blinked, trying to clear his blurry vision, and the villain stared at him. Barely disguised concern was written into every inch of him, like the only thing his bones could remember was panic. For him.

The villain was scared for him.

That was bad.

“What’s going to suck—“

The villain hauled him upwards, and his vision went white.

He woke up some time later, chest heavy and head floating somewhere above his body.

He hummed something that might have been a question, and the villain was above him in an instant.

“Are you in pain?”

The hero blinked at him for a moment. Mostly because he couldn’t really remember how to do anything else. The world felt sluggish. A second delayed behind normal. Which should have been concerning, panic worth and world ending, but it simply just…was.

“No,” he said finally, and his voice sounded weird. His throat ached, separated from him by a wall of warmth. “I was screaming?”

The villain swallowed, hard, and the hero managed to drag his gaze down to the needle and thread clutched in the villain’s hand.

“Yeah.” The villain sounded like he was choking on the words. “You were screaming.”

He opened his eyes whendidheclosethem and peered upwards again. He was on a couch. Or a bed? Bed, he decided a second later. The villain was kneeling next to him, and there was something soft tucked around his legs. He went to sit up, look down at his stomach; the villain’s hand came up to rest on his forehead, gently keeping him down. He must have made some noise of displeasure, because a moment later, the villain’s hand carded through his hair.

“Easy,” he murmured, focusing back onto the hero’s side. He heard the snip of thread; the sound of the villain throwing something onto a side table without care.

“What did you give me?” The hero’s tongue felt thick in his mouth.

“Lots,” the villain said.

“Lots,” he said back, managing to sound more incredulous than he actually cared to feel at the moment, and the villain snorted. “Haven’t heard of that one before.”

“Had to make something special for the boy wonder,” the villain smoothed a hand down his side, and the hero half leaned into it. Mostly he managed to sink further into the mattress. “You burn through shit fast, you know?”

The hero did know. He knew very well, unfortunately.

“Thanks,” he managed. His head lolled to the side without his permission, resting against the villain’s arm.

“You’re going to pass out again,” the villain informed him. He made a noise in the back of his throat that could have meant anything. The villain seemed to understand regardless.

Am not, he tried to say.

The haze of medication and blood loss stole him first.

The next time he woke, he was half sprawled against the villain’s side. Something cold was set onto his cheek, and he reached up to remove it, hand clumsy. The villain caught it before he managed to remove anything.

“You spiked a fever,” he said quietly. “I just got it back down. That’s probably why you woke up. How are you feeling?”

That was…a lot.

“No pain,” he said eventually. He thought he felt the villain give a heavy sigh of relief.

The world was clearing itself up bit by bit, settling the furniture back into the correct places until it no longer felt like things were sliding around him.

The villain’s hand was back into his hair again.

“Good,” the villain said, but the hero wasn’t really sure it was meant for him.

Something in his chest loosened.

“I thought I was going to die,” he admitted, and he wished his tongue was still numb, because the villain stilled, hand curled in his hair.

“That’s not what you told your friend.”

And yeah, the hero half remembered the pieces of that. A promise he was okay. Everything would be fine. He was always fine, wasn’t he? How strongly do you have to will to will someone to stay. Exactly how many pounds of force does it take to stop someone from bleeding out—

There was a chill curling itself around his ribs.

“I thought I was going to die,” his voice was raw. It wasn’t because of his throat. He sounded afraid, even to himself.

“I would never have let you do that,” he managed a moment later. His hand resumed in his hair.

And somehow, despite the knowledge of how hard it truly was to save someone, how long it took to learn that kind of information, the knowing of exactly what was survivable and what couldn’t be escaped, how strong you had to be to shift through rubble—the hero believed him.

“I know,” he said, because the villain had to know. That he believed him. That he would always believe him.

He melted into the villain’s side.

I trust you, I trust you, I trust you

The villain hummed, in that way of his that told him he understood exactly what the hero couldn’t vocalize.

“I’m your #1 speed dial?” He questioned after a moment.

The hero huffed a laugh.

“You’re my only speed dial.”

The villain froze.

And then he was shifting, pulling the hero closed to him. The villain tucked him close, chin settling onto the top of his head. The hero pressed his face into the hollow of the villain’s neck.

“I will always come,” he said, and this time, his voice was the one that was raw. “You call, and I will be there.”

He said it like it was easy. Like it was that simple.

Maybe it was.

Maybe for them it always had been.

A fondness he couldn’t put words too settled onto his shoulders.

He simply breathed into the villain’s neck, and the villain’s arms looped around him a bit tighter.

“You’re okay,” the villain said into his hair. Like he was confirming it.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re lucky you have super healing.”

“I’m lucky I have you.”

The villain laughed softly.

“Suck up.”

“And what? You gonna stop me?”

He could practically feel the eye roll. “Been trying for years. Hasn’t stuck.”

“Well, you had the perfect opportunity—“

The villain hushed him.

“Just. Shhh for a bit,” he said softly.

The hero, obediently, shhh’ed.

The villain’s hand ran through his hair again, and his eyes shuttered closed, settling further against the villain’s chest.

“Cheater,” he murmured, and the villain huffed a laugh, but didn’t deign a response.

And together, comfortably, curled around one another like two halves of a whole, they just breathed.

[dykeforhire]

More “meno fic” snippets for you guys… feeling inspired at this very late hour…

[concretejunglefm]

Hi! Do you write dad!noah? If so, could I request a oneshot of noah with his son in the studio or at one of his shows please :)

Not a full one-shot, but here’s a little blurb for a fic I’ve been working on <3

“I thought you said you weren’t busy today?” you ask Noah, feeling the fingers of your four-year-old slipping from your sweaty palm. “Levi, wait—” you call after him, but he’s already making a beeline for Davis—his favourite uncle—completely bypassing the rest of the guys standing around the studio, resulting in a chorus of offended sounds and playful remarks.

“I’m not,” Noah shrugs, but you just give him a look that says ‘yeah, right’, and he chuckles. “I’ve got a couple of things to finish up here for the next record, and I thought maybe Levi could see what his daddy gets up to.” Noah pauses, and you freeze. “…If that’s okay with you.”

You know he’s not just talking about having Levi here in the studio. He’s talking about the word daddy. It’s still early days, and you haven’t fully decided how you feel about Noah referring to himself that way—especially when you’ve raised Levi single handedly until now. Granted, it wasn’t Noah’s fault, he didn’t know Levi existed, but you’ve been clinging to the idea that you didn’t want to confuse Levi—not while he’s still so young.

Though, truthfully, maybe you didn’t want to confuse yourself.

You weren’t a family. Noah was Levi’s father, and that was it. And yet, the way he included you in every suggestion, every plan involving Levi—it made it harder to believe that was all he wanted. It felt like he was pushing for something more. Something you were afraid he didn’t really mean.

“Yeah…” You let out a breath you don’t realize you’ve been holding and slowly nod. “Okay then.” You’re not sure what you’re agreeing to, but the tightness in your chest and twist in your stomach makes you wonder if it’s a bad idea. Watching Noah in dad mode makes the reality of everything hit harder—especially now.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest at the sound of a high-pitched squeal, and then you see Noah lift your son—his son—into the air, slinging him over his shoulder before heading into the recording area. The door shuts behind them, muting Levi’s giggles, but through the glass, you can still see him laughing, squirming on Noah’s broad shoulder as his hands tickle his sides. He’s a miniature version of him—even down to the long limbs and dark hair flopping over his soft brown eyes. It’s like looking at a masterpiece of artwork, then at the blank canvas you have both created. A little boy with all the potential in the world.

“He really cares about him, you know.” Davis’ voice pulls you from your thoughts.

You shake your head slightly as his shoulder bumps gently against yours. “I know…” You’re not mad at him anymore. Not really. If it hadn’t been for Davis, Noah wouldn’t have known about Levi. You wouldn’t be witnessing this moment—or any of the others you’ve seen since—Noah desperately trying to bond, to make up for the four years he missed.

On the other side of the glass, Noah sets Levi down, steadying him with both hands on his small shoulders. They face Folio, who’s still seated at the drums.

“Do you wanna have a go, little man?”

“Can I?” Levi’s face lights up, and it’s enough to make Noah’s chest swell with warmth. He quickly moves to help him up onto Folio’s lap, both men guiding his hands as they wrap around the drumsticks and begin to show him how to play.

From your spot behind the glass, you watch with a twinge of guilt pulling at your chest. You kept Noah in the dark for so long. There were reasons then, reasons that made sense at the time, but watching him now, with Levi, makes you wonder if you’d made a mistake.

If maybe, just maybe, you’d been wrong for not telling him.

[wordpress-blaze-231627073]

Passiflora secrets: what do you know really?

Here we are with this new format. I promised you I would have proposed it. We will talk about in the next episode of Passiflora

I ask you to answer sincerely to the questions. It's not a problem if you don't know the answers.

This is a simple survey. Ready?

1. How familiar are you with Passiflora (Passion Flower)?

Very familiar

Somewhat familiar

Not familiar at all

2. Have you ever used Passiflora for any purpose? (e.g., medicinal, culinary, ornamental)

Yes

No

3. If yes, please specify how you have used Passiflora:

Medicinal purposes

Cooking or baking

Landscaping or gardening

Other (please specify)

4. What benefits do you associate with Passiflora?

Stress relief

Improved sleep

Enhanced digestion

Other (please specify)

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Source: Passiflora secrets: what do you know really?

[transformers-spike]

Here u go, tis I, Squibsformers. Pls enjoy the Breakdown Softness. I totally had a specific one of my ocs in mind with this one so yknow Whatever but yeah heres the blurb. AMAB reader. I have no clue if i nailed BD at all sgdivdjdb.

—

Tiny. Fragile. Killable.

That's all you were. All this was. He fully planned on crushing you after this. One less fragging parasite on this ship. On this planet.

One less of your horrible, conniving little species to repopulate.

And yet… as his big hand pressed down more on you, and you let out a squeak of discomfort… he couldn't bring himself to go through with it. Not when you let out the sweetest little noises. The prettiest little groans when he rubbed at your array with a digit. Prodding at the expanse between- “Perineum” as Knockout had told him. Sensitive in its own right, reat for teasing.

Breakdown despised. Loathed you and every breath you took.

Why did he feel jitters when your breaths quicken..?

He pressed more firmly as the slickened flesh, and as he put juuust enough pressure, you writhed. Making a noise so pathetic it made him want to crush your head and dump your corpse. His spike in hand, stroking it as he prodded again and worked his littlest digit deeper in your clenching depth.

Apparently, that strip of flesh between your array and rear port was soft enough that, if he knew what he was doing, he could bully your prostate from inside and out.

You clung to his thumb, making his work get impeded, and he growled at you. Though when he felt you let go, his tanks shifted and he felt unease pour through at how you seemed embarassed at being told off.

He was just going to crush you after. It would be done. Be fine. This was simply something so he could… get relief. And Primus, Breakdown wasn't a *selfish* lover, even if you were just a means to an end, he at *least* would get you off. He had more integrity than that.

…It didnt explain though, when your nails dug into the sleek steel of the berth and you keened, cumming a THIRD time and sobbing from the blissful hell of overstimulation, why he slowed down. Took his time to stroke and soothe you before grunting and chasing down his overload. His fingers caged you. Tightened you. He waited for the crunch. The pop. The splat.

His own release came when he heard you let out a squeak of pain, and he eased his grip before blowing his load. Index stroking your spine as he vented and growled. He put a little pressure on your spine. But it eased when you squirmed.

I love this so fucking much I could just explode. Look at Breakdown CARING - look at him hating your squishy ass but not murdering you despite his intent. I love how messed up he is in this, his softness with the reader juxtaposed with what he's thinking

And don't even get me STARTED on the implication that Knock Out has already fucked the reader. Omg, it's like being their little human pet

(also - can I say it's really therapeutic to read AMAB Reader content? While I don't have the bits, it really helps out with my transmasc identity, especially because I typically discuss valveplug ideas with AFABs and I'm just not used to getting a different perspective on it. I usually try to keep the reader's gender vague (altho sometimes I slip into AFAB stuff because my knowledge of dicks and balls is very limited). Legit, if anymore AMABs wanna send out valveplug ideas, go ahead, I'd love to see them)

[ghqstwriter]

How about a villain that’s horrible at flirting, and a hero finally realizing that the villain was in fact trying to flirt this whole time instead of being intimidating

Hero wasn't exactly the claustrophobic type, far from it. However, Villain's presence felt so overwhelming that they couldn't help but cower, trapped between the brick wall and the tyrant in front of them, face dark as usual. They didn't want to admit it at first, but Hero was more than terrified of the criminal. Sure, the hero was competent, a superhero with the highest success rate on their team. They were envied for their powers, and praised for their heroic deeds. Invincible, some would say. Yet it was nothing in comparison to Villain.

The criminal had always managed to find a way to be several steps ahead. Sometimes, it felt as though their (immensely impressive) acts were nothing to them, just a detour in their grand plans; a fun game that involved spinning the hero around in circles aimlessly. Hero was the city's shining honour, the one on the front lines, their best defence, and yet Villain was way out of their league. Too powerful of a threat to imagine overcoming.

And now, here they were, both supers dressed down in civilian outfits, with nowhere for Hero to run. A shiver crept up their spine. It wasn't the first time Hero had seen Villain's face before, for they had taken off their mask mid battle one time. An act of mockery, Hero had assumed: it doesn't matter if you can track me down, there's nothing you could do to me. But Hero had always been cautious to keep their double life under wraps. And now, it was about to come tumbling down, a house of cards that Villain had sniffed out almost instantaneously.

"Come here often?" They spoke, voice as monotone and threatening as usual. Hero gulped, hoping Villain wouldn't notice their darting eyes. Why would that matter? Was this place of importance to Villain? Oh God, was this some front, or some stashed away hideout? They just wanted to grab some takeout after an arduously long day of work, but of course their luck had to shove them under the bus.

"No I, uh, was just looking for a quick meal after work, you know how it is, right?" Hero stammered out pathetically, already regretting their choice of words as soon as they tumbled out of their mouth. Of course the villain wouldn't be caught dead eating greasy takeaway after barely winning an uphill battle. Hero knew a handful of heathens who would kill someone for presuming that. The thought chilled them. Here's to hoping they aren't one of them.

"Dinner, here? Aren't you supposed to be the agency's shining star? Seems a little beneath a hero's standards to me." Villain remarked, voice still as sinister as usual. They didn't believe the hero, was that it? Did Villain think they caught someone snooping around, jamming their nose right where it shouldn't be? Hero could only hope there was a different motive here, else they're certain that the punishment for that would be horrific.

"It wouldn't be particularly heroic of me to ask for compensation for what I do. Defeats the whole purpose of a good samaritan if you ask me," Hero retorted back, hoping that if they pretended they weren't cornered, it would somehow come true. Villain only chuckled grimly, as though Hero's answer was amusing rather than desperate, albeit somewhat true. Sure, they could probably negotiate a better salary if they really wanted it, but Hero was seldom the type to want anything. They took what was given and stuck to the rungs of their ladder.

"Hm, I suspected as such from you," Villain began, words setting Hero on edge. As much as their words changed, their tone never did, remaining at a monotone baseline which happened to be a menacing and threatening harmony. "You know the other heroes at your agency could never feel the same way, don't you?"

Of course they did; it was apparent to anyone with some semblance of a brain that most of the agency's recruits were flashy, looking for a rise to fame or a reason to feel some superiority. Most of them got weeded out fast when they realised just how gritty the job got, not that the agency cared. New faces kept the public excited, meant there was still intrigue and some sick form of relevancy. Hero knew this, but that shouldn't surprise anyone. The way Hero's attitude contrasted their peers, it felt like a fact not worth bringing up, of course they were different. So why bring it up, Hero pondered.

This wasn't, in fact, the first time Villain had mentioned this, either. Nor the second, or the third, and definitely not the fourth. It seemed to be the Villain's favourite comment during their encounters, how unique the hero's motives seemed to be. Authenticity in a field of insincerity, as they had once put it. Perhaps it was why the villain seemed to terrorise Hero more than anyone else – more fun to watch someone with only good intentions crumble under the weight of failure and shame. All coherent responses and witty comebacks crumpled up and disintegrated before they could make their way out of Hero's throat, so they opted to change the subject.

"What do you want from me, Villain?" It was all Hero could manage without coming across as particularly feeble. There was no point trying to writhe their way out of the situation, nothing they could say would stop a villain. 'Please, no, I'm unarmed!' As though a criminal could ever have the decency to care. The criminal took a step closer in response, probably knowing just how claustrophobic Hero was, and using it to their advantage. It was their fault, really, for being such an open book right now. They weren't exactly good at hiding their fear, not when it came to Villain.

"You're trembling, and not in the way I'd prefer you to be," they stated, leaving Hero's fear to momentarily be replaced by confusion. What did that even mean? The superhero's mind jumped straight to the worst scenario, and then the terror started to seep in again. Trembling in pain, that's what Villain wanted, of course. Great, on they were about to be kidnapped and tortured (probably for fun, who the fuck knew at this point) and their last act of free will would have been heading to the shittiest fast food place in the city and––

"You're scared of me. Downright terrified. Trust me, it was more than enjoyable at first, but it's getting a little excessive, don't you think? Sort of loses it's novelty when you go from intimidated to practically-sobbing-at-the-sound-of-my-voice levels of fear. I plan on changing that."

Hero's spiralling train of thought ceased for a beat at those words, only to be replaced by a new, slightly less terrified model. They weren't what Hero was expecting at all. Villain was petrifying, and the way they spoke consolidated that entirely. If they weren't happy with how terrified Hero was, why did they keep acting like that? Why did they insist on getting as close to the hero as possible? And, hey, whilst they were on the subject, why on earth would Villain have a problem with this? They were missing something, one cog that would get all the other gears turning.

"Am I understanding you correctly? You're mad that I'm– scared of you? Like that's a bad thing, now?" Hero questioned, trying to push back during this brief moment where bewilderment overcame distress. Villain scoffed at that, though didn't come across as particularly offended.

"Listen, Hero. Some murky alleyway isn't where I'd like to be having this conversation. There's a new restaurant opening up a few blocks away from here. I'm not one to keep up with the fine-dining corner of the world, but I can only assume it's of a better standard than this place. I'll come find you tomorrow night, so you'd best be ready. No weapons, no teammates, no unceremoniously poisoned wine on either side. Just us. And don't worry, it'll all be out of my pockets, you won't have to stain your reputation of honourability and ask for that payrise. I'll see you then."

Villain was gone before Hero could properly register what had been said. Vanished untraceably, after dropping one bombshell after another. And, just like that, the geartooth clicked into place, and Hero's brain started thinking. Slowly at first, but picking up and changing into a great speed, so fast that they thought they might overheat, blood rushing to their face. Had Villain asked them out on a date?

[ladysomething]

Can we have a snippet please ? I feel like I'm in wygig withdrawal

honestly same. but there's honestly nothing I can from 32 that isn't a huge spoiler, so I've looked further ahead. still spoiler-y if you can put together a few different things I've said (particularly if you're in the server....)

“It’s chocolate cake,” Sophie announces as she leads them inside. “And I have cream. And ice-cream, it’s homemade. Max, did I tell you I’ve started to make ice cream?” 

“No, Mamma, but you know that we can’t have—” 

“I made vanilla special for you both, though there is chocolate as well. I think a hot chocolate might be nice as well, what do you think?” 

“That sounds like a lot of chocolate. What about—” 

“Chocolate is for the soul, that’s why. I think there might be some tea somewhere. Charles, darling, what about a chamomile tea? Max, you’re in Aleksy’s room, why don’t you go put the bags away?” 

“Should I even ask where Aleksy is sleeping?” 

“I was going to spare you, but he’s of course sleeping in with me. I don’t even remember the last time he used that room.” 

“Mamma—” 

“Bags, Max.” 

Max sighs, then turns back around to leave the house. Sophie gently pushes Charles into a chair into the little living room, then moves over to the side of the room where a little kitchen fills a corner. 

“Hi, Charles!” 

He turns his head to see Kelly’s head popped up over the back of the lounge, a big smile on her face. 

“Great win on the weekend,” Kelly continues. “I was particularly impressed with the way you pushed Max off the track.” 

Charles would laugh, if he even had the energy to do that. 

“Here, darling,” Sophie says, then places a plate in front of him with a slice of cake and a scoop of vanilla ice cream on it. Then she presses a cup of tea into his hands, and runs her palm over the top of his head. “Drink this tea, it’ll do you wonders.” 

He takes a little sip, and Sophie must’ve put a dash of cold water in there because it’s a good temperature. He takes a larger sip, the warmth spreading down into his chest, and closes his eyes as he tries to linger with the pleasant feeling. 

When he opens his eyes again, the cup is on the table and Max is sitting beside him, halfway through his own slice of cake. He and Sophie are chatting quietly about the drive.

Charles reaches forwards for his own slice, trying to pick up the fork, but his vision is doubled and he misses it. The plate clatters loudly, and both Max and Sophie turn to look at him. 

“Uh—s-sorry.” 

“Don’t worry, dear,” Sophie says softly. “Why don’t you finish your tea and go have a lie down?” 

He shakes his head, then has to press his hand to his temple when a bout of dizziness hits so fiercely he feels like he’s about to fall out of the chair. 

He closes his eyes again, trying to push it away, but when he opens them again Max is laying him down in a bed. 

He grabs frantically at Max’s shirt, panic rising—if he lays down, he’ll fall asleep. He can’t sleep. 

“N-no, Max, p-please,” he begs, but his eyes are feeling so heavy. 

“Sleep, Charlie,” he whispers, cool palm pressing against his cheek. “Mamma made you a nest. Does it feel nice?” 

Charles snuggles his cheek into the soft pillow beneath him, body melting into the blankets. 

“You’re safe,” Max murmurs. “I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you again.” 

Charles tries to open his eyes, but they’re so heavy. His whole body is so heavy. 

“Max,” he slurs, hand slipping from his shirt. “Please. He—” 

He’s asleep before he can finish the sentence. 

[butmakeitgayblog]

cruel intentions anon here 🥹 can u share something with us? like a small snippet or a scene you've scraped or idk just some ideas? I've read the fic twice but I fear I'm fr addicted to them 😭

Well I'll admit I don't have too much since I've started focusing on only one project at a time, but I have a bit of a oneshot that goes with this pic

Set a few weeks after the, ahem, conclusion of The Bet. Nothing smutty posted here unfortunately, but it will be. Oh it will be smutty. Clarke does not leave Lexa looking like that for no reason 😌

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're whistling.

Honest to God, actually whistling. 

A jaunty little tune devoid of melody and structure. Nothing more than a slow sling of notes that doesn't really have any direction in particular, because the point isn't the song itself. 

It's the mood.

And that mood is… happy.

So, so fucking happy. 

Terrifyingly, unmitigatedly, euphorically fucking happy.

It's weird and you hate it, and it's embarrassing to even think about, but you wouldn't trade this feeling for anything. 

And really, who could blame you. Not when life has never been this good. All rose colored glasses and kiss-filled memories that dance like bubbly champagne around the empty space in your head.

You genuinely don't think anyone has ever been as blissful in the existence of the world as you are right now when the doors of the elevator slide open, and you swagger your exceptional ass into your penthouse's bottom floor. 

You drop your purse on the bench and toss your keys on the countertop, praying it leaves a scratch for your stepmother to have a stroke over. Just for the hell of it. You undo the clip and feel your hair untwist in tousled ringlets draped sensually across your shoulders. 

You whistle a few more notes, and contemplate grabbing something to eat, before deciding there's nothing else in the world that you need.

Because you're in love. 

And it's that love that keeps you smiling as you walk down the hall, adding an extra click in your steps just to hear the crispness reverberate off the walls you don't pay for. It's that same love that makes your heart race as you slam the antique handles down and throw open the parlor doors with a flourish, lightheaded and so goddamn euphoric you would fucking hate the chipperness for them if it were anyone else.

It's that love that makes you so stupid that you don't even bother to look around before your eyes land on her. Beautiful and formidable as she stands behind the bar. Her lips purse at the shotgun bang of the doors, but she doesn't even jump, and her control next to your chaos makes you love her even more.

“Miss me?” you burst in with a deep chested purr.

Because you're in love and you love her and you absolutely want her to know it.

You just… don't know how to fucking say it.

Not yet.

Grey-green eyes widen like a warning shot, darting from you to the corner of the room and right back again, so quickly you would've missed it if you hadn't been staring quite so hard.

“Not particularly, no,” she snips in that contemptuous drawl of hers without missing a beat, and pops the cork back on a bottle of gin that costs more than your semester's tuition. 

You, belatedly, follow her eyes to the corner of the room and see your housemaid diligently running a duster across the frame of your great-grandfather's portrait. 

Fuck.

Your heart drops right down to your asshole, but you send up a silent prayer of thanks because at least you hadn't tacked on the pet name ‘lover’ like you'd been using so much as of late. 

That's been the closest you could get.

But Sherri doesn't seem to have heard you. Or at least she doesn't pay you any mind, not having paused from her work for even a fraction of a second at your grand entrance and social faux pas.

You stand frozen, staring at Lexa still working her magic behind the bar, adding a splash of something red to a drink before taking a sip and grimacing at its taste.

She smacks her lips and shakes her head and sets the drink back down like it's personally offended her. 

You frown at the whole display because you know she's not even a gin girl.

“Sherri,” she calls in that sweet little voice she reserves for the people she actually cares if they like her. 

“Yes, Miss Lexa,” your faithful maid answers, immediately stopping to look over.

Huh.

Apparently her hearing is just fine.

Delicate fingers discreetly land on your stomach as she passes, trailing down to your hips and snagging the bottom hem of your sweater, yanking just so to send you stumbling several feet away from the door and out of the way.

“You should take the evening off,” Lexa says once she's left you off-balance in her wake. “Go enjoy life for a change.”

“Oh, I don't think—” Sherry starts but cuts off at the soft tisk from Lexa's lips. 

“No. No. Now, there is simply nothing to think about, because that was not a suggestion, my chérie.”

You smile at the lilt of her teasing. Always in awe, because for the life of you, you'll never understand how she manages to be such a condescending bitch while still sounding so innocent. So warm and pleasant. 

And to be fair, it really hadn't been a suggestion. 

You stand forgotten in the late afternoon shadows and watch as she closes in on your maid like a huntress. All sculpted calves and four inch heels. Hands tucked daintily behind her back.

“But your mother—”

“Will never know,” Lexa whispers, bringing one long, sexy finger up to press against the pout of her smile. “I can keep a secret if you can…”

Sherri sighs in her defeat and shakes her head with the fondness of an exasperated mother, and you wonder if there's anyone this girl can't charm off their feet.

Lexa preens.

“Good. Now, a little birdy told me it was your birthday this weekend.” She pauses just long enough for your maid to nod in surprise. “And, well… I guess I just couldn't help myself.”

You cross your arms and make yourself comfy by settling a shoulder against the wall. More than thrilled to just sit back and take in the show as this fucking magician pulls out a bracelet from goddamn nowhere. 

She hushes the woman's flustered coughs, ignores hands slipping through greying red hair and automatic dismissals of, “no, Miss Lexa, this is—I couldn't possibly.” She soothes it all with honeyed words of reliability and sacrifice and devotion to our comfort, all while clasping the understated but opulent chain to an overworked wrist, connected to a woman who doesn't seem to quite know what to do with herself. Nimble fingers twist and turn the apparently well-thought-out gift so it lays perfectly in place, admiring her own exquisite taste in jewelry more than anything, you already know.

You wonder when the hell she got so thoughtful. 

She ushers the woman out with a firm, guiding hand to her back, mouth tipped in a demure smile as she assures her, this is exactly what she wants. 

The parlor doors close much more gently than when you'd entered through them, and she spins gracefully on her heel, looking so fucking pleased with herself.

You hold her eyes. 

Uncross your arms.

And slowly, loudly, begin to clap.

“Well aren't you made of sugar and spice and everything nice, Miss Lexa.”

She pinches the sides of her skirt and fans them out, dipping into a mere suggestion of a curtsey.

You move as though to reach for her because it's been six hours too long since you've had your hands on that body, but her pleasantries drop away as she sends you a scowl and slips just out of reach. 

“Next time, have a touch more decorum when entering a room,” she sighs over the authoritative clack-clack of her heels. “I had just gotten that bracelet. Didn't even have a chance to wear it out yet.”

Ah.

Now that makes more sense.

Fuck, you love how good she is at thinking on her feet.

“No one told you to kiss her ass with jewelry, for fucks sake,” you mutter despite the efficacy of her brilliance because really, she always had to be so damn extra about everything. 

“It was all I had, and thanks to someone,” she says with a pointed edge, “I didn't exactly have time to figure out another distraction. And since I'm fairly certain she at least already knows we're sleeping together, I'd much rather stay in her good graces. I can handle losing a bracelet in exchange for…”

She trails off and vaguely gestures to the air between you. 

The thought alone of someone else knowing makes you want to vomit. 

You cross your arms tighter. 

“Why do you think that she knows?”

That evil fucking brow of her flits up when she looks at you like you're an idiot.

“Because you're not quiet, and she's not stupid, and half of Greenwich knows what you sound like when you come.”

You grit your teeth and wonder if it's worth reminding her who came on your fingers while loudly calling your name last night, but when she struts her perfectly bubble shaped ass back over to the bar, you ultimately decide that, no, it is in fact not worth it.

Apparently done with the minor complication of your eagerness and the conversion as a whole, she picks up the drink you'd all but forgotten and holds it out at arm's length, letting it dangle from the mere tips of her elegant fingers. 

“For you, my darling.”

You still haven't figured out exactly what she's playing at when she calls you that, because you know she is never sweet for nothing. You know there has to be a barb in there somewhere. Some sort of slight on your character or something. She shouldn't just call you ‘darling’ for no reason… But for the life of you, when she looks at you like this - like you're the only thing that matters in her broad and expansive world - you can't figure what it could possibly be.

“Gin and… cherries?” you ask when you take the glass and give a tiny sniff of the drink. 

She smiles indulgently and twists away to retake her place behind the bar, and suddenly her grimace from her sip before makes sense.

She hates sweet drinks.

Well.

Unless she's kissing the taste of them from your lips. 

“So is this what we're doing now?” You examine your drink closer. It doesn't look poisoned anyway. “It's this what we've become?”

She hums in question as she picks up a second shaker and stirs the contents. You watch her grab a martini glass and begin to pour her own crystal clear drink and, yes, that's much more her style.

You truly are fucking a master mixologist. Which you suppose is bound to happen considering she's been making drinks for one person or another since the tender age of thirteen…

“My kingdom for some context, darling,” she murmurs when you're too enamored to answer, popping an olive into her glass and taking a healthy sized pull, moaning at the taste.

You down half your bramble in one go and traipse yourself around the back of the bar.

Setting the drink down at her side, you put your empty hands to much better use. Drift your fingers across the soft dip of her back and trace her hips, holding her steady as you press in and drape yourself along the length of her.

“Acting like a vintage married couple,” you clarify in a whisper. You reach up and pull her hair aside to expose the delicious expanse of her neck, and you wonder in what lifetime you actually managed to do something good enough to deserve the way she tips her head to the side to give you more access. 

You mouth slow, wet kisses along the sensitive spot just behind her ear as she sighs, “Is that what this is?”

“You tell me, pretty girl.” You smile against her skin when she shudders at the name. “Waiting for me to come home to you. Having a drink ready. Did you make me a special little dinner to eat as well?”

And you're still getting used to this.

This thing with her you've been playing at for the last couple of weeks. This truce or whatever it is that leaves you so off balance you never know which end is up.

Because you've never had something like this. 

Because where you expect a scoff and a rebuff of your entire charade, she only presses harder into you with a sensual groan. Where you expect her to fling your hands away and shove you off of her entirely as she would have before, she merely sets down her glass, and kisses your lips, and covers your hands with her own.

"Not in your wildest dreams, my love," she whispers with an adoring grin, and kisses you deeper again.

[patolemus]

Just Stiles casually being obsessed with Derek's hands and one night when they're in bed Stiles sleepily runs his finger tips over the back of Derek's hand and fingers. An equally sleepy Derek asked why he was doing that and Stiles doesn't reply with nothing but a mumbled 'beautiful' and casually falls asleep while leaving Derek a blushing confused mess, end tweet :>

YESSSSSS YES YES YES YES TO ALL OF THAT

Sorry if I'm overstepping dear anon but this came out of nowhere so here you have a small snippet??

Stiles has a certain appreciation for Derek's hands. They're big, veiny and bigger than Stiles'. Where he has slender fingers, Derek's are bigger, no callouses on the pads because he's a werewolf and werewolves don't get callouses despite all the hard work Derek does with his hands. His nails are trimmed short, and Stiles knows Derek trims and buffs them every day because they grow back a little every time Derek uses his claws and Derek doesn't like it.

Stiles likes Derek's hands. He likes Derek's fingers, too. He likes them when they're spread across his back, or holding his waist, or grabbing his own hand, or slipping in an out of him when they're having sex. Derek's hands are beautiful, a work of art, really, just like the rest of him. And Stiles loves to hold Derek's hands, loves it when they're walking around town with their fingers laced together, or when they're sitting on the couch and Derek lets Stiles play with his hands. He loves it when they're in bed together and Derek sneaks an arm around him to hold him close and Stiles gets to trace paths on his free hand as he doses off.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks in that infinitely fond voice of his that is reserved only for Stiles. It's clear out, sunlight filtering through the curtains, but they're both on the verge of falling asleep. Stiles is tracing the bones in Derek's hands with his fingertip, touch featherlight as he makes his way across the index finger to the wrist.

"Hmm," Stiles merely hums, not really having a reason for doing this other than he likes it. His mind is numb with sleep, and he doesn't want to stop what he's doing. "Beautiful," he mumbles at last, a suitable explanation. He falls back asleep almost immediately after, hand on top of Derek's as Stiles snuggles deeper into the werewolf's embrace.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

Ohhhh ho ho ho. How I would rizz up a cod man lol I apologize in advance if this is long 😅

So my typical going-out outfit is all black; usually black booty shorts and a black tank top with either converse or thigh-high demonias (the 2.5 inch platforms, I’m not too crazy). My makeup is somewhat darker and my hair is usually up in a ponytail. If I’m feeling cute though I’ll wear a short black dress with long sleeves and lacy tights/fishnets.

I like to try and catch their eye multiple times to see if they’ll come to me first, but in this case I would most likely go for the interesting drink order, either a nicer whiskey on the rocks or a stout (both of which I like so it wouldn’t be like I was struggling to drink lol). Something that’s a conversation starter hopefully.

I’ve actually got background with the military; I come from a heavily military family and I was also a civilian contractor for a few years at a local base so I have enough knowledge to hold my own in a conversation. I love dark humor and puns too, so I would try to work those into the conversation slowly at first to get their feel for it and then keep going based on that, but after that I’ll offer to buy their next drink and will give them subtle compliments while showing genuine interest in what they’re saying, giving them my full attention and being engaging, smiling and flirting more as the night goes on.

Honestly my tactics would differ depending on who I was trying to pick up but this would be a general thing 😂

booty shorts gang!!!  (👉゜ω゜)👉

i see you holding good conversation with Price and Ghost, given that drink order and the military family.

ultimately you could have your pick of the two, y'know? Ghost would love a lady who's willing to talk and show genuine interest. one of those conversations where he can let his guard down a little. not much (ever; dude is sitting with his back to the wall at all times, exits mapped) but you do at least seem agreeable. enough.

probably thinks you're just trying to get into his pants. like... listening a little too well. a little too kind. a little too interested in the dumb shit he's saying about the weather or whatever.

it's actually when Price cuts in and laughs at one of your jokes that you earn Ghost's interest back. Price tees him up for a particular dark joke (what else has two legs and bleeds) and Ghost utters the punchline (half a dog), and to his muted surprise, you laugh. Price sees the mild shift of expression on Ghost's face and chuckles.

says something about gruff old military men harassing a pretty bird likes you, and of course, you take the compliment with such grace.

you could even take them both home if you wanted ;)

[woobiedoovo]

Stan was in love once, forty or so odd years ago, when he was just a boy who didn’t even know what love was.

At that age, love was the person who made you smile. Love was the person who you’d wake up to every morning. Love was the boy whose glasses always slid down his nose because they were one size too big. Love would hold Stan’s hand in his as they dreamed about sailing around the world.

Love, as he got older, got more complicated. Love became something he’d toss and turn to at night, afraid that when he closed his eyes he would see the boy who still meant the word love. Love, as he got older, seemed to slip between his fingers. The harder he held on, the more it seemed to fade.

Love, it seemed, didn’t love Stan the way he loved it.

Love was harsh and cruel, yet he still loved it. To others, love was something soft and warm. But to Stan, Love was something he couldn’t imagine, not anymore. Love was far away, on a long abandoned swing set, telling stories about pirates, treasure, and adventure. Love was something between two boys whose dreams were just that, dreams.

Stan was in love once.

[writtenbyan-aries]

hey can you do one where like y/n does only fans and colby finds out about it?

Warnings: strong language, onlyfans star!reader, friends to lovers

New series called Snippets. I will write a little for each request and then keep them all together so I can come back later and use them to write a full one shot. Hope that makes sense! Thank you!

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Colby sounded different on the phone, he didn’t tell you anything was wrong, but you could tell there was something bothering him.

You liked Colby.

A lot.

The one thing that’s been holding you back from telling him about said feelings, is mainly your onlyfans page. You were sure whether or not Colby would be okay with that, and to be honest, you pay your bills with that money.

You wanted Colby, yes. But you weren’t sure if he wanted someone that has shown their tits for money.

After an hour and a half of taking pictures in different colored lingerie for your page, you wrapped it up at the perfect time because you hear the front door open and close with a powerful shove.

You shove your tripod in your closet and the lingerie at the bottom of your bottom dresser drawer and turn around just as there’s a knock on your door.

“Come in.”

The door opens and Colby walks in, “Hey.”

You give him a smile, “What’s up, Colbs?” Your smile fades when he doesn’t look at you for a few seconds, “Colby?”

His words shocked you, “Do you do porn?”

You blink a few times, “um. I mean yes and no.”

“What do you mean yes and no?” He turns towards you, “Do you just go through guys? Like what? how does that work?”

You hold up your hand, “Whoa, back it the hell up. What is your deal?”

Colby sighs, “My deal, is that you do porn and you never told me?”

You laugh slightly, mainly trying to cover up your nervousness, “Colby it’s not straight porn. Okay? I do OnlyFans. I don’t do anything nude. Well..”

He looks at you, “What do you do?”

You grab your laptop and bring it towards you. You get in, clicking around until you pull up your page, “Here. Look. The only really bad thing is that I show my boobs. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”

He walks over, sitting down beside you as he takes your laptop. You can tell there’s a positive change to his demeanor and you bite your lip, “So.. who told?”

Colby laughs, “well.. actually.” He looks over at you, “one of Sam’s buddies sent him a screen shot and asked if it was you.”

He looks back at the computer screen and scrolls down, “It was this picture actually.” He point to the screen and you purse your lips, “That was a money post.”

“What’s that mean?” Colby looks at you and you can’t help but giggle, “It means.. you have to pay to see the photo.. and who ever sent that to Sam.. paid to see it.”

“So, they’re subscribed to you?” Colby asks and you nod, “or someone else he knows is?” You shrug, “I’m not sure, Colby.”

He just stares at you, “Huh.” He jocks his jaw and nods, “Mm. Okay.”

“So what? Are you like mad at me? Not friends anymore?” You purse your lips, “Like does this make you look at me different?”

Colby shakes his head, “Not really. Well.. I mean, okay. Yeah I see you differently now, but like..” he scratches his brow, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I didn’t want to tell you because I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it and I didn’t want to risk ruining our friendship.”

Colby chuckles, “Ruined?” He shake his head, “No. not at all. As I said. Different.. a hundred percent.”

“Different?” You ask as you tilt your head and he nods, “Oh yeah. You’re so much hotter than I originally thought.”

You can feel your cheeks growing warm and Colby’s next question didn’t help any matters, “So how do you feel about potentially doing porn?”

Fuck, you think, “Um. I mean..” you laugh slightly and look down before looking at Colby, “Maybe if it was someone I was comfortable with?”

You nod, Colby heavy on your mind, “Yeah. I think I could do it.”

A smirk grows on his lips as he slowly leans in, giving a nod to the right with his head, “Go get those pretty little outfits, because we’re about to be making you bank, baby.”

══════════════════

Let me know how you like these snippets so far and as always, ilysm thank you for reading 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[the-broken-pen]

Hi! I love love LOVE your writing so much!!!❤️❤️(it’s the only thing sometimes that can help me reorient myself when life sucks)-

Idk if you’ve already written a work like this- but could you write about a villain who fakes being in a relationship with hero to get information. Hero absolutely loves them and thinks that they can finally be happy….but then Villain breaks their heart- while saying they never loved them and that it was all a lie.

and then later on Villain regrets it and realizes they are actually obsessed with hero and go full psycho?

The hero had spent their childhood watching as their parents fought viciously with one another. Slamming doors and breaking plates, and then sullen, withdrawn and nearly silent conversations illuminated only by the dying lamp in the corner of the living room. Whatever the hero’s parents had, it wasn’t love, and never would be. The hero had no way of knowing if it ever had been. 

And then the hero had watched as time after time, their sister loved someone with her whole heart and was left shattered on the hero’s doorstep at the end of it. Fairytales that ended with no happy ending, ripped up love notes and a hundred playlists made for people their sister could no longer bear to name out loud.

The hero had watched their entire family reach for love and fall flat every time, and had resigned themself to a fate of the kind of heartbreak you cannot escape. The kind that hangs over heads like a cloud and fogs mirrors.

And then–

The villain. The hero had met the villain, and the villain had smiled, and they thought maybe, just maybe, they had beaten the curse. That they were meant for the soft kind of love they had only imagined when they were young, before the pain of it got too great.

The hero had let the villain intertwine themself into the hero’s life, and they had thought they were okay. They had thought they had made it. 

Which was why, now, they couldn’t seem to make themself think anything sensical at all.

The villain settled the file in front of the hero gently, on the table they had picked out together with as much care as one was capable of. They almost, almost, looked like they regretted it, face soft and breakable.

The villain cleared their throat in the silence. “If you just read it–”

“What, can’t say it yourself?”

The villain stopped, swallowing. This was the first time in a very long time the hero had seen them look unsure.

The hero scoffed at them. “I know about Project Pegasus.”

The villain went very, very still. They looked down towards the folder.

“So then–”

“This?” the hero picked up the folder, waving it once. They tossed it onto the floor without looking. “I’ve already read it. Two weeks ago.” They stared at the villain, and did their best not to blink. “I just hoped it was fake.”

The hero wondered if maybe, this was what had happened to their parents. If they had spent all of that time fighting and hating one another and crying in darkened rooms just so they could spend the rest of it constantly reaching back towards one another. Pretending that the file wasn’t real. That the fights were nothing more than a blip in existence and not the roots of a rot so deep it would never be fully cut out of them. 

They had wondered about a lot of things, curled on the bathroom floor around that wretched file, but mostly they had wondered if they had always been meant to end up here. If this was what being doomed felt like. 

The villain blinked.

“You hoped it was fake.”

The hero felt a little like they couldn’t breathe. They sucked a shallow breath in through their nose anyways. 

“If you–” their voice broke. “If you were me, would you want to believe it?”

The villain’s shoulders, almost imperceptibly, slumped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, are you?”

“Yes,” the villain said, but in the space where they should have explained themself, where they should have said it was fake, and that they loved the hero more than anything, and that this little apartment meant everything to them–they said nothing.

“So, what,” the hero snapped, voice wet with barely held back tears. “You’re going to tell me you didn’t mean for me to fall in love with you? That this was an accident? That you’re sorry again? That you never meant to hurt me–”

“No,” the villain corrected gently. “You were always meant to fall in love with me.”

A tiny sob wormed its way out of the hero’s throat before they could stop themself, and they pressed their shaking fist to their mouth before anything else could follow, turning away.

“It was just about the information,” the villain said, and the hero shoved themself back from the table, just to get further away from the love of their life.

“You knew what you were doing,” the hero said bitterly. “You know me. You knew. You knew I would never be able to get over this, and you did it anyways–”

“It’s my job,” the villain protested, and it took the hero everything in them to remain standing. “It wasn’t personal.”

“You made yourself my world, you made yourself into my everything, you made me fall in love with you–”

“I never made you do anything.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that. This was your goal, wasn’t it? Own up to your accomplishments. Go on. Tell me how proud you are. Do it.”

“Hero.”

“I loved you,” the hero was screaming, maybe.

And there it was. Past tense.

Loved.

The villain stepped back like the hero had slapped them.

“Hero,” their voice was barely a whisper.

The hero picked up the file. Rifled through it once more.

“Hero–”

The hero held out the file. The villain didn’t take it, hands remaining limp at their side.

“Take it.” They gestured with the file. “Take it, and get out.”

The villain sucked in a breath.

“Hero,” the villain said again, uselessly. 

“Tell me you love me, then. Tell me you meant it.” They gestured to the file once more. “Tell me that this is the lie.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me.”

The villain opened their mouth, and for a second, the hero hoped��

“I don’t love you.” 

The hero wished the villain had just killed them. 

“I never loved you. It was all a lie. A really, really pretty lie.”

The hero wanted to say something elegant to that. Something biting and vicious and jagged in the same way the inside of them felt right now. They wanted to say everything they had felt earlier, every thought that had cut them so that it could cut the villain too.

Instead, all they managed was a choked, “Get out.”

They threw the file at the villain.

The villain didn’t bother to catch it, letting it slam into their chest. It thudded against the floor, papers spilling out in a halo around the villain’s feet.

A part of them wanted the villain to argue further.

A part of them just wanted the villain dead.

“I’m sorry,” the villain said once more, and then they were gone.

The villain had known as soon as the hero had thrown that file that they wanted the villain dead. 

That they were more likely to claw their own bones apart than willingly reach for the villain’s hand again, and the logical part of their brain was viciously pleased about it.

It made this whole thing easier. No lingering attachments to further butcher. Just a field, burned so badly nothing would ever grow in it again, and god, wasn’t that convenient for their mission. 

A tiny, smothered part of their brain, however, wouldn’t stop screaming.

They drowned it.

But then the villain would catch themself glancing to their side in search of a smile. They would wait a beat too long after they said something, would wait for laughter, and then there would be none, and they would curse themself for it, and that little part of them would come gasping back to life and start screaming again.

Possibly it was that little part of them that had made them send a message to the hero, offering the apartment. It was the least they could do, right? Fuck up their life and then get the fuck out of it. 

But the texts had said delivered, but never read, and three days later when the villain used their key to open the lock, they found themself stepping into a mausoleum and not a home. 

They weren’t sure what they were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Dust hanging in the air. Blank squares left on the walls where pictures had once hung. Empty cabinets, empty floors, empty rooms; no, whatever they had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

For a reason they couldn’t name, they went from room to room, searching for something without quite understanding what. It wasn’t until they had come full circle back into the living room, fingers coated in dust and an aching chest, that the villain had realized. Ghosts. They were looking for ghosts. 

Because there was nothing better to describe the way they felt right now other than haunted. And if there was something, anything, of the hero left in here to burn, to destroy, to exorcise, they could use it as an excuse–

There was nothing left of the hero. There were no ghosts. This place was just dead.

The villain made a shuddering little sound, and slammed the front door closed behind them when they managed to stumble into the hallway. 

This was an easy mission, it was–

–two years and dates over ramen and houseplants–

–something even a new recruit could do–

–i love you’s in the dark and the scent of the hero on all of their clothes and–

–something the villain was trained for, countless hours spent–

–laughing and crying and rainy days and sunny ones–

–learning how to fake love, and somehow–

–the villain had forgotten it was fake.

The villain couldn’t breathe.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love, too.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love too, and they had just set their entire world ablaze around themself.

Fuck.

It really only made sense, then, that they found themself standing on the roof of their old apartment building as it burned. And when that didn’t work, they moved onto the next, until a third building went up in flames beneath their feet. They knew the kind of message it would send, and they knew exactly who that message would get sent to–

The hero landed on the other end of the rooftop, as far away from the villain as they could possibly get. 

“Stop,” the hero hissed, teeth clenched. “Stop lighting things on fire to get my attention, just stop–”

“I’m in love with you,” the villain said, voice wrecked, and the hero reacted like the villain had shot them. They stepped away, feet bumping against the edge like the fall was a better option than the villain.

“No,” the hero said. They shook as they said it. “Stop it. You don’t get to do this to me.”

“I love you,” the villain said again, and the hero pressed a hand over their own heart.

“Stay away from me,” the hero managed after a moment. Another deep breath, and their hand dropped back down to their side. “Go do whatever it is you need to do, go ruin anyone else’s life, and stay out of the wreckage of mine.”

“We have a life together,” the villain tried. If the hero could just see, could see that they could fix it– “I’m sorry. I was stupid, I was so, so stupid. But you can’t just leave, please, just let me fix it–”

“I told you to get out,” the hero said, and there was nothing soft in their eyes as they looked at the villain. “What about the way I said it made you think it was temporary?”

“Hero, please, let me fix–”

“Villain,” the hero said calmly, voice sharp. “Some things aren’t meant to be rebuilt.”

All of the air left the villain’s lungs in a pathetic sort of wheeze.

“You’re my everything,” the villain choked out. “My whole world, and I’m so sorry. I was–I made a mistake, but you can’t just throw us away–”

“No,” the hero spat, and the villain flinched. “You burned that world to the ground. You’re standing in the ashes of it. You don’t get to come to me begging for it back.”

The villain felt unmoored. Like the world had shifted one step to the left and they had no idea what to do with their limbs anymore, no idea how to keep existing.

“But I love you.”

“The only person who feels anything when you say that is you.”

This time, it was the villain who stepped back.

“Please,” the villain whispered, and the hero closed their eyes.

“What were you expecting to happen. That I would forgive you? Would fall back into your arms? You could tell me that you’re sorry in every language for the rest of your life and that wouldn’t make what you did hurt me any less. So why would you think you could light a building on fire, tell me you love me, and then make everything go back to the way it was?”

“I–I don’t–”

“There is no back,” the hero said firmly. “There is no undo.”

“I don’t know what to do,” the villain said. A tear dripped off the edge of their chin.

The hero appraised them.

“Learn to live with it.”

The villain sucked in a shuddering breath.

“I can’t live without you, okay, I can’t–”

“Then die.”

The villain froze. They waited for the hero to take it back, but the hero just stared at them, face stony and cold. An avenging angel on the edge of the rooftop, firelight flickering at their back and smoke rising into the air, not an ounce of sympathy left in their bones for the villain.

And before the villain could say anything, say that the hero couldn’t possibly mean that, the hero spoke again.

“I mean it. You are not my problem.”

The villain was choking. They were drowning on air and the hole they had left inside of themself when they ripped the hero out of their life and the hero was just watching them–

“Please,” they said pathetically, and even as they said it they knew it was futile.

The hero didn’t bother to give them another response.

They watched the hero leave without saying anything, smoke beginning to sting their eyes and nose as their hands shook. 

It felt terminal. It felt world-ending. It felt deserved.

They wished the hero had just killed them.