#cam girl au

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

@saltynametag and I have been chatting about something....something where cam girl Tessa has a crush on her new neighbor, Rhett, both of them unaware that he's her biggest fan.

[shameless-army]

Wow this is actually so cute!!!! I enjoyed it so much. This jk is literally my loml just adorableeee

make you scream | jjk

pairing. jungkook x camgirl!reader

rating. mature, 18+ only.

word count. 9k+

genre. smut, humor, friends to lovers.

warnings. swearing, alcohol usage, jungkook gets his balls waxed, smut ( rough sex, role-playing, dirty talk, choking, protected sex, voyuerism, mask kink, oral sex (m receiving), spanking ).

summary. in which jungkook fucks you while wearing a Ghostface mask for thousands of people to see.

taglist. @mwitsmejk @yoongiofmine​ @mrcleanheichou​ @dprssdgal​ @kookiejiminlovely​ @jollypainterroadeagle​ @beforemoonr1se​ @blckjeon​ @tae165​

unable to tag. @lovepity @dollpoutzz @k4rl1n4s

a/n. happy halloween!! stay safe and have fun <3

jungkook [ 5:57 PM ]: okay lets see the ring!

Jungkook tosses his phone on the couch, watching it bounce aimlessly for a few moments before it falls face-down. He slumps down next to the clump of metal, tossing his head back on the armrest and letting out a sigh. “See? I told you I was happy for her.”

Jimin is in the kitchen with Taehyung only a few feet away, preparing a small dinner for the three of them to enjoy. At the sound of Jungkook’s voice, he shakes his head. “I never said you weren’t happy for her. She’s your best friend, of course you’re gonna be happy if she gets engaged. I said that you just might be a tiny bit jealous of her soon-to-be-fiance.”

“But I’m not!” His voice cracks, earning him a strange look from his hyungs. He clears his throat and repeats his statement, having less confidence in its believability.

With five years worth of dating along with a dainty little promise ring (that was beginning to rust), your current boyfriend hadn’t given you much to fantasize about as far as a future together. Aside from him occasionally making jokes about wanting you to carry his children, that is. You weren’t sure where your relationship was headed, but earlier that day when he sent a vague, sudden text saying he had something important to talk to you about, all you could envision was him getting on one knee and finally asking you to marry him.

You told Jungkook the good news first, and he ignored the twinge of jealousy in his heart long enough to tell you how happy he is for you, and how you must allow him to help you plan the wedding. He tells Jimin and Taehyung the news and all they do is give him the ‘I’m so sorry’ look, which doesn’t help at all. So to prove to them that he’s truly happy for you and not at all jealous, he’s just requested you send a picture of the engagement ring you should’ve gotten by now.

Like clockwork, Jungkook’s phone dings, and your contact name is lighting up his screen.

“That should be her now.” He sighs again, sitting fully upright as he retrieves his phone.

He takes a brief moment to prepare himself, which later seems to be completely unnecessary, because the message you had sent in response was far from what he had been expecting you to say.

Keep reading

[haveyoumetmythief]

Don’t interrupt, she’s doing important teacher’s assistant work

[sturniqlo]

you should make a harry account cause we need more harry smut bro. (recommend pls)

anything by @1800titz @gurugirl

american honey continuation

just keep streaming

gravity (camboy!harry)

camgirl!reader

camgirl!reader + harry joins

(fun fact before i was a sturniolo blog i started off as a harry blog)

[rinhaler]

ur stepdad!gojo and uncle nanami fic got me feeling things so much so i felt the need to go into anon to confess bc im just so feral for this idea LMAO

ik ur not taking requests, and this isnt really a request but i just wanna leave this here as a lil tidbit or lil scenario bc ur fics had my mind running and i have nowhere to put it, and you can do with it as you wish, but here:

reader being a camgirl as a way to earn extra money to buy nice shit (should be paying for school but lmao) ofc, this doesnt go unnoticed by stepdaddy gojo and uncle nanami. They question where youre getting the money to buy all this cute shit, and ofc u make up an excuse, but they dont buy it.

gojo or nanami, could be either one, stumble upon your little…. “operation” one night, totally by accident while trying to get their rocks off.

they confront you about it, and perhaps they both tag team you at the same time while youre “working”, on camera for all to see. and you make SO MUCH MONEYfrom just that one night 👀

do with this as you will, just felt the need to drop this here hehe >:3

-simp anon 🐚🩷🍬

BABE I'M SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO ANSWER BC I'M AN IDIOT AND TOTALLY DIDN'T PROCESS THE "THIS ISN'T A REQUEST PART" 😭😭😭

when i tell u when i first got this ask my jaw was on the FLOOR

I honestly don't know which idea I like better? The thought of them both accidentally coming across you doing a show and perving over it is so hot. Maybe Nanami finds it first and doesn't immediately tell your step daddy. He has to jerk off to it first?? He's a little taken aback by how confident you are considering how shy and seemingly innocent you are in person.

And I know Gojo is going to be teasing Nanami about being on a cam girl site.

"How did you find this, huh, Nanami?" completely winding him up with a smirk on his face that Nanami just has to ignore.

You aren't live when he shows your step daddy. He just shows him your profile. They both act clueless when you get home from college, saying your hellos and goodbyes as you go up to your room to study. (meanwhile you're actually just doing your makeup and picking what lingerie to wear to your stream).

They both hang out in the kitchen until your mother goes to bed, telling her they're just having a nightcap before her dear brother hits to road.

And then you're live, the audio playing quietly as you perform. Gojo is so surprised to see you like this but he just can't ignore the tent he feels forming in his pants.

They decide to interrupt your little show, and your viewers take note of how good your acting is! Plus the whole step-cest angle is really hot.

You make the most money you've ever made thanks to them double stuffing you and pumping you with so many loads you can barely see straight 💗

[pricegouge]

got absolutely clobbered over the head with a pretty fucked up idea so now it's your problem. 1k

cw: poisoning! bit of a sick fic, but nothing gratuitous. munchausen by proxy, but make it (mostly) consensual.

He knows it's coming when Simon's hands shake, a near-imperceptible tremble only brought to John's attention by the way Simon's tea spills over the lip of his takeaway cup, stains the bone design printed on his fingers. Simon puts the cup on the counter, takes a half second too long to get the lid to catch on the rim properly.

"Best see to that," John warns him, already making contingency plans for their next potential mission, calculating where best his over-sized liability could fit. God forbid the man bench himself, though John's not one to talk.

Ghost just nods, the issue already taken care of. "Yes, sir."

Price figures he can get another month or so out of him, but circumstance makes liars of them both. A bad job gone worse, much of that expected month spent in the field. They're all just lucky it comes to a head while on base, some no-name sergeant the unsuspecting barometer for Simon's impending breakdown instead of a misplaced bullet.

The boy's come back from worse.

The first time - it had landed in his lap, honestly, a stomach bug that had torn the whole base apart, left grown, hardened men wilting into sick bowls and shaking in their sheets. The lieutenant had been stoic as ever, but John could see the glassiness of his eyes, the way his clothes had hung from him for weeks after. Docile, too. Or near enough. Too tired to be ornery, at least.

Put out of his mind for months, he let Ghost rebuild himself, pulling his pieces into place like armor. His intensity returned, a blessing just as much as a curse as John was generally the one left to handle all the formal complaints. It was easy enough, each log finding the bottom of the bin the moment the plaintiff left his office. Still, waste of time having to sit in on each meeting; to lend his ear to every up-and-coming private who was too dull to recognize where on the ladder of irreplaceable assets themselves and the lieutenant lie. Nearing the end of his rope, he made some glib comment about wishing the man would feel worse again soon and balked a bit when Simon just blinked at him, agreed it's always a good reset, being forced to take leave.

From anyone else's mouth, he'd have assumed the man was asking for time off, a pampered little vacation taken with the captain's approval. Guiltless, thoughts unassailed by the realities of international collusions. But Ghost submitted no reqs, just carried on steady as always.

Until he hadn't, a rookie mistake John prides himself on catching before it could make it too far.

"Need to be able to depend on ya, Simon," he'd chastised, his own frustrations bubbling over, anger unchecked because he knew Ghost could handle it, wouldn't shrink from him like so many others. "Should be able to trust ya with paperwork, at least!"

And Ghost didn't shrink. Swelled up instead, took on more roles, ran himself ragged.

"You're grounded," John had told him, let the double meaning sink in, embarrass the lad.

"Good luck with that, sir," the lieutenant had countered, shouldered his way onto the hele and tucked himself in between the sergeants just to spite him.

So he remembers. Tired and docile. Level headed after days of R & R.

He treats it like a mission, same as everything else. They're sick in the same way, like that. It gets easier with time, both of them settling into their roles. John's done it many ways, used backdoors he'd never realized he'd had access to in order to avoid Kate's persistent gaze as he researched, bought household cleaners he learned how to disguise the taste of. Simon had never been picky, could probably be served squirrel jerky without much complaint. But wariness is something else, stems from survival, and Price himself had helped to hone that instinct, made it iron-clad.

Simon noticed the fourth time. John's own fault, having him around for dinner. Too obvious about having cooked specially for him. Simon's dark eyes had settled on the plate for so long the meal had gone cold, vague chemical scent becoming more obvious by the second.

John never flinched. Not even when Simon's gaze flicked to him, a silent challenge.

"You need to rest, boy."

Entranced, he watched as something flicked across Simon's brow. Comprehension. Acceptance, maybe. The balaclava was rolled up, tucked over the ruined bridge of his nose, and Simon bore crooked, rotting teeth to tuck in, ate the whole plate in less than four bites.

They hardly bother with the pretenses anymore, not when John's just as tired as him. Not when they can't keep replaying the same game, the reputation of John's cooking at stake. It's better this way, the small vial he keeps in his desk providing a much more consistent outcome anyway. And he won't deny he enjoys the power Simon gives him, either: maw agape, tongue extended. He doesn't flinch when the syrup coats his tongue, although John knows how rotten it tastes - tried it himself just to be certain he could safely navigate Simon's limits, because he knows what Simon can take, even if the boy doesn't.

It starts with Simon on his knees, usually. A stream of apologies flooding from his mouth alongside the excess drool that puddles on Price's thigh. John shushes him with thick fingers, likes to feel the building convulsions in his throat from within.

He likes it best after Simon's worn himself out, lays sweat-stained and panting on his cot, mask long forgotten. Too tired to care. John keeps him hydrated, trickles water into his mouth from his finger tips, letting it pour over his palm. Simon takes whatever he gives - more syrup, even, if John deems it's needed. Trusts his judgment, trusts his captain to make him whole again.

They treat it like a mission, both sick like that. Know sometimes you have to go further than expected to get the results you want.

[saintverse]

the other day i was explaining to my bf how i don't mind "genderbent" merlin art if it's not annoyingly heterosexual because she's transfem to me but "genderbent" arthur art just feels so very unrealistic. if he was born a girl he would just transition to be honest... people will try to do genderbending but "trans positive" by just saying it's lesbian merthur but then they're both conventionally feminine cis women and truly i don't think that works with their characters... merlin who defies every boundary and societal norm? arthur pendragon? arthur would never be a cis woman he would just transition sorry...

actually hold on. arthur is assumed to be a "tomboy" crossdresser and he pretty much only takes on the role of a princess when his father expects it. considered a harmless fancy. gets to the point where everyone even his knights call him prince arthur but as a "joke" because of how masculine he is. merlin gets assigned as the princess' maidservant and eventually arthur is like Merlin... you must understand... this isn't playing dress up, to me. this is who i am. and merlin's like Ohhh Okay. Lol. Me Too it's okay i get it. and then she walks away and it takes arthur days to realize that merlin was implying she's transfem

there's your yuri merthur if it was awesome and transgender. butch transmasc he/him lesbian arthur and genderfluid trans girl merlin. love wins!

[daisychainsandbowties]

Is there anything more beautiful and tragic than Lilith’s self-destructive longing to be loved?

i wrote a little something for this. a little bit of davy jones au

/// lullabies in salt

Lilith sings to her, sometimes, when the ship becomes a ghost and all of her crew are just specks of watery light. They move through the rigging, each one turning into what they really are.

Or what they long to be – Lilith has never been certain of this as she stands alone among them all, watching as eels curl around ropes dangling unattended, as crabs wander the deck with their claws scraping softly on soft wood.

Jellyfish strung like floating lanterns up above as thought trying to replace the night sky.

Her crew, to whom she is not gentle, and yet here they are in their simplest form; their wishful thinking that endures to this depth and makes light for her where there should be none. She has watched their bodies change, like hers, over the years.

(there is no need to admit to herself that she has lost count of them)

They are always so astonishingly alive in the beginning, and of course Lilith is just a ghoul to them. She has to be. Pacing by day in her coat that always drips cold water, her swords lending weight to her hips where flesh and fat and all her girlish ends of her have faded away.

She’s seen how they look at her – eyes bloodshot, gleaming in the candles her crew carry with them onto the wreckage of ships. Lilith wonders each time if this makes for a better ending, as she paces in front of the survivors where they kneel in their shallow saltwater graves, variously bloodied and always on the edge of death.

Her crew, who have all made the same poor choices, whisper that it is. Better.

“Why?” she asks them, her voice moving like water over sand.

Her crew, who she thinks of as beautiful because what else to think or to feel about them? Their faces cracked open by barnacles and occupied by every crawling thing that lives inside the ocean. A girl of seventeen (dead) who did not endure the crossing from England; her eyes replaced by the broad caps of jellyfish, who looked up from her whalebone dice and said, “It’s better to have a choice, I think.”

Even now, she is shy, though the sea has reclaimed all of her girlishness. Her forearms are chitin and her teeth are coral, and even as Lilith stood by, waiting for her to summon her voice again, a tiny krill crawled out of her left ear and settled on the lobe like an earring.

The girl touched it, smiling, as though a pretty boy (or another pretty girl, Lilith supposes) had set it there with bare hands. “I wasn’t ready to be dead,” she told Lilith, quiet but fierce, “And I don’t regret this.”

“You will.”

As the ship falls, passing out of sight of sunlight, Lilith searches for the marshlight of that girl in the strung-shadows, in the ghosts. There are a few she suspects.

One, a dolphin turning loops around the mainmast. It is the pink kind that live out somewhere on the continent west of Europe – oh, Lilith can’t remember the names they put on maps. What she remembers, from the queer knowing of things that is her deathbed companion, is that this creature is a freshwater thing and does not belong here.

Its shape climbs and climbs, into the crow’s nest, and then the ship shudders. They are done descending.

The light vanishes.

Lilith steps away from the wheel, fingers unsticking reluctantly from the barnacle-choked wood. Maybe there is no wood left at all, she realises, taking in the twitching mass of creatures that have consumed every inch of what was once a clean and solid shape.

(what has she done to them?)

Her memory is cloth eaten by moths, and all of this is probably her fault, but she cannot remember why.

Sometimes, when she falls asleep (at last. Always at last) with the ship’s organ falling silent around her, she dreams of a rainswept shore. Scrawny palm trees and dried seaweed strewn along the sand.

Kneeling there like one of the flotsam she fetches out of the sea, face uptilted to taste the rain, to feel it run between her teeth. One last taste before her trembling hand raises something that makes her fist ache. She is shirtless in her dream, lurid in the shine off of drenched skin. Her scars all laid bare for that ruined island to see.

(did she burn them out of their little church on the hillside. did she paint the parish bell with blood and turn the neat little houses to cinders. did she-)

Perhaps the island was deserted when she came, rowing away from the Dutchman in the longboat with her crew watching in their silent way. Arms flung over the railings, hands fiddling with bits of wood or scraps of leather.

She went to where they could not witness her and stripped down. Laying her coat over a fallen tree and leaving her shirt as a smear of white on the sand, weighted by rain. She kept her pants (she has others) and knelt, placing every last letter into the box. A handful of flowers long turned dry and delicate as she shielded them from the rain, snapping the lid shut to protect them.

Turning instead to a smaller chest, all filigreed in the shape of sea creatures. Lilith didn’t make it herself. In the way of things, the ocean brought it to her in the ruins of a dying ship. It knows her mind and what she intends, and there is only a little mockery in the gifting of a chest.

(a locker)

 Sailors, among all types of men, are good at poetry because they see so little of it.

And so much.  

Lilith has seen so much and she remembers certain things with clarity like crystal – warped, but unashamed. Carrying light somewhere, if not where it needs to go, if not exactly all the way to the eye of the beholder.

She remembers kneeling, naked, and something in her hand (terrible) and tears tracking toward her mouth to make the freshwater taste of rain vanish. It was a knife, she thinks, that left hard welts in the flesh of her hand and made her bruise for days.

Her palm a cup of bluegrey turning green, turning yellow, turning on her as she walked unsteadily through the ship.

(and lilith is no fool)

She knows what she’s missing, and few besides her know that it is difficult to walk without a heartbeat – that there’s a rhythm to it. Stumbling like a drunk for days with the ship all run dry of rum.

“When do we make port?”

Her crew, as things crawled up on the deck.

They were afraid at first to become more like the sea, lashing out so she tipped more than one eviscerated body over the railing in that first week. Bodies weighted like anchors to their doom, since they could not sleep without serving her.

(she came back, later, and found them in their shallow graves alongside hidden reefs or close to islands they used to visit in passing, just to lay on the beaches and drink)

“Sorry captain.” Voices almost vanished into seawater and the soft rolling of waves across the ocean floor. “Glad you came back for me.”

(what else could she do? this is all her fault)

 It was cheating, but Lilith made deals and traded favours with other ships to get them supplies. “I’m a ghost, if anyone asks,” she’d tell their captains, who were always variously afraid of her. “Speak of this at all of your own volition and I will send her to find you.”

“Who?”

Only the daring ones asked, and sadly Lilith liked the daring ones. Their smiles and how their fingers lingered on her cold wet hands, fascinated instead of repulsed – give it time.

A hunger to them as they stepped a little closer – they met on her ship, and in their eyes it was because she preferred it this way, and not because her ship would not allow her to leave. “Who will you send?”

She’d smile, like a girl who did not need to keep secrets, “The sea.”

It was close enough to the truth. Lilith does not remember anything of how it came to this, but she sourced paint, canvas, charcoals and paper and anything her crew might need to remember for her. All of her kindest acts have been out of fear.

In their stumbling and then better and then beautiful attempts at painting, or sketching, Lilith has seen the bottom of the ocean as it changes over years. The crawl of objects along the ocean floor as the waves return. They are more loyal than the rest of the world together.

Sometimes she would be stupid and end up in her cabin with one of these odd little artists – her crew which is a collective and also individual. Individuals.

They were like anyone else to fuck – messy, and good, and quiet afterwards, tracing the mark of her own sword on some crewmember’s stomach.

Of course she is not so much of a fool as to say, “Who did this to you?” even in jest, but she wonders.

Who did this?

It doesn’t feel like her, but she remembers and it was and she left markings on her map at each place where she sent a panicked body over the railing.

All of them were right as they came at her with cutlass, saber, chunks of rotting wood.

“You did this to us.”

(and she did. she did)

It is not punishment enough, she knows, to have watched them change, one by one. Bodies she knew – fucked, cooked for, defended with her own – turned to bodies she only recognises because she never looked away. Afraid to blink, sometimes.

She gave them paper and paint so that they could remember, and there is a little booklet in the dry-store of her crew before, or halfway through. Her crew slowly undone as the Dutchman turns and turns around the ocean like a tiger in a cage.

And she is not brave enough to remember why she did it to them.

Lilith has no interest in drawing things, or putting smears of colour down to try, try, try and represent what happened to her. Lilith is a liar, and that should make her an artist too, but she takes what she has and puts it onto piano keys.

Happy, in the end, to remember little beyond her own naked chest. Nothing but a beach, a knife, a bloody shape in her hand.

(still beating)

It has been like this forever. Lilith with lichen growing out of her hairline and glassy teeth growing under the veins in her wrists. As a child she read about Moray eels and their teeth, and as usual her dreams have come back to infect her.

She is sick with longing, disfigured by it, and sometimes she wakes up with her arms bloody and soaking her bedsheets. Prongs of a glasslike substance sticking out of her wrists – and it is terrifying, but Lilith cannot die.

(and ‘cannot’ is a terrible thing, even when it is about death)

Tonight the ocean is calm and nothing has died, so Lilith moved through her crew. Oh, they are quiet sometimes especially when the stars come out. Night so clear you can feel it reaching for you.

Their voices all around her and their hands reaching out, sliding off her slick skin. Lilith, their fresh-drowned corpse, with new shapes sprouting now from her jawline. Following it all the way home into her mouth.

She loves their hands. She loves them.

The new ones as yet unbroken by the slow crawl of time, with their human faces. Almost, now, she finds their eyes unnerving – all simple shades of brown or blue or black or hazel or grey. There is so much weather in these living-dead things. So much of land.

As the sun fell she moved through them, listening, composing something in her head that sounded already as though it would be a sad song. She is good with only two emotions in music.

Anger, and this strange melancholy that falls over her crew when there are no bodies to collect. No limbs floating in the water and no blood in the seafoam.

No sharks.

“Let’s go down”

                                                      “Lilith”

                       “Captain”

    “Let’s go down”

Lilith has seen more of the ocean than anyone alive. Her body is spyglass, map, compass, and complicated in all the ways that saltwater is. There are no clean deaths out here.

Only drownings.

She took them down, waves rushing up the length of the ship to swallow their bodies one by one and how they floated for a while as the crushing took hold. Their bodies ignored it, and Lilith felt only the familiar ache in her wrists.

Here, at least, she cannot drip water onto the deck beneath her like a poor excuse for a heartbeat. Her crew were, at first, themselves.

She hates to find them beautiful, but there’s a helplessness to it; to Lilith and her long acquaintance with the sea.

I miss you.

The thought stepped out like a ghost to frighten her, and Lilith flinched against the wheel, but she did not let it go. Beach, knife, rainwater, and a bead of sharp pain somewhere on her chest.

Sand, blood, and the water catching up to catch her, and drinking it down.

“Are you thirsty, Lil?” (a voice she does not know)

Her crew are beautiful. They are the ocean and they are her and they float so perfectly as the ship descends, dragging their shapes out of sight. Light-swallowed and turning into light as they unravel.

(she will not describe them)

Only their ghosts, strung up into blurry wavelengths as the depths settle like an absent heartbeat around her. Quiet as her grave.

Lilith waits.

Her ship is lost now, barnacles loose in the water around her as they try to flee. (where? there is nowhere to go)

Catching one, she turns it over, watching as featherlike cirri tease from its tip, combing the water even now for food. It is not afraid of her, or it would have retreated into its shell, and Lilith lets its tiny appendages tease over her fingertips. There is plenty to eat on her skin.

She sets it on her forearm, feeling it secrete onto her skin, burrowing down among fine hairs and into flesh. There is a momentary bloom of blood in the water and then Lilith turns her attention out toward the ocean, to where a shape lurks now on the edge of seeing.

“Hello darling,” Lilith whispers, and a kraken’s arm punctures out of absolute darkness, easing toward her like a tongue parting lips, parting water. Easy as a knife parting flesh, carving out space for a ghost.

It moves through her crew, who scatter like wavelengths of light (that is all they are for now) from its path. The barnacle, newly apart of Lilith, quivers against her bones.

The arm stops, extended, a few inches from Lilith where she stands just shy of the ship’s wheel. It is cold at this depth, but Lilith cannot feel that any more than she can feel sunlight on her skin or the taste of food in her mouth.

She reaches out with her left hand so as not to scare the barnacle (who knows its place in the grand scheme even if Lilith does not) and lets the very tip of that unfathomable arm reach forward, curling all around her.

Her kraken hums and Lilith feels the reverberation of it mostly in her chest where there is plenty of room. She steps forward and the arms curls and curls – and Lilith is always dripping water but this creature is wet and she can feel it for once.

Lilith closes her eyes, feels her feet lift away from the deck and she is free, finally, of all that wood and tar, of a million nails and a thousand tiny chips in once-beautiful wood. She feels her barnacle rush toward the inside of her elbow where it burrows into the vein, opening her wide.

A blood trail follows them through the water as the kraken brings her close, away until the ship is just a mirage. Its mouth opens to show her rows of pretty teeth. Lilith has one on a leather cord around her neck, gifted accidentally by a shipwreck she visited one.

“Liar. A shipwreck you made.” (says a voice she does not know)

Its breath is only warmth here as the kraken lazes at this depth, letting faint currents shift her from side to side. They are still far from the bottom of the ocean, but this dark is preternatural anyway. This place hardly even exists.

Lilith, who has been granted space to move in the safety of the kraken’s grip, runs her hand over the suckers on its arm. It tastes her blood.

“Have you been well, dear one?” She asks this through the murk so her voice does not really travel, but the kraken hears her. She feels it twirling her lightly in place, humming more serenely as they dance farther from the ship, together.

Lilith kisses its wet flesh and looks toward her creature, her kraken, her ocean. “It is all I have, to hear that.”

It sends a small shockwave through the water in response – enough to make the barnacle shiver where it sits sipping at Lilith’s blood.

“Do you want me to sing for you?” Lilith spreads her palm over what passes for a kraken’s hand, sliding her fingers fully around the thinnest part, the very tip of its arm.

There’s a plea in its voiceless rhythm as the kraken twists in the water. There is so much of it that Lilith cannot follow every arm to its ending. Her creature is vast and it swallows the ocean around them. Everything, instead, is her.

(they are the same thing)

(ocean and kraken. ocean and girl)

Lilith sings.

[world-of-aus]

Live Now

Pairing: Camboy!Bucky x Camgirl!Reader

Warnings: NONE.

Authors Note: Here is Part 2 to our cammers, this is just to build story up I promise the other installments will have all the smut. Enjoy Buns and Happy Readings!

Bucky stares at the message, a chuckle building in his chest as he rereads it. The cursor blinks back at him, waiting for a one-time quick wit response from him.  

His fingers hover over the keys, he types. 

I‘After that live, well I guess you could say I’m a fan in the making, had your name being dropped in my lives every other day, had to come see for myself what all the fuss was about, you don’t disappoint do you siren?’ 

Bucky plans to leave you with that, but when he moves the cursor back over the ‘x’ to close the tab your reply is coming through. 

‘Looks like I’m going to owe your following a thank you, perhaps on my next live. I’m not too keen on disappointing, I like being a good girl.’ 

Bucky feels his cock stir as he reads, then rereads your message, his fingers move over the keys. 

‘I’ll make sure to let them know to swing on by for that thank you. Is that so, well something tells me you’re not always a good girl siren, you look like you need a good knee to be tossed over occasionally.’ 

His cock hardens in his grey joggers at your response. 

‘Are you offering, because I wouldn’t decline, I could be so good for you.’ 

Any other time and Bucky would have jumped at the opportunity, but he already had someone scheduled to join his live this week, and while he would have loved to get out of his predicament, he had numbers to build, and he knew dropping one of the highest rated female cammers could have his numbers dropping within minutes if word got out.  

‘Not sure you can handle me siren.’  

Is what he offers instead, it’s not a ‘no’ but it’s not a ‘yes’ either - yet. Your response comes in seconds later. 

‘A shame, well I hope to one day get the chance to prove you wrong, till next time xoxo.’ 

Bucky smiles at that, his fingers clicking the tab closed, and opening another shortly after, and while his work email loads, he has no doubt that you’ll get that chance, he just had a loose end to tie.  

The loose end shows up as an unread response. Vixen. 

‘Buckmeup I look forward to our live tomorrow, let me know whether you prefer my place or yours.. Can’t wait to meet you.. Xx – Vixen.’ 

Bucky types up his reply, inputting his address before shooting the message back. When performing a live with another cammer he preferred his space, it made sure he was in control of the situation at all times, and he liked being in control, and inviting Vixen over ensured that. He had a good amount of time to prepare before tomorrow. 

You were on cloud nine; it had been a day and you couldn’t rid yourself of the feeling, giddiness washing over you in waves as you reread the messages between you and buckmeup for your friend. “I can’t believe it Tasha,” you breathed into the line, “buckmeup, thee buckmeup watched my live, he’s the hottest, highest rating male cammer right now!”  

The redhead laughs over the line, “and he’s also your only favorite male cammer right now,” she teases. “You still looking around for that replica dildo of his junk?” 

“Natasha,” you whine, “you think I have a chance though?” you question after a brief pause. 

“Y/n that man would have to be seriously stupid for him to pass a chance up with you, if anyone should be worried it should be him not being able to handle you, not the other way around. You’ve built yourself up, you don’t need a man to help with that.” 

Your teeth find your lower lip as you look at the messages screen, your friend was right. “I can hear you overthinking, stop it.” Your fingers close the tab, “I’m sorry,” you whine, “but the man who fuels my fantasies said I looked like I needed to be tossed over a knee, I think I'm allowed this moment, this has never happened before!” 

Natasha’s laughing, “what am I going to do with you?” 

“Help me get to the top,” you offer “take vixen’s number one spot away?” 

“If you keep following my advice, I have no doubt that you’ll reach the top soon, I mean look, your favorite cammer messaged you I’d say you’re at the halfway mark babe.” 

The giddiness returns, “he did, didn’t he.” The two of you laugh, “you sure you don’t want to come out with Clint and I tonight, it’ll be fun, you can tell me more about your interaction too.” 

“Tasha I refuse to intrude on date night, Clint may have been oblivious to the first time where I seemingly just happened to show up by myself at the same bar and grill as you two, but he’s going to know somethings up the second time around.” 

“Boo you whore.” 

“Hey,” you laugh, “I have uploading to do anyway, I finally finished editing those shots you took of me the other day.” 

“Uhuh, are you sure you won’t be viewing someone’s live tonight instead of uploading those edits?” 

“Natasha,” you laugh those it does little to hide your true intentions, “I do have to upload – and maybe take a small peek at buckmeups live – he said he was going to tell his viewers to come get their thank you from me, I have to see if it’s true!” 

The two of you laugh, Clint voice cutting through in the background, your friend sighs, “listen I’ve got to go, but I’m dropping by tomorrow, there’s a set I want you to try on.” 

“Is it more revealing then the first?” 

You can see her smirk through the phone, “you bet, see you tomorrow lover! 

“See you tomorrow, tell Clint I said hi and that we should get together soon!” 

The call ends with a click, your phone being tossed off to the side as you settle into bed. The photo editor goes ignored as you open a new tab, typing in the website you settle further into your sheets as it loads. 

You don’t have to go any farther than the first page, his profile one of the first ones to choose from. His live now notification blinks before you, welcoming, inviting. You click on it instantly, your screen going black before his figure comes onto the screen, but he’s not alone. A brunette lays spread naked on his sheets, her fingers dancing along her body as she waits for him. You don’t have to wait long to find out who she is, vixen. 

Of course it was vixen. 

A part of your mind screams at you to close the page, but the bigger part of you screams to stay, to sit and watch what she brings to the table and see the ways you could do better.  

You find it's almost painful to sit through this live, your fingers not having drifted south once since it started. You’ve almost closed the tab three times with how hard Vixen was laying it down, but you were determined to see it through to the end.  

You nearly breathed a sigh of relief when Buckmeup’s orgasm finally hits, you’d say that was the best part of this live, and with the way the coins were hitting his account you’d say his viewers thought the same as well. You should have exited at this point, but you waited, watching as Buckmeup thanked his viewers for being so good for them, that he couldn’t wait to see them next time.  

Your screen goes blank after ‘buckmeups live has now ended’ appearing on the screen before you. You’re not sure what you feel in that moment, can’t quite decipher the feeling as you exit the screen. As you open a new tab, fingers taking you to your website of work you think the feeling may be a lit fire as you upload your newest edits. 

‘To buckmeup’s fans, thank you, come join me tomorrow live, for a good time.. Xoxo – Siren’ 

[rabbithaver]

HOLY SHIT THESE ARE BOTH EXCELLENT THANK YOU KYLE

[lexa-griffins]

which Lexa would wear that short leather skirt, top, and collar that Alycia had on

I mean. I feel like cam girls Lexa is probably the most obvious choice 🤭

This look featuring a Clarke with her leather jacket and nothing underneath and leather pants for a particular show dedicated to bondage and leather 🤭

Clarke can just lift that skirt soooo easily while pulling Lexa by her colar, choking her just enough to make Lexa moan.... 🫦

[hypocriticaltypwriter]

Question of the day: if one of the Baby Bats came up to their daddy and asked, "Where do babies come from?" How would one of the boys react and / or answer them?

[strscrossed]

I'd imagine the longer Eren is "helping behind the scenes" the more touchy he gets with her.

First he starts off just watching

Next he is telling her what to do

Then it's his hands doing the touching

On special occasions they will show her ridding his dick as he is fondling her tits

the more he helps the more involved he gets. and he becomes a regular on the channel. but who is he??? that is the question

[dayurno]

we need to put jean moreau in a room alone with kevin, renee, and jeremy and just see what happens. i think it would be uh. im blacking ojt and nauseous and my nose is bleeding i shant say

i wish this would lead into sex i think if kevin jeremy and renee were in the same room with jean it would probably be to make an intervention of sorts........... like a parent teacher meeting because jean is on the brink of drinking dish washer again. :(

[writingsofwesteros]

Camgirl!Reader 's grades slip and she is beside herself. How can one part of her life be going so well (camming) and the rest of her life go to shit? She starts to vent to her client, though she knows she shouldn't. He is so sympathetic and he encourages her to just charm him. Wear a pretty dress, bat some eyelashes, touch his hand. Just flirt a bit and see what he says... what could go wrong?

!!!!!

Oh this !! He's so manipulative and I'm here for it !! Of course she doesn't want to blur her lives..but then, what is the harm?

Her prettiest dress is on her the next day; her sweet, ample breasts on display as she so prettily asked to speak to him after class

[whaledocboi]

Imagining sworn shield Lilith just hauling off and punching the lights out of every gross dude coming up to Cam with political marriage plans and then being all, “uh… he had a knife?”

she wouldnt punch immediately, she knows she cant cause a scene for no reason, so she'd just act insanely unfriendly and scary the whole time and then if they actually try to like hold cam's hand or something and there's even a hint of discomfort on camila's face is when she goes full on "what do you think you're doing?!" grabbing them by the collar and push them stumbling back several feet (and maybe falling) and all

but yeah, imo no matter how brash she is, lilith knows she cant exactly just go around knocking people out only because they were weird/pushy/annoying (god knows she learnt that from experience) so she waits until the smallest thing that could be classified as a reason and then jumps at that