#mostly an excuse to rotate

[coccineum-vocatorem]

"What are you hiding under the wrap?" "A bit rude, but if you really want to know... "Would you like to see what I'm hiding under my boots next, oh curious one?"

[momotonescreaming]

lowkey obsessed with the domestic college stommy au that lives in my head

[formshaper]

choose wisely.

[birt-art]

There's some great Elden Ring lore videos but where's my two hour long queer reading of Elden Ring you cowards !!

[lcveblind]

"An offworld princess graces the Xianzhou Luofu with her presence..." The lionhearted general moves around his desk and walks down the steps to the holographic sandpit where Edeline is approaching, escorted by two Cloud Knights.

"Madam Yukong greeted you first, I take it? Mm. I must admit, I'm a little jealous." Jing Yuan's rumbling chuckle is deep and his bow low, one hand folded behind his back as he extends his other hand out for Edeline to accept. If she does, he'd bring her hand to his lips to delicately kiss her knuckle, peeking up at her with a playful smile and a glimmer in his sharp golden eye.

"General Jing Yuan of the Luofu Cloud Knights at your service, princess, but please — call me simply by name. I hope the Luofu's first impressions have treated your senses well?"

>:)

When word of the Xianzhou Luofu's arrival reached her ears, the princess wasted no time in her planning to establish diplomatic ties.

Most of it was in part due to her responsibility to her people, for the Luofu—-as had been mentioned by Cadius—-was a warship. With warships came the possibility of war. Should there ever be a chance that the ship's presence prove dangerous, it was naturally within her duty to ensure that the likelihood be minimized for the people's safety. That was to be her priority above all else.

...But perhaps that likelihood was small as is, she thinks, watching the general as his lips brush against her knuckles.

(She does not miss the gleam in his eye. If one looks closely, they may even catch the glint in her own gaze before it disappears.)

"They have indeed."

Coral eyes fall shut, recalling her small journey aboard the ship.

"Madam Yukong is truly diligent in her work, and the people of the Luofu are as lively as they are skilled within their trade. To see the people flourish in such a way... It is a mark of one who leads them well."

The corner of her lips twitches into a subtle smile then.

"Perhaps, if I am permitted so, I may stay to see if such impressions hold still with time."

[arolesbianism]

I’ve drawn a decent amount of isat au eternal gales but yknow what I haven’t drawn? Eternal gales au isat. Don’t look at me.

[ddarker-dreams]

what would make the husband rotation genuinely mad and would they act when theyre mad?? bad vibes for everyone

upsetting chrollo is an arduous endeavor.

he values control, whether it be over himself or others. creating the troupe would've been impossible if he was easily agitated. ironically, by muting his emotions for so long, he's set himself up for failure. when they do escape the fortress he built to contain them, they're wild. their repression drained any civility chrollo pretends to have.

regarding what it takes to get to this point... a third party revealing his criminal affiliations to you would do the trick. especially if the evidence they provide is irrefutable. chrollo isn't naïve, he's always been aware of the possibility. it'd be different if your efforts unmasked his identity. sure, he wouldn't be ecstatic, but he'd feel a hint of pride over your sleuthing capabilities. he almost considers it your right, in a weird way.

this sentiment doesn't extend to another's interference. they've inserted themselves into your relationship and warped your opinion of him. it's a violation, an intrusion. chrollo comes off as unusually detached when this information reaches him. he would've preferred you confront him, so he could control the narrative and do immediate damage control. with that plan dashed, his anger will simmer, until it can scald the one who tainted your perfectly fine relationship.

gojo satoru wants to be the center of your universe.

he's selfish, he isn't content with anything less than you in your entirety. he wants to be your partner, your best friend, your rival and confidant. he's cool with your friends and family (wow thanks gojo), since he knows that ultimately, you're both close in a way few can understand. shoko tells him at point blank that he's overdependent on you. he's aware, he just doesn't care to fix it. he's shameless enough to admit it as much without remorse.

for this reason, should someone capable of exerting influence over you stumble onto the scene, he would not be happy. megumi (kid or teen) remarks that he gets this 'creepy look', like he's pretending to be human. if he released a mere tendril of the cursed energy writhing inside him, it'd be enough to render most sorcerers comatose. his vibes become that abominable.

whether it be a former mentor, childhood friend, or some other role he can't fulfill for you himself — he wants to create as much distance between them and you as possible. fortunately for him, simply being himself is enough to repel most people. gojo inserts himself into your conversations until this person catches the hint. after knowing him for so long, you've grown immune to his questionable boundary crossing. he'll keep at it until they're scared off.

scaramouche gets angry with you for making him fall in love.

had his chest cavity not been empty, he would've clawed his heart out to avoid this harrowing feeling. the timidity, the vulnerability, oh, how he loathes it; loathes you for the spell you've placed him under! this resentment is, in truth, mostly directed at himself. shouldn't he have learned his lesson by now? how many times must he be chewed up and spit out before he stops wandering into the maw of emotional connection? he resolves himself to kill this... whatever it is you both share, before he's dragged through disappointment once again. he'll work himself up into a frenzy, all righteous anger and crackling bitterness—

—then your eyes light up at the sight of him, his name a warm exclamation on your tongue. in an instant, he's pacified, like he'd undergone a lobotomy. what a lovesick fool he is. you won't even let him fester in his negativity, you keep flitting about, earning his undivided attention. it's embarrassing how giddy he is around you (though he hides it beneath snark and condescension). when the interaction ends, he's left torn on what to do. all he knows is that he's running out of excuses to make this your fault.

blade's fury could slice through stars if you were ever hurt.

his mara is voracious until he returns every ounce of your pain tenfold. it's a scene from hell; rivers of blood, shredded limbs, piles of corpses tall enough to be mistaken for towers. in the heat of battle, he occasionally forgets where he is or why he's even doing this. then, all it takes is his mind's eye flashing the image of your face contorted in pain for his mania to blaze anew. you're precious. kind, warm, bestowing care upon him that he hadn't experienced in centuries. annihilation awaited anyone or anything that threatened you. he thinks death is too good for them, but it's the punishment he delivers best.

this explosive rage isn't finite. once his sword is deprived of living prey, he's forced to endure silence. entropy. an all-pervasive thought that you'd be better off with another. he never understood why you blessed him of all people with your affection. upon wiping his weapon clean, his reflection greets him. he scarcely looks human. drenched in viscera, eyes bloodshot and crazed. is this the man you love? what would you think, if you could see him now?

he almost wishes the fury would return. it's preferable to the hollowness he now faces.

[eratosmusings]

Stolen Destiny (II)

Feyd Rautha x fem!reader

summary: the na-baron takes an interest in you

warnings: adults only, all characters are over 18, smut in future chapters, misogyny, dark themes, canon typical violence

word count: 1.8k

previous chapter / dividers / masterlist

“...humiliating…disgusting…barbaric…”

You flinch as your father’s anger roars. Nothing you do will ever please him. 

“What do you think will be said of me? Of how I raised you?”

“You didn’t,” you want to say. Instead you apologize. Harkonnens are animals you rationalize. They were testing to see if you were prey and you had to show them you aren’t. 

“And in doing so you’ve tainted yourself.”

It’s like a slap. The cut on your hand still stings from the solution they’d scrubbed on it. It had only been a handshake. It was a show of strength. He’d understand that sentiment if there was a cock swinging between your legs. He doesn’t stay to say more, leaving you to nurse the wounds alone. 

A feast is held that night. A welcome to your guests. You're squeezed into a new outfit, one you've been told your father deems more appropriate than the one you’d had chosen. It’s the first time he’s ever taken the initiative to dress you. It gives you no pleasure to recognize the dress as one of his courtesan’s.

“Your dress is lovely,” says the Princess Irulan when she sees you again after the food had been taken away and the party mills about in the Hall. She takes your arm and strolls with you between the bodies. The familiarity between you is striking. She speaks of her sisters, the planet she calls home. You tell her of your studies. It seems you share a fondness for the same authors.

It’s odd to feel her warm smile. There were few women in your life. Maids mostly, though they rotated frequently. A few of the castle’s regular entertainers when allowed. You don’t count the courtesans who keep your father company. 

“Princess,” Paul greets her with a bow, intruding on your talks of taking an excursion around the palace grounds. Those green eyes turn on you and sweep across your form. “My lady, you look stunning.” He takes your hand again and bends to kiss it while you try not to flinch. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” Irulan says with more kindness than deserved. “We were just making plans to visit the lake the day after tomorrow.”

The way his face lights up has your excitement plummeting. He’s eager to join. You stay as long as you can stand his conversation. It’s not long. You excuse yourself, claiming the need to check on the rest of your guests, and extract your arm from the princess’. You accept a kiss on your cheek from her before disappearing into the crowd.

You have no desire to mingle more. Whatever consequences you’ll face when your father finds out about you slipping out don’t worry you. His anger would have found something to punish you for anyways. Cool air greets you as you step into the gardens. It’s not your favorite place, but the training yard is too far in this getup. 

“It’s rude to leave your own party.”

Hair raises on your arms, but you don’t turn to the voice. “You have my apologies for my rudeness then.”

“And it is unwise to keep your back to an armed man.”

“What fun is life without a little risk, na-Baron?”

He chuckles at that. There’s quiet footsteps as he paces behind you like a panther appraising a potential meal. You keep your eyes forward. “You and the princess seem to have bonded quite quickly.” He’s been watching you.

“She is easy to be fond of.” 

Shadow swallows you as he steps behind you. Breath ruffling your hair he asks, “But Paul Atriedes is not?” He’s been watching you closely. A fingernail scraps down your bare arm. “Do you resent him for what he’s stolen from you?”

You spin.

The black void that is his smile is wide on his face. Humiliation sears your throat. How many people know of your father’s deepest shame? Feyd-Rautha seems to revel in that silent moment. Your pain brings him pleasure. 

“I must return to my guests,” you say and step around him. His hand shoots out to grab your arm, but you're prepared. You evade, pull your arms taut to your chest, and dart down the hall as his laugh taunts. The respect you built with the Harkonnens was nothing more than delusion. It doesn’t matter what teeth you bare or claws you present, any show of weakness will be exploited. 

You round a corner and nearly crash into a guard. The same one from earlier. He questions if you’re hurt, eyes darting the corridor behind you. He seems to find nothing. You agree with his warnings now. It’s best you don’t wander alone.

You wake unrested. Images of blackened teeth, slicing blades, and hoarse laughter haunt you into the morning hours. You’ve made the decision to retain a personal guard. The choice in who is easy. 

You spend the day reviewing everything for your coming of age in a couple of days. Your father is supposed to do it, but he’s nowhere to be found. It’s tedious but the hours of distraction are welcome. And it gives you reason to decline Paul’s lunch invitation. It’s only when the sun is past its peak that you’re forced to hand over the remaining duties to your grumbling father. The swordmaster demands your time to refine a performance you still can’t rationalize. Who is it for?

Your father? A man who despises any display of femininity from you? The princess? In some attempt at an apology for a marriage that can now no longer be? Or House Atreides? The ones who’d stolen your destiny before you’d been a seed in your mother’s womb? This artistry certainly isn’t for the brutes of House Harkonnen.

The music halts half way through the fourth run. “Your timing is wrong,” the swordmaster says and has you begin again. 

By time he’s satisfied, your legs burn and your patience is worn thin. You can only glower at your guard, Fandral you’ve learned is his name, as he compliments the dance. “I like the story it tells,” he defends. 

“There’s not a story.” You massage the shoulder of your sword arm. The ache isn’t unwelcome, but the cause is frustrating. The time would have been better spent actually training.

“All art tells a story,” he says.

You scoff. “And what��s the story? I go crazy and start fighting air?”

“You can see it that way, but I think there’s more nuance.” He eyes the girls as you hand off the swords as if expecting one of them to run you through. “It’s the story of a girl turning into a woman.”

A laugh erupts from you. It’s a fitting story for your coming of age, at least. He tries to explain his reasoning. The symbolism of the first sword as the first menstruation, the second as the final years of youthful rebellion, and the end is the acceptance of the new role as a woman. You don’t quite believe it.

There’s no dreams of black teeth or the bite of blades that night. This nightmare is of your mother. Her face unmoving. Silent as you scream. She never moves, but she’s forever out of reach. Then she’s gone and you’re left gasping in the dark alone. 

“This is beautiful,” Paul says in awe as he stares out over the lake.

It’s difficult to not let every word out of his mouth annoy you. You remind yourself he didn’t steal anything from you. His mother did. “You should see it at sunrise.”

He tears his gaze off the water. “I’d like that.” He says it so earnestly you feel you’re missing something. 

“As would I,” Irulan says. You turn your head to look at her on your otherside, but her eyes remain focused on the scenery. 

“And I,” the Harkonnen rasps in your ear.

His addition to the excursion had been as unexpected as it was unwanted. He didn’t seem the type to enjoy a day by the water. Even now, he’s at odds with the world around him. His stark white skin and ghastly black clothes unsettling out amongst the colors. You doubt he truly wants to see the beauty of first light. 

“Another day,” you say. It’s not a promise. 

You only plan to stay for an hour at most, enjoying a light lunch under your favorite tree, but Paul asks about going out on the lake. There’s only a small canoe available on such short notice, but it’s enough. Irulan has no desire to get on the water and says she’d prefer to ask Feyd-Rautha about the Spice harvesting on Arrakis. You aren’t keen on leaving her with him, but she insists and there’s guards to keep her safe.

Paul tries to play the gentleman and offers you his hand once he’s in the canoe, but he’s unsteady and nearly tips it over. You return his apologetic smile as you hear hoarse, barking laughter from the tree.

He’s inquisitive as you row out of sight. About your studies, arts you partake in, foods you enjoy. He even asks about your favorite color. You try to respond in kind, but he doesn’t leave you much time to catch your breath between answers let alone ask your own questions. It’s frustrating but you smile and bear it.

“What’s that?” 

Blinking at him confused, you follow his gaze. A few meters from the shoreline was a small marble pavilion. It’s overgrown with vines, graying from the accumulation of dirt and grime. You’ve forgotten it was here. It feels like there’s cotton in your mouth when you speak. “Just an old pavilion.”

You let him take the canoe further for a while longer, before turning it back. You don’t look at the pavilion when you pass it again. It’s a relief to come back into view of the others. The canoe floats to stop beside the small dock. Fandral is there waiting, his arm extended. But Paul stands too quickly and the canoe sways. Your hand brushes Fandral’s outstretched one for a moment, but you tilt the other way and spill into the frigid water. 

It's not deep. Once you have bearings you’re able to stand and your head breaks through the surface. You take in a deep, shuddering breath. There’s a commotion beside you. Paul’s head pops out and sprays more water in your face.

Someone’s speaking, but there's a river flowing in your ears that makes it impossible to understand. It's a difficult walk to the dock. Your dress is heavy and the water slows your steps. An arm reaches out to you and you take it to help pull yourself up. 

Feyd-Rautha stares down at you. Not with a smile. There’s no amusement on his face. There's something new in his eyes you don’t recognize. It takes Fandral’s interference to release you from the intensity of his gaze. The guard shrugs off the jacket of his uniform and drapes it around your shoulders.

Irulan frets despite your multiple assurances you’re fine. It wasn’t deep. There was no danger. You’re wet, that’s all. Paul apologizes over and over and over again. “It was an accident,” you say in hopes of appeasing his guilt. You want Paul Atreides to leave you alone.

your thoughts are appreciated!

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[astarion-approves]

Drabble request: Astarion having to work through the logistics of kissing his much shorter lover (like a gnome or halfling)

Astarion x GN! Short reader

Fluff, silly, slightly ooc, mostly SFW - referenced past bedding together. NO BETA and very lazy proof reading.

-------

This relationship with Astarion was admittedly off to a strange start.

In the beginning, the vampire seemed to avoid you, his behavior uncertain whenever he was around you. He wasn’t necessarily shy, not exactly — but more so because he didn’t know how to behave around you…

Because you’re short.

More often than not you would find his eyes on you, and you thought that he might be sizing you up. Although you were strong, many thought you would go down easily based on your height. A judgment that would always end in their demise.

However, then the comments began.

“Such an adorable little creature, I wish I could put you in my pocket.”

“You know, you’re at the perfect height to— Hm, Nevermind.”

“Have you ever slept with someone taller than you? … Would you care to try it?”

And then you slept together.

Maybe it was after defeating an entire army of goblins, or maybe it was this building tension between you, but you were pulled together so quickly that you never had the time to figure out what this relationship was.

And ever since that first night… Astarion has been making excuses to kiss you, and it was always in the form of dropping something next to you.

Walking through the cities, hiking over a mountain, in the middle of battle, Astarion would ‘accidentally’ drop something next to you and take the opportunity to kiss you.

“Shit.”

Astarion stood next to your bedding, having just dropped a comb onto the ground next to you.

“Oh my. How embarrassing.”

Then he bent down, reaching for the comb but his gaze focused on you. He smiled, leaning close to you, his lips glossy and tempting—

“Well, I suppose while I’m down here…. I could kiss you.”

The kisses were always soft, filled with so much tenderness that you never expected with such a creature. A slight brush of his tongue over your lips, teasing you, daring you to deepen the kiss and take it even further.

‘Astarion.’

You place your hand against his chest, gently pushing him back.

‘You don’t have to keep dropping things to kiss me.’

Astarion narrowed his eyes at you, a slow creeping of blush blooming on his cheeks.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just clumsy is all.”

‘Are you saying you don’t want to kiss me then?’

He sighed before dropping himself next to you and kicking his legs out in front of himself.

“No. That’s not what I’m saying at all, darling.”

Astarion chucked to himself, shaking his head as he did.

“I wasn’t sure what this was. Us. Together.”

‘I like you.’

He straightened up, clearing his throat and blushing even harder now at your blunt confession.

“Do you now? Well… in that case we could try being together.”

‘I would like that.’

“A good thing too, I was running out of things to drop. I was going to start making excuses with needing to tie my shoes…”

You both look down to his boots as he rotates them side to side in front of himself, and you can’t help but laugh.

‘Astarion, you boots have no laces.’

“Exactly. That would have been very embarrassing…”

[urhoneycombwitch]

hold me like water

foreword: followup to my unofficial eddie x shy!reader series. not necessary to read in order but here’s one and two if u want. this takes place after the events of s4 but everyone (including the trailer sorry i’m too attached) is mostly fine and so is the town. except for all that pesky PTSD… lol. written epilogue-style but I just wanted to give them something soft… not done w them yet!!

cw: PTSD, nightmares, trauma bonding, medical stuff, scarring/wounds, light smut post-traumatic event, R has breasts+a vagina, R wears a bikini

wc: 3k

___

For the first month, you don’t leave the trailer.

More specifically, you don’t leave Eddie. 

While he’s recovering from the attacks, you confine yourself to his room; Wayne had pulled in a comfy armchair for you when he realized you’d been sleeping on Eddie’s floor for three nights in a row, just to be closer to him than the guest bed down the hall. 

Now, with the chair, you’re actually getting some sleep at night- enough to tend to Eddie’s wounds every morning and evening without yawning comically loud. 

After the first few weeks of healing, while Eddie is still tender but learning to walk shakily with the use of a cane, you still stick to the boundaries of the trailer. Neither of you really want to go anywhere, anyways: Hop’s instructions to keep a low profile while the dust settles on the murder investigation have to be taken seriously. 

Plus, Eddie and you are very well taken care of by your friends-turned-family. Anything you could ever want for shows up on your doorstep and kitchen counters by a rotating crew of familiar faces; Mrs. Byers brings groceries and finds excuses to stay longer, busying herself by making tea, doing the dishes; Mrs. Wheeler brings casseroles and her son, who steals Eddie away for intense D&D discussions (Eddie made Mike interim DM, and the power’s really gone to his head). 

The trailer is almost always filled during the day, bikes in a heap on the front strip of grass, Beemer parked at an angle to avoid a popped tire. Steve picks up Eddie’s medication every Friday, brings it over along with a bunch of VHS’s and Robin. Sometimes Jonathan and Argyle join in on movie nights, too, and Nancy when she’s not busy with work.

It’s easy and peaceful, spending time with people who understand and share the same traumas. People who don’t stare at the bandages or Eddie’s cane or ask why you won’t leave the trailer any more. 

The government officials from the now-defunct Hawkin’s lab call every few days, wall-mounted landline ringing like a toll bell at 3pm sharp. You tell them the same thing, every time, curt and firm- if they want to interrogate you and Eddie, they’ll damn well have to come here. Or drag you, kicking and screaming.

Steve asks about it one afternoon, naive and confused with the force of your phone slamming- “Y’know, they probably just want you to sign one of those Don’t-Talk-About-This papers and give you a bunch of money. I heard they’re setting up college funds for all the kids-”

“Good for them.” Your dry remark cuts in smoothly from the couch, hand on Eddie’s knee as a lifeline. In a voice wobbly with anger, eyes glittering with unshed tears, your chin tilts up, defiant- “It’s the least they can do. I want them to look me in the eyes when they try to grovel for my silence. For Eddie’s. After all they fucking did to us, to the town-”

Eddie’s hand slips over yours, squeezes. Steve raises his hands in a placating gesture, surrendering with haste, then retreats to the kitchen for movie night snacks. 

“Never heard you so bossy before,” Eddie murmurs, at the shell of your ear. Goosebumps cascade across your neck when he rests his heavy palm there, cold rings warming to the temperature of your skin. “Goin’ to bat for me. It’s hot.”

You’re a couple of steps removed from the quiet, shy thing Eddie’s known for years. Seeing the love of your life almost bleed out in an alternate dimension will do that to a person.

Owens shows up at the trailer one morning, at the end of summer after all the phone calls provide no results. Him and two of his muscliest-looking lab guys are met by you in the threshold of the door, arms crossed and somehow looking fierce despite the fuzzy blue bathrobe you’re swathed in.

“The goons stay outside.” Your word is final. Even the doctor knows it.

The two men in coats settle on either side of the porch, while Owens is allowed to sit at the kitchen table indoors, accepting a mug of coffee Eddie generously supplies (you certainly aren’t in a hospitable mood, glaring daggers at him from the opposing chair).

Predictably, the doctor explains he’s here with some NDA’s for both you and Eddie to sign, the shiny promise of a government-allotted chunk of change waiting on the other side.

Hidden from view under the table, your fingertips skate over Eddie’s palm, lying open and pliant for you. Calmly, like you’re stating the weather, you tell Owens to double his offer.

By the time he’s done using your phone, Owens is wiping sweat from his forehead with a kerchief. Once the papers are signed, him and the lab goons load back into the shiny black car like silent sentries. 

They leave, and Eddie laughs, a full, rich noise that makes your heart ache. His fist slams the table in excess of humor, mugs jumping with a clink. “Goddamn. You just made the richest guy in Hawkins run off with his tail between his legs.” 

“Pretty sure Harrington Senior has him beat,” you mutter around the rim of your coffee, unable to repress the satisfied smirk that tugs at your lips. 

The payoff is a sickening amount, more money than you or Eddie have ever seen- enough to send you both to college, twice, with a hefty nest egg for the future leftover. You put the bulk of yours in a savings account, just so you don’t get dizzy looking at the numbers. 

Eddie does the same, with the exception of a down payment on the vacant trailer at the end of the park. Along with the new place, Wayne gets a fresh mattress, a couch that doesn’t have holes, and a proper, working stereo to play all his “old man country” tapes (in Eddie’s words). The quiet and deep thankfulness Wayne gives you both makes you feel like you’d do it all over again, like the fight was all worth it for the Laz-E-Boy in the corner and the new mug collection shelf. 

Eddie floats the idea of college again, now that you’ve got the funds to make it possible. You’ve certainly got the time, too- neither of you have any need to work long shifts at the diner or garage anymore. 

Unfortunately, this makes it all the more easy to form reclusive habits. By autumn, the solidness of your refusal to leave the trailer has less to do with helping Eddie than it does with your own fear of what lies beyond the comfort of your home. 

Most days, you work on healing. Eddie’s still your lifeline, gentle encouragement turning stern when you need it the most- he talks you into visiting Max by yourself, a veritable feat; the short walk between the two trailers feels like death, your knock shaky with nerves. It feels horrifying, to walk the thin line of being both braver and more scared than you’ve ever been.

You stay for an hour. The next day, for two- Max has a new kitten that passes the time easily, the girl giggling behind her new thick-rimmed glasses while pulling string across the floor for the tiny thing to pounce on. One night, you bring dinner for both the Mayfields and stay well past supper; it’s nearly 11 by the time you return to Eddie’s open arms, triumphant in your success with a tupperware of Mrs. Mayfield’s cookies to boot.

Your bravery builds in increments. Eddie cleans the rust from his van that’s been sitting untouched since spring, and takes you on drives that go a bit farther each time. The Byers’ place for lunch, Dustin’s to pick up an extra radio, then all the way to north Hawkins for more of Mrs. Wheeler’s plastic-wrapped dishes she asks you to relieve her of. 

When winter rolls around, Steve takes advantage of his now-permanently empty home to throw a holiday party. It’s loud with chatter and overwhelming with noise but it feels so good to be surrounded by it, by everyone, Eddie’s hand a steady comfort on your waist or lower back as you eat and drink and make merry with your friends. 

Hop pulls it off, a Christmas miracle- all the murders get pinned on Jason, buried six feet under with parents who skipped town ages ago. You’re out for groceries one cold morning and realize that not a single shopper has even given Eddie a second glance, conspicuous as he is in black leather and flashy silver jewelry. 

The strings loosen with a sigh, fluttering in release, allowing some space for you both to breathe.

Sex has been… different, lately. There’s been lots of readjusting, both physically and mentally- accounting for unforeseen muscle spasms, bone-deep bruises hidden beneath rippled skin, tissue and scarring pulled taut, testing the limits of new pains.    

The first time, just a few weeks after the attacks, Eddie had begged to go down on you. He wanted the comfort of your thighs, your taste and scent, all-consuming, to think about anything else other than his wounds. 

You’d been more than hesitant, terrified of hurting him, of letting your focus shift inwards. More in your head than ever, it took Eddie over an hour to coax an orgasm from the walls that’d been built back up around your pleasure; even with his lithe tongue and long, seeking fingers, it took forever and an age to get you anywhere close to the edge.

Eddie didn’t complain once- in fact, he kind of got off on the amount of time you let him spend between your legs. The muscles in his right arm were trembling by the time you clamped down on his fingers, jaw burning but keeping the suction at your clit even while your hips rolled strong as a tidal wave against his face.

And before you could open your mouth to apologize, or say something equally silly, panting and wrung-out and heartbreakingly beautiful against the pillows, Eddie’s teeth flashed at the inside of your thigh. 

You’d jolted, breathless and giggly, endorphins soaring as he’d tenderly crawled up the length of your body to slip his tongue between your lips, sharing the earthy tang of your release. 

“One more,” he’d said, uninjured arm taking the bulk of his weight while he dipped down to mouth at your breast. “And this time, put your hands in my hair. I’m getting jealous of the sheets.”

As Eddie’s physical limitations lessen with time, your mental barriers ease, as well. There’s still some stilted moments of relearning, of working together in bodies that don’t always respond the way you want them to. 

There are raw, stripped-open emotions that have you clawing at Eddie’s back, his nails leaving indents on the flesh of your hips. To keep pressure off the worst of his side wounds, you find new positions, usually some form of your thighs draped over his or the welcome weight of you in his lap. 

He’s endlessly patient. The kind of patient that makes you want to run, far and fast, and he knows it; when your pleasure recedes, frustration in the form of tears and hands pressed to your face, Eddie’s there to soothe. To try a new angle, to slow down or speed up, offering a break or an extra pillow to keep you comfortable and feeling good. 

If you were comforted by each other’s presence during the night before the Spring Break from hell, it’s tenfold now. Neither of you will sleep a wink if Eddie’s not wrapped around you like a koala, snoring gently, overheated and tacky with sweat by morning but neither willing to compromise the closeness. 

Nightmares are easier to handle, too- you’re there to soothe the sweat-coated bangs from Eddie’s forehead when he wakes up whimpering in fear, coaxing his panic and adrenaline back down. He’s so fine-tuned to the rhythms of your body that even though your own nightmares rarely end in noise, Eddie often wakes anyways from the disturbance in your breaths. 

Just as you do for him, sometimes all it takes to get you back to sleep is a tender voice, a stroke of the arm, a reassurance in the dark that he’s with you. 

A year after it all happened, Eddie hears you singing in the shower.

If he wasn’t craning to hear the gentle splashing noises as confirmation of your presence, he would’ve missed it. Eddie leans with his good shoulder on the wood frame, door partially cracked to let the melody of your voice float through.

Stevie Nicks is crooning sweetly from the handheld radio on the bathroom counter, and you, just as sweet and twice as pretty singing along. 

Eddie closes his eyes, puts a hand to his chest; through the fabric of his shirt he feels the raised, bumpy edges of scar tissue, but there’s something beyond it. Curling around his heart, making it ache- it feels like healing. Like getting better, at least well enough to sing.

He’s dumbstruck with it. 

That summer, he takes you to Lover’s Lake.

It’s just the two of you, which makes it easy for Eddie to go shirtless; currently, he’s enjoying the way you’re watching him from the back of the van, bare feet swinging and paired with a killer black bikini that he begged you into.

He’s not so sure the scars that criss cross his front and sides are as “metal” as you claim they are, but he’s trying. He’d drag himself over hot coals just to get half a smile; going shirtless is nothing. 

You reach for him, and he walks into the V of your legs willingly, your arms wrapping around his torso, head pressed to the middle of his sternum. Eddie plants his hands on either side of your hips, drops his chin to fit you under it.

“Come swim with me.”

In response, you sigh- a longsuffering, worried sort of noise that leaves your lungs and enters his. He’s been trying to talk you into it for weeks- it’s a miracle he’s gotten you both this far, dressed and ready to take the plunge. 

Eddie’s not really sure why this swim is so important to him. It might have something to do with the fissure at the bottom of the lake, all scabbed over and sewn back together; or maybe it’s the surface, skimmed by a light breeze  and rippling gently, nothing of monsters or alternate dimensions leftover to disturb the placidity. 

Eddie wants to prove that it’s safe, for you and for himself. That the nightmares and the sticky feelings and the tears, they all mean something, of course they do- but the only way to is through. 

So he takes you by both hands and you only drag your feet a little until he’s walking backwards on the shore, water lapping up to his ankles, and you freeze. Heels digging into the wet earth, tense under Eddie’s grasp, eyes wide and darting around like something might come crashing through the treeline.

“Hey. Look at me.” In a voice that’s reserved for you and you alone, Eddie speaks softly, calmly, letting out all the tension of his pull to just hold, instead. “You’re safe. There’s nothing out here that’s gonna hurt us, okay? Steve went all the way back down to the bottom to make sure. No more gate. No nothin’. It’s just a lake.”

“Just a lake,” you repeat, like a mantra as you take another step. The water rolls over your feet; Eddie murmurs his encouragement while leading.

“That’s right, sweetheart. It’s just a lake. Our lake.”

The water rises, up the back of Eddie’s calves, swishing around your shins; the pebble-rock floor shifts with each step. You and Eddie used to spend long summer days here, swimming and picnicking and fucking in the back of the van, syrupy-slow and stretched with time. 

“Our lake.” You’re shivering, teeth chattering, even though the air is hot and the water is just-cool.

Eddie rubs at your upper arms, allaying the goosebumps; waterline up to your waists, now. The rock you’re balanced on beneath the surface jolts, and you stumble forward into Eddie’s arms; in a smooth maneuver, he catches you while sinking into a crouch, pulling you both from the safety of the shallows.

Then, your kicking feet meet nothing but the vastness of the lake, nails biting into Eddie’s arms, fear rattling through your spine until Eddie- treading water while valiantly supporting you, too- tosses his black hair back and whoops. 

The sound is loud, joyful, ricochets across the lake and bounces back from the other shore. He crows at the sun, startles a laugh out of you as he clings harder, kicking to keep you both afloat- “Holy SHIT! We’re swimming in Lover’s Lake!”

“Holy shit,” you agree, giddy and breathless, nerves turning over into disbelief, excitement. “We’re swimming in our lake.”

Eddie kisses you. It’s sloppy and he misses the middle of your mouth as you both try to keep the other from slipping under, teeth clashing, giggles escaping around the sides. He puts a hand dripping with lake water to your cheek, holding you in place, thumb pressing gentle just under your eye. 

“I love you.”

“Love you.” Your reply is swift and just as eager, hand coming to rest at the puckered line of scarring at Eddie’s chest. 

Somewhere at the bottom of Lover’s Lake, a twin crack, a Something that was never supposed to be but now just Is. 

You feel extraordinarily grateful, awash with we made it, as you and Eddie swim out further, shores in the shape of a heart holding you both from all sides.

[pedrilcvr]

Domestic!Pedri Head cannons ۶ৎ

I cannot contain myself. I’m actually about to tweak thinking about these. 😭 Thank you Enny for helping me come up with these smooch smooch. Sorry I got so carried away with these…

feel free to request head canons about anyone !

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, you catch talking to Nilo all the time. Pedri will walk around the house with the little black pup in his arms, pointing things out to him.

“And that’s a picture of me and your uncle Fer.. And that’s my new shoes, those you better not touch.” or he’ll scroll through his camera roll, showing pictures of many different things, mostly pictures he’d taken of you. “Look at her, isn’t she just perfect?” It’s genuinely the most adorable thing in the world.

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, after a rough day of practice just wants to lay in between your legs while you thread your fingers through his freshly dried hair. After he adopted Nilo, every time he tries to enjoy your cuddles, the pup will jump and scratch at your legs till Pedri picks him up and lays him on his chest. A small smile takes over your lips at the sight, your boyfriend was just too adorable and so was your new addition.

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, likes to cook with you. It had become a common routine for the two of you after you moved in together. Now, with a dog running around the house, you two found yourselves tripping over him often. When you do so, you both erupt into a light of laughter, spewing out apologies and kissing Nilo’s head even though he wasn’t hurt.

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, after a long day at practice begs you to wait to shower until he gets home. He always insists that, “it’s saving water.” But you know he just wants an excuse to be close to you, and of course you always agree. You loved the way he peppered your shoulders with soft kisses and the way his hands felt massaging the shampoo into your scalp. Showers with Pedri were when you were your most relaxed, and he felt the same way.

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, never leaves you alone. On your days off you like to make meals and snacks for each other instead of going out, knowing Pedri was on a strict diet, it helped save cost anyways. Whenever you are making something, Pedri will sneak up on you, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. Despite knowing what you were making, he’ll ask anyways, “What’re you making, amor?” He just loved to hear your sweet voice reply.

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, always, and I mean always gives you three kisses whenever he’s about to leave or whenever he is grateful or even if he just is passing by. It’s never on the same spot, he kisses your lips, shoulders, cheek, temple, jaw, neck, anywhere. And he’ll rotate them every time. His own little way of saying, “I love you.” without actually saying it, not that he has a problem saying those three words, but he just liked the simplicity and intimacy of kissing you.

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, loves to cuddle with you whenever he can. On his days off he likes to sleep in, groaning and complaining any time you try to cut it short to do your morning duties. Once you’re done (after prying yourself from his grip), you climb back into bed, this time spooning him, intertwining your legs together. Pedri loves to feel your soft breaths against his neck, half of the time it will lull him back to sleep.

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, paces around the house constantly. Being an athlete, he is used to moving around constantly, which causes him to feel antsy when he’s sitting alone for too long. After coming home from work, you often find him walking around the living room, staring at his phone. He only settles down when he spots you, pulling you in for a welcoming hug.

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, doesn’t care much for TV shows, but will watch anything with you as long as you’re cuddling. He tries to pretend he isn’t completely enthralled in whatever you’re watching, but his random outbursts when something stupid happens says all you need to know.

“He did WHAT?” , “Is this a joke?”

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, prefers staying in instead of going out for dates. With him constantly in the public eye, he feels uncomfortable with the invasion of privacy. When he’s having intimate moments with you, he prefers not to have to hide or mellow it down. In the safety of your home, he can kiss you anywhere he pleases without wondering how the media will react. He also just likes to have you all to himself, so being at home gives you all the privacy in the world with no interruptions.

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, will do anything for you. If you’re having a bad day, he will pamper you senseless. If you are sick, he will disappear for half an hour and come back with your favorite foods or things to cheer you up. He loves to take care of you. He hates to see you hurting and would do anything to make you feel better.

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, is the biggest baby when he’s sick. At first, he’ll act like it doesn’t bother him, but the second you make a concerned face, he’s suddenly so much sicker. He’ll pout and pretend he’s on his death bed till you call out of work to nurse him back to health.

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, loves to do anything as long as it’s with you. You want to play board games? He’s already on the way to grab them. You want to go shopping? He’s grabbing the keys. You want to go to the movies? He’s putting on a hoodie. You want to go for a walk? He’s grabbing his sneakers. Anything you want, he will do.

⌗ Domestic Pedri who, doesn’t hesitate to clean the dishes after meal times. He’d rather take care of it right away so you don’t have to worry about it later. He’s always on top of things around the house, too. If something needs repaired, he’ll make the calls for you. Your family loves to tease him about how good of a husband he’ll be one day, and you can’t help but agree.

(DT): @halfwayhearted ^_^

[uranometrias]

hello aly! 🤎 i saw that you were receiving requests and it's okay if i ask for something about hotch? 🥺 perhaps him falling in love with jack's art teacher, i'm in the mood for something really fluffy because i need comfort haha take care pretty soul!

this is such a sweet ask. and yes that's more than okay, you never have to ask xx it's kind of short, i hope it's still okay, i focused mainly on their first meeting, but i am open to writing more works for this universe.

────────────────────────

"Good morning, bud!" you don't have to fake excitement or enthusiasm as Jack Hotchner bounds into your classroom. You crouch, kneeling so that you're face to face with him, as he practically glows. His smile is so bright you fear you may have to squint as he's quick to jump into your arms, chubby little hands looping around your neck. You tried your best to make every single student that walked through your door feel welcome, but they all weren’t as agreeable as Jack Hotchner was.

The hug is comforting, sweet, and it reminds you why you got up every morning to work for less than you were worth. The joy you instilled in your kids made everything worthwhile. Jack pulls back after a moment, exclaiming that you were squeezing too tight. It makes you chuckle slightly as you brush a bit of stray lint off his shoulders. “Sorry, kiddo! You’re just too stinking cute.” You hum, and you enjoy this part of the job. You adored all of your students.

Hellos at the beginning of the day, and goodbyes as they poured out into the hallways to head to their next class. Specials at your school, which consisted of Art, Music, and Gym, happened on rotation. You had Jack’s class first period, four times out the week. His entire class though, had been angels. Through the year you'd only had about two incidents, and both included students fighting over who's turn it was on paint day. You finally let Jack go with one more squeeze.

He giggles, which is a tell that your hugs weren't all that bad. You're a bit startled when an unfamiliar man steps through the door behind him. He's wearing a collared button up, with jeans, and a matching belt. "Um, excuse me, Sir." you hold a hand up, quickly moving to usher Jack, and the other entering students away from the door. "You can't come in here." you affirm, and you look around to see if there was anything in your direct vicinity that could be used to attack.

You settle on a foam brush, clutching it by it's bristles, as you hold it out towards the man. "Stay back, or I'll-" you look down at the paint brush, and then back at the mystery assailant. "I'll use this, and you won't like it." you assert, and your students are giggling, seemingly amused by the situation. You don't see the humour in it. You'd met every single parent and guardian of your students, and this man had never been there. Which made him a flight risk, a danger.

"I think you've got the wrong idea." the man speaks, and his voice stands out. It's very stern, but not hostile. He has a commanding presence, and he seems to appraise you diligently. You take a look at your hand-print dress, and suddenly feel very childish. You loved your job, mostly because you could dress without much judgement. It wasn't like the kids were going to tell you that you looked childish.

"You can never be too careful." you retort sharply, and you readjust your grip on your paint brush. You hoped you looked a bit intimidating, but you wouldn't count on it. "And I don't see a visitor's badge." you add a second after. "Jack, come this way." you prompt, and he seems to stall. He looks from you to the man and back again. He was conflicted, for starters he had his father, his hero standing on one side. And you, his favorite teacher of all time on the other.

"Bye-bye, Daddy." and his choice is made, the small child waving his hand boldly before he's rushing off to his desk, and you're stuck. Aaron, is surprised. Eyes trailing after his son with that feeling every parent has when they realize their child is growing up. It forces a puff of air to escape him, as his eyes quickly flit back to you. His eyebrows raise, dark eyes swimming as realization sets in. Usually Jack was dropped off by his Aunt Jessica Brooks, she was a lovely lady.

She'd mentioned Jack's parental situation. How his mother had passed a few years back, and how his father had a demanding job. You'd given up on ever laying eyes on the man. "You're Mr..." you trail off as your voice cracks obnoxiously. "You're Jack's dad?" you ask, and he lets out a quiet laugh, one that's more a nose exhale than anything else. It's a fitting sort of laugh, you hardly expected the man to be the type to guffaw or even chuckle in an ugly sort of way.

"Not that you can tell by the way he took off." he retorts, and there's still an amusement that rests in his tone. "Aaron," he finally introduces. "Hotchner." he finishes, hand shooting out. It must have been habitual. You didn't know much about the FBI, but you did know that they were sticklers, stone serious. You'd done a project on greatest heroes, and Jack had managed a piece that consisted of a JJ, Prentiss, Garcia, Morgan, Rossi, and Reid. They'd been paired up with a piece that was solely his dad, his superhero. His favorite.

"I'm Jack's teacher." you introduce, as if that didn't go without saying. You reach forward with your free hand, allowing his palm to press against yours. His shake is firm, but you're surprised at how nice his hands feel. There's this spark, a feeling of lightning zigzagging from him to you, and it makes you leap back, paint brush clattering to the ground. The class seems to get lost in the mishap, watching with bated breath for what would possibly come next.

Aaron doesn't bat an eye as he bends down, crouching to pluck the brush up from the ground. He looks bemused, standing back to his full height as he holds your weapon of choice out towards you. "You should be more careful. It's a pretty dangerous weapon in the right hands." and he's making a joke. You find yourself gobsmacked, it was too much for him to be charismatic, and attractive. No, he had to pick one or the other. Still, you grab the brush, despite your fear of sparking again.

"You just got lucky you were vetted by the right kid." you offer your own sort of joke, and his smile makes you proud on the inside.

"I'm sorry for the late appearance." he changes the subject, but it doesn't feel forced or charged. "I meant to get here sooner so that I could lay eyes on Jack's favorite teacher..." you feel proud at the compliment. "You're all he talks about when his day is done." he adds, and you're turning to look at Jack. The kids were separated at their tables, multicolored smocks already on their bodies. They were more than ready for the day. "But as I'm sure you're aware, my job can sometimes keep that from happening." he says and you nod.

"Jess did mention you had a hectic schedule with your job, I understand." your hand waves tiredly, brushing off his apologies. You didn't need them, not when it was so clear that Jack adored his father. And it was more than clear that Jack was Aaron's world. "I'm just glad you finally got here." and you try not to sound as breathless as you feel. "It's important for teachers and parents to be on the same page." you prompt, and Aaron's head nods. You don't know if he really believes you or if it's all politics in a way.

"I couldn't have said it better myself." and he looks so sincere. He's staring at your face intently, and you feel self conscious, blinking too much to be normal. "You've got a little..." and he's motioning towards you. Mortification is the only thing you feel as you run through your morning routine. You'd scrubbed your tongue and teeth thrice before leaving the house. You'd cleaned out any evidence of sleep from your eyes, so what exactly could be out of order.

You swipe frantically at your face and nose, hoping it wasn't something that would make you look like a dunce or a fool in front of Aaron. He chuckles a bit as he extends a hand. "Uh, may I?" he asks, and you're nodding before you should be. It's almost instantaneous the way he's cupping your chin, tilting you head, and dragging his thumb over your cheek. He removes his hand a second later, you could almost pretend it didn't happen. That is, until he's swiping paint on his jeans. Damn, you were such an idiot.

You'd been prepping paint stations for your lesson on symbolism. You must have forgotten to clean up your face before the first bell rang signaling the day's beginning. "That's so embarrassing." you exclaim, and another student is entering the classroom, quickly hugging your side, as you offer an awkward wave to another parent. You squeeze the girl a bit, before she's bounding off to her seat.

"You know, I think it builds character." Aaron promises, and you snort. "Besides, it was kinda intimidating." he's lying, and you know it. He's trying to make you feel less shameful about it. "Anyone looking to mess with your class is in for it." and you're certain your face is visible exposing your humiliation, and subsequent embarrassment at the hands of one of your student's parent.

"Enough, enough." you plead, and here's where you get a full laugh. It's handsome just like everything else about him. "Your sarcasm's far from helpful." you huff, and you're dragging your hand over the same place he'd touched. It tingles as you drag your hands down, and you hope for your sanity Jess is back tomorrow. Garnering a foolish infatuation for your student was the last thing you wanted to happen.

"I'll do my best to keep that in mind for next time." he replies. The bell chirps overhead, a signal that class needed to begin. "Don't work too hard." he prompts, and your heart stutters in your chest. You feel like a fool, he was just being nice, a gentleman like his job required him to be.

"I'll try my best." you promise, and he smiles at you like he's pleased.

"I'll see you later, bud!" and he's addressing Jack, who ignores protocol. He bounds across the room to offer his dad a big hug, he squeezes him tight, Aaron hugging him back maybe tighter. It's sweet, but you feel like you're intruding.

"Say bye-bye to daddy, Miss L/N." Jack pleads, and you blink.

Bye daddy. And you scold your horrid mind. Jack's waiting expectantly, and it seems his father is as well.

"Goodbye, Mr. Hotchner." you huff out, and he's smirking.

"Goodbye, Miss L/N." he matches your exasperated tone. And then he's leaving, and you're heaving a sigh of relief. Jack's going back to his seat, face just as smug as it could be for someone his age. It takes you a second to float back to Earth, staring at the doorway like he'd come back, but he doesn't. You inhale sharply, good riddance. You shuffle slowly to the door, shutting it as you soon address your class.

"We're gonna talk about Symbolism today." you announce, and the kids who were far from listening finally take you in. "Does anyone want to take a guess as to what Symbolism is?" you question, and a flurry of hands shoot up in the air. There's one girl, little Mary, who looks like she's doing the pee pee dance as she tries to get you to choose her. So you do, "Go ahead and give it a shot, Mary."

"Miss L/N, are you gonna marry Jack's dad?"

Maybe today was the wrong day for paint and symbolism.

[poisonedprose]

hi hi saw you’re taking requests so i have this one that i can’t stop thinking about-

re4r!leon as best friend finding out the reader is a cam girl and then just something happens and they’ll make a video of them fucking together with a title “my best friend made me cum twice” or something lmao

btw love ur work ur amazing ughhh keep it up love you !

₊˚✧ you owe me — in which views are low so you do what you have to do

best friend!leon kennedy x camgirl!afab!reader

warnings: 1.8k words, smut, pet names (babe, sweet angel, angel), curse words, porn videos/streams, mentions of creampie, lil bit of sexual coercion, reverse cowgirl, clit play, fingering, (unprotected) p in v, praise, cream pie

masterlists

Views were down, which meant money wasn't coming in as regularly. Much to your dismay, your rent was due in a few weeks, and you barely had enough to pay for it. You couldn't really blame people for clicking off your streams, they all looked the same. The same setup, the same 3 lingeries in rotation, it was all the same. People wanted something new. You knew you had to do something, but everything was out of your budget. 

You sat at your computer, watching other cam girls to get ideas of how to spice up your streams. You clicked through countless streams until one caught your attention, 'My best friend makes me cum!'. You knew it was wrong but you had fantasized of your best friend doing the same to you. Maybe with the excuse of needing money, your dreams could finally come true. 

Clicking out of the stream and grabbing your phone, you call Leon. Butterflies in your stomach made you nervous, almost considering hanging up and pretending like you called him by accident but before you could move the phone away from your ear his groggy voice rang through the speaker. "Fuck, what is it? It's late y'know." He groaned. This probably could've waited until the morning. 

"Sorry, I just need some help..." Your voice wasn't confident, if anything it was shaky. You had guts to ask him for help with this, and for all you know it could blow up in your face and he'd never speak to you again. "Help with what?" He sounded more concerned like he was ready to help you if you were in danger. "It's nothing serious." You start, trying to work up the courage to ask him the burning hot question. "Okay, so what is it?" He asks in the silence.

You take a deep breath. "You know how I'm a camgirl? Well, it's not going so well and I'm kinda tight with money..." You say, unable to bring yourself to actually tell him what you need help with. "So, what? You need money?" He sounds genuine, and you knew he was. You knew if you asked, he'd give you as much money as you needed. He was always selfless like that.

"No, no." You sigh, you were far too prideful to take his money. You were independent, you could make your own money. Were you really independent if you were asking for his help though? "I need help with... Shit, how do I even ask this?" You mumble mostly to yourself. "Just say it." He encourages. "I need you to be in a stream with me." You say quickly like you were ripping a bandaid off. Leon was silent on the other side of the line. 

"Like... for moral support?" He chuckles nervously. You cringe at yourself, regretting ever even asking him. "You know what I mean, Leon..." You bite your lip, eagerly anticipating his next words. When silence hangs over the call you decide to say something. "I'll give you 30 percent of the earnings." You bargain. "I probably make more than that in an hour." He retorts but you can hear the smile on his face. "But, I'd be happy to help. Can't have you living on the streets now, hm?" He chuckles.

Part of you feels prideful. Proud of yourself for convincing your best friend to fuck you in front of hundreds, if not, thousands of people. "Be over in 20?" You ask sweetly, concealing your smile with a hand even though he couldn't see you through the phone. "Yeah, sure." And with that, the phone line went dead. 

You immediately start getting ready. Fixing your hair, putting deodorant on even though you did this morning, unadmittedly shaving anywhere you could, setting up the webcam you use to make such alluring streams, and picking out and putting on a pretty lingerie set. It worked so well with your skin tone, complimenting you like no other piece of clothing.

And almost on cue, Leon knocks on your door, you answer it quickly. Your heart pounded in your chest with excitement and nervousness. "I got work in the morning, let's not take all night. Not that I couldn't go all night if I wanted." He smirks, leaning against the door frame. His smirk falters and is replaced by a look of shock when he sees the oh-so-revealing outfit that's hugging your body perfectly. "Holy shit." He whispers under his breath.

"Short and sweet. Got it." You smile, gesturing for him to come inside. After a second of staring and he finally comes back to his senses he walks in, waiting for you to show him where the magic happens. You lead him to your bedroom, your webcam set up Infront of your bed, cute little stuffed animals shoved in the corner, against the wall. He sits on the bed carefully as you adjust the camera to make sure it's perfect. 

"Ready?" You ask, typing on your laptop, naming the stream. 'Letting my best friend creampie me!' "Oh, we're just going right into it? Yeah, sure." He scratches the back of his neck nervously. You give him a reassuring smile and start the stream, sitting next to him on the bed. You greet the people who initially join, recognizing a few of the names but seeing that the title has already drawn in some new customers.

Leon really doesn't know what to do, but he has a sudden wave of confidence. He puts his hands on your waist and pulls you into his lap. "Let's get started. The viewers are already getting antsy, they must be just as excited as I am~" Your voice was more seductive than when you were talking to Leon alone just moments ago. Leon knew you put on this act to appease the horny and lonely men, and he couldn't deny that he was one of them. 

With you sitting on Leon's lap, you spread your legs. Leon watched on your computer, the stream open and playing on mute. He was entranced by the way you so effortlessly turned him on just by opening your legs. You teased your viewers, rubbing your clit over your panties. You grabbed Leon's hand and placed it over your warm cunt, encouraging him to do the same. This felt like a dream come true to him, he nearly moaned just from the contact.

He rubbed his thumb gently over your clothed clit, you moaned quietly and he couldn't tell if it was just an act or if his light touch really made you feel good. "Don't be afraid to be rough." You whisper to him with a reassuring smile on your face. Oh, god, how he wanted to kiss your face. That gorgeous, perfect face.

He takes your advice, pulling your panties to the side with no warning. Your cunt fluttered when the cold breeze of the night touched your bare skin. He rubbed small circles on your clit, rougher than before. You let out a real moan this time, throwing your head back to lean on his shoulder. You held your panties to the side for him as you read the comments. 

'Fuck, so hot!' 'Wish my best friend did things like this for me.' 'Wanna see him finger that pussy!' 'Do you think he's really her best friend?' The chat was moving too fast to even read all of the comments. It hadn't been this way for months. "Chat, of course, he's really my best friend. Called him 20 minutes ago begging him to fuck me. I just had to stream it for you guys~" Leon grew hard upon hearing your words and you could feel it under your ass. It made pride swell in your chest. 

Leon runs his middle finger and ring finger through your folds before thrusting them into your weeping entrance. You whined softly. You'd imagined what it would feel like to have his fingers inside of you but nothing compared to the real thing. You bucked your hips slightly and Leon chucked. He fucked you with his fingers your cunt making lewd noises from how wet you were.

A ton of gifts started popping up on the screen. People were donating, and it was a lot more than usual. Knowing that people liked watching you get fucked by your best friend, made you like getting fucked even more. "Need your cock. Please." You pleaded to Leon, looking up at him but his eyes were trained on your swollen pussy. "Patience, babe." He taunted, a sly look on his face. He liked hearing the sound of you begging for his cock to fill you up.

You whined, not having any patience whatsoever. "Fine, fine. If you're gonna whine about it." He chuckled and pulled his fingers away from your delicious pussy, a thin string of your arousal sticking to his fingers before breaking when he reaches the waistband of his sweatpants. You only just realize that he's probably in his pajamas which, for some reason, makes this all the hotter.

He pulls his hardened cock out of his pants, resting the waistband under his balls. He strokes himself a few times and you're so eager to ride him until you’re hazed by his cock. You slip out of your panties and look at him, waiting for the okay to fuck him. He nods and brings you closer. He runs the tip of his cock along your folds before letting you sink down and take him fully. Whimpers leave your mouth, amusing everyone watching the stream.

You hadn't even realized how big he was, too focused on just getting what you've longed for, for so long. you might be hazed by his cock sooner than you originally thought. He brought his fingers down to your clit, rubbing tight circles while you got adjusted to his whole length. "Bigger than you thought, huh?" He laughed with a small shake of his head. 

You rolled your hips, making you both moan. You gave him no warning as you started riding him, letting his cock slide in and out of you so preciously. Both of your moans mixed in harmony. The chat went even more wild than it already was. You could only imagine how much money you were making. His fingers continued to work your clit, his other hand holding onto your hip like his life depended on it. You would be surprised if he didn't leave a bruise for you to find tomorrow.

"Could fuck you for hours. sweet angel. This pussy's t'die for." He groans in your ear, matching the pace of your bounces and thrusting into you perfectly. His praise makes you clench around him. A whine coming from your throat and a moan coming from his. Leon was embarrassed at how fast he was approaching his orgasm but it felt too good to resist.

His hot ropes of cum coat your warm walls. You can't even believe that Leon came inside of you. "Shit, sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to, ah~ fuck, sorry." He mumbles as he rides out his orgasm. "Do it again." You beg and he feels like he just entered heaven. "Anything you want, angel." Yeah, you definitely weren't going to have any money troubles any time soon at this rate. Maybe you can even convince Leon to do this with you full-time. 

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎┊ㅤㅤ💋 ㅤㅤ ﾟㅤㅤ ┊‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Can you write something with caddie reader and Rafe going to the country club and booking her as caddie? thankss

Pardon my terrible golf knowledge...

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The written duty of a caddie-girl is to carry the golf bag for the golfer. Although it sounds like an easy job, you are required to have a little golf knowledge…and let your mini skirt do the rest as people who golf at the country club are mostly men.

They won’t mind if you give them the wrong club as long as you giggle when you make a mistake or wear a short enough skirt. It’s pretty degrading and objectifying for women, but rich men give nice tips.

‘’I’m so sorry, Jeff. My alarm didn’t go off and my car wouldn’t start,’’ you explained in a rush to your boss, out of breath from running to the country club. ‘’It won’t happen again, I promise.’’

‘’You’re an hour late, Miss. Y/L/N. Your 9am client is waiting.’’ Jeff raised his eyes from his computer screen, looking at you with disappointment.

Shit. You didn’t think you would have a client so early in the morning.

‘’He specifically requested you for caddie, so save your apologies and excuses for him.’’

It must be Mr. Barclay. You’ve seen him sitting at the country club’s bar two days ago, drinking an old fashioned with a fellow club member. He always requested you as caddie. He said you reminded him of his granddaughter. You didn’t know if you should be flattered or disgusted.

You quickly dropped your personal stuff in your locker and headed to the golf course while rehearsing your apology monologue. It wasn’t in your habits to be late. Hopefully Mr. Barclay will be understanding.

When you got to the course, you searched for a silver fox, but instead you found a tall young man with a snapback and white glove in his right hand.

‘’There you are!’’ he said in exasperation, slinging his golf bag over his shoulder and walking to you.

‘’Rafe?’’

He clicked his tongue and shook his head. ‘’It’s Mr. Cameron for you,’’ he corrected with a shit-eating grin on his stupidly handsome face.

‘’You’re my 9am client?’’

Rafe hummed, his eyes scanning your body and smiling smugly when he saw your small skirt and tight polo. It hugged your curves in all the right places. ‘’Bet you were expecting some rich daddy, uh? I’m sorry to disappoint you.’’ He leaned closer, speaking the next words low enough so only you would hear them. ‘’If you want, you can call me Daddy Rafe.’’

You choked on air. Today was going to be a long day.

‘’Driver, please?’’ Rafe requested, when you arrived at the teeing ground.

You fished the right club from the bag and handed it to Rafe. ‘’Here.’’

‘’Thanks, babydoll.’’ He took the club and moved up to line it with the ball, and swung, his muscles flexing.

You both watched as it flew over a hundred yards in the air. Not bad.

‘’Where’s Topper?’’ you asked. ‘’You usually play with him.’’

‘’Not today. I had other plans.’’ Rafe gave you the club back. ‘’Shall we go find the ball?’’

You spent the next two hours walking along the steep cliffs and hills of the country club's golf course, watching Rafe swinging golf balls and showing off. Unfortunately, you didn’t care much for the sport. You were more interested in staring at Rafe’s muscles flexing and admiring how great his ass looked in those dress shorts.

‘’Want to have a try?’’

‘’Are you sure? I’ve never played golf before.’’

‘’You can do the next tee. I’ll show you how.’’

‘’Golf is more technical than it looks. You don't just swing the ball and hope for the best. There's a lot of factors to think about — the stance, posture, ball placement, and rotation all have to be considered for the perfect swing.’’

‘’First, the grip. Put your left hand at the top of the club and your right hand below the left,’’ Rafe instructed.’’

‘’Good. Now, the position.’’ He situated himself behind you and you tried not to shiver as his hands slowly traveled down your arms until they positioned themselves to cover your own, grasping gently. You could feel goosebumps rise all over your body as you felt his steady breathing on your neck, looking over your shoulder with ease. ‘’Place your feet shoulder width apart and the ball should be inside the line of the big toe of your front foot.’’ He pushed your right heel out with his own foot. ‘’And you gotta bend your upper body from the knees and the knees slightly.’’

So many instructions.

You leaned forward a little while keeping your feet in the right place. ‘’Like that?’’ you asked, not sure if you were positioned correctly.

‘’Bend a bit more.’’ Rafe stepped back with a mischievous smirk, his warmth leaving your back. ‘’More. More.’’ You had a feeling that the position was wrong, but did as told. ‘’Perfect.’’ He swiped his tongue over his lips and hummed, admiring the perfect view of your ass.

‘’And now I swing?’’

‘’Not yet,’’ he said. ‘’I’m enjoying the view.’’

You straightened up immediately, catching what he was doing. ‘’Rafe!’’ you hissed with a glare over your shoulder.

He was laughing smugly. ‘’Can you blame me?’’

‘’Can you guide me again? I lost the position because of you.’’

This time, Rafe won’t make a fool of you. This time, he’ll be the one who gets played.

You took a deep breath as he moved to stand right behind you and resumed the same position he had you in previously. A soft breeze blew and you got a whiff of his expensive cologne. It reminded you of those mornings you had woken up in his bed at Tannyhill, wrapped in his sheets and covered in his scent.

Shaking that thought from your head. Focus.

‘’You’re picking up fast,’’ Rafe encouraged behind you.

‘’Do I?’’ you asked, purposely wiggling your hips against his pelvis.

You heard Rafe inhale sharply in response, his grip on your hands tightening. ‘’If you kept doing stuff like that, I might just have to take you right on the golf field.’’

Please do, you almost let slip.

At the next tee, you ran into Mr. Barclay and one of your co-worker. He was one of the newbies and seemed to be struggling with the golf bag.

‘’Mr. Barclay, hi,’’ you greeted politely. ‘’How’s the course today? We’ve made new additions this year.’’

The older man greeted you back with a smile, then began ranting about how his caddie wasn’t as good as you at the job. ‘’I asked for you at the caddie shack, but I was informed my favorite caddie-girl was already booked.’’

Rafe stepped in, faking an apologetic smile. ‘’That would be because of me. My apology.’’

Mr. Barclay stared you down like you were a piece of meat and then shifted his eyes to Rafe, giving him a ‘lucky you’ kind of look before leaving with his caddie.

‘’Are your other clients all old perverts like him?’’

Most. ‘’He gives me good tips,’’ you said in defense.

Rafe pulled out his wallet, then stared you right in the eyes as he stuffed a crumpled hundred dollar bill inside your bra. ‘’I do too.’’ 

—

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[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Want You Back | ateez x reader

Pairing: werewolf!ot8!ateez x werewolf!reader

Genre: fluff mostly, romance, poly, a little angst?

Warnings for this chapter: another mention of a sharp object

Word Count: 1427 words

a/n: I stared at this chapter for a good while this week because it didn't feel right to me. I think it's better now, let me know your thoughts! <3 Also, the next chapter may be the season finale, but I'll let you know for sure when I finish the first draft of it. Happy reading! :) <3

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Chapter 10

It had been a few days, and you were still unconscious. Dr Kim Namjoon along with his associates Dr Min Yoongi and Dr Jung Hoseok continued to monitor your state. They were able to extract the poisonous mixture from your system, but it was unclear when you would awake. The boys would never leave your room, opting on a daily rotation schedule to divide their time between being with you and taking care of your place.  

Currently, Yunho was on duty. As he sat at the side of your bed, gently rubbing the top of your hand and placing chaste pecks now and again, he thought about the first time he met you.

After getting knocked over, Yunho was ready to file a case against all of you for emotional duress. He tried signaling Seonghwa for help but his friend seemed to be lost in his own world. Yunho planned to include him in his complaint when he filed it.

“Ughhh…” he groaned loudly.

He heard a soft gasp from a foreign voice, and before he could process it, there you were towering over him with a look of worry.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry! My friends are a bit clumsy. Are you alright? Here let me help you.” 

“Excuse me, we are not your friends, the word you’re looking for is mates.” Mingi groaned.

You rolled your eyes and proceeded to help Yunho first. When Yunho grasped your hand, there it was. A feeling of home. It felt invigorating and intoxicating all at once. As he tried to find his balance, he was now towering a bit over you. But that’s okay, because all the pieces fit perfectly.

However, the moment was interrupted by Hongjoong.

“Help…” Hongjoong squeaked.

In the present, it had been so long since Yunho held your hand. He hated himself so much right now for what he was a part of and did to you. And when he can finally make it up to you, you are in a hospital room, still unconscious. Like Wooyoung, Yunho would also give the benefit of the doubt. He was aware Lila didn’t have any close family or friends and as a result, he tried to be welcoming.

However, in contrast to the others, Yunho did not let anyone in easily. He saw her as an acquaintance but he didn’t see her as a friend or a close one. There were times when it seemed like she was trying to get a little closer than he liked but before he could say anything, Hongjoong brought up that she was just trying to make herself feel at home. 

Yunho didn’t want to be insensitive but he much preferred being with you on the days Lila was around a little too much for his liking. If only he had listened to his gut.

“Angel…” he whispered, “You have to come back okay? You have to come back soon. The rest of them are so worried, and I need you to be there with me so we can make them feel better, hm? Just like we always do…”

Yunho continued to trace circles on your hand mindlessly while he processed the recent events. Something didn’t feel right. Rogues were rash and would try to instigate chaos at any given time but this felt more like a coordinated and planned attack. 

When he turned towards the door, there was Hongjoong outside. Yunho wanted nothing more than to punch him so badly for his disappearing and then reappearing out of nowhere act. He rose slowly from his seat, delicately resting your hand down, before rushing out to confront the leader.

"Where were you!?" he snapped.

"I had something to do and I'm here to make things right."

“How? How can you possibly make things right Hongjoong? First off, I don’t know how you can come back from what you did and said, secondly, you just vanished after that stunt you pulled, after our mate was attacked and now you’re telling me you’re going to make it right!? This isn’t a game Hongjoong!”

Yunho’s words pierced through Hongjoong like a knife, very deeply and slowly, leaving behind a nauseating ache that felt like it would never end and seared throughout like a scorching fire, unable to be put out. Yunho is always kind and always trying to be the peacemaker for the group, it would take a lot for him to snap and get angry. 

At least that was something Hongjoong could say he did - he made Yunho angry.

“It was my mother,” Hongjoong blurted out, “She hired a rogue to attack Y/N.”

“What!?” Yunho yelled, he felt like he was going to be sick, “You can’t be serious!”

“I wish I was lying…anyway, there’s something I need to do, and well, I need you to tell Seonghwa he’s in charge until further notice.”

“Until further what? Hold up, Hongjoong what on earth are you going to do?”

“I’m going to fix it as best as I can.”

“Look,” Yunho massaged his temples, “We’re all mad at you but you can’t just disappear on us like that and expect us to be okay with you going off on your own to deal with your mother. We’re mad at you and some of us would love to punch you right now, but we’re still a pack and we’re still each others’ mates. So let me come with you.”

“No Yunho, I need you to stay here with Y/N and protect her. I don’t know what is currently running through my mother’s mind but it’s nothing good. I can handle myself. Just trust me.”

“I’m sorry Hongjoong but I think it’s clear I don’t, and if I were to tell everyone about this, they would be even more furious.”

“Listen,” Hongjoong sighed trying to control his tears that were threatening to spill, “I should’ve stood up to my mother a long time ago. Instead, I just tried to wave her off and never put her in her place especially when she started to take things to another next level. If I did, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Now she thinks that she’s been completely in the right this whole time and has developed a mindset to the point where she wants to get rid of all of you and make me marry Lila and join both packs. I’m not going to let that happen, this pack, whether you believe it or not, means everything to me. Each and every one of you is important to me, and I’m not going to let her destroy it and take it away from me.”

Yunho looked at Hongjoong and didn’t know what to say. He saw the resolution in Hongjoong’s eyes amidst the brimming tears. This is the Hongjoong he knew, not the one at the cafe, this one - the caring leader, the one who, although he doesn’t show affection often, you can see it in his eyes and smile as he watches on — completely enamored with the family he has. This is Hongjoong, who would risk his life for his pack and for his mates. 

Before Yunho could respond, Hongjoong hugged him tightly before whispering, “Tell Y/N I love her. I always did and always will.”

In the meantime, you found yourself in a world that was not yours. Wherever you were, you found yourself inside an abandoned building, witnessing Hongjoong fighting for his life, trying desperately to take out as many rogues as he could. But ultimately, he was getting overpowered and without warning,  a blade plunges right into him from behind and he collapses and struggles to stand up. A menacing rogue smiles wickedly before delivering the final blow.

“NO!” You screamed, “No no no!! HONGJOONG! Get up! You have to get up!!”

Your shouts and screams dwindle and begin to grow faint as the scene before you starts to fade as you try to reach for Hongjoong. You find yourself peeling your eyes open slowly, the monitors beeping steadily in your ears in the dimly lit room. 

Your dream immediately resurfaces in your mind and you begin to panic. Rising from your spot on the bed, you glance around the room before deciding your next course of action. You know you shouldn’t do this, but you’re going to anyway.

Finding some spare clothes of one of your mates in a duffel bag on the chair, you change quickly and begin to tiptoe slowly out of the room, carefully scanning for any spectators. 

You set out determined to find Hongjoong.

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Taglist:

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[jolapeno]

You can ignore this if you don’t wanna talk Price, but hear me out: the reader from ’Don’t‘ being dared to take other things from Cap’ Price (not realizing they’re fucking) and her wiping her mouth as she shows Soap the cigar he dared her to steal.

ohhhh, i have had this same thought, anon. sameeee thought.

john price x f!reader

(same reader from don’t, but you don’t need to read to know or understand | 18+, includes spice — all price belongs to @guyfieriii )

You’d knocked, all polite and innocent—even if he knew you were anything but. His eyes drinking you in as you close the door, leaning your back against it.

He’d narrow his eyes before your name fell from lips like syrup as you walk closer. His boots are flat to the floor, thighs spreading as you come to a stop, standing between his spread thighs as you take the papers from his hands.

Need a favour.

Favours gonna’ cost y’, love.

And, fuck. You loved what it cost you. Your shorts dropped to your ankles, underwear snapped from your skin with a hiss. Mostly, you loved tasting him, running your tongue around his leaking head as your knees dig into the floor.

Each hiss he let loose, you wished to bottle; each groan of your name, you wished you’d hear forever. Hollowing your cheeks as his hand held the back of your neck, and then—

Only one place I wanna finish, love.

Your chest meets the desk, his hand on your lower back as he slides his cock in to the hilt. A wicked smirk spreads across your face, one you keep hidden, buried. Because you didn’t give a fuck about the cigar that Soap dared you to take—you wanted an excuse to see him. To be at his mercy, to be stuffed full of him.

This just gave you an alibi. A reason for why the two of you were alone.

His palm cupped your mouth, smothering the sounds that fell with ease. Your hands carve their own marks in his wooden desk—leaving reminders of your pleasure in the surface where he works.

He always makes sure you finish first. Pleasure spreads like a fire as it licks its way across your body; making each nerve light as you groaned his name into his palm—searing it into his skin.

The same way he coated your walls in his.

Sorry about y’knickers, love.

You’re forgiven.

Your hand pulls your shorts up, arranging your t-shirt back into place before taking the cigar from his desk. His belt already fastened, looking as handsome as he did when you entered—as presentable—just with a twinkle in his eye.

Holding the cigar up between your fingers, his brow arching.

If he smokes it—

You’ll get to order me in here. Ask me to explain myself. Make me pay for my theft…

The hair around John’s lips twitch, the only indication that he liked the sound of it before he sighed. Picking up his papers, and returning to his leaning position on the desk.

Go. Now. Before I find a reason t’keep y’ere all night.

Yes, sir.

You hear his muttering that you’ll be the death of him, the words ringing through your ears as you head to the mess—trying to stifle the cockiness in your walk. Trying to bury your grin under a guise as you spot them all.

Ghost looks up first, his eyes stern—analytical. Desperately trying to read and understand what has changed. Gaz is next, turning his head, brows narrowing before they smooth out, a smile itching in the corners of his lips.

Then Soap—Johnny.

You don’t let him react, wiping your mouth to conceal your smile and wipe away any evidence, as you lift your fingers. Showing him—them—what he’d been sure you wouldn’t get.

It’s clear before you sit opposite him, stealing a bite from his burger that he doesn’t understand how. His fingers rotate it, disbelief etched into his face.

“How t’fuck d’yer get this?”

Picking a chip from his plate, you wink. “Talent. That’s how.”