#He’s so “I was born in the wrong generation.” And dresses like he’s in the 2010s but more futuristic to me.

[ronnyraygun]

Idfk, Man. I wanted to draw this loser.

[Alt Under Cut]

[atomic--peach]

Her Grace's Handmaiden. Pt3

(Cersei Lannister x Fem Reader x Jaime Lannister: SMUT threesome, voyerism, praise kink, oral (Male receiving) )

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

After the event with the mare, the queen saw fit that you would be given basic riding lessons.

"Right, now just do exactly as he says" Cersei emphasized. "No second guessing or backtalk. Treat him as you would me."

"Of course, Your Grace" You were wrapped in a thin wool cloak and worn leather boots, bracing against the chill of the coming autumn. The summer had to end sometime, you supposed.

"My brother is being very generous, offering to teach you." Cersei reminded you.

"I am very grateful for the help" You kept your eyes trained ahead, not wanted to see presumptuous by looking at the queen too much or talking too much.

It was bizarre, two high-borns taking such an interest in someone like you. It made you uneasy, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I certainly don't to embarrass myself more than I already have."

Jaime was waiting for you by the stables, dressed in sturdy riding leather. His blonde hair flopped into his eyes and was brushed back with a gloved hand before he spotted your approach and smiled charmingly.

"Sweet sister" he greeted Cersei before resting his pale green eyes on you "And your new plaything."

"Now Jaime" Cersei chided him, "Be nice, Y/N isn't used to your teasing like I am."

"She will be" Jaime smirked at you, watching the blush creep up your neck and across your face. "Come, let's get started."

"I'll be waiting with the party, my dear." Cersei touched your shoulder, quickening your pulse as you whipped around.

"Your Grace, you're leaving?"

"Rest assured, you are in good hands" The queen insisted, flashing you a cryptic smile. "Good luck"

"Charming, isn't she?" Jaime came from behind you, watching as his sister left you to your own devices. "Come now, the faster we start, the faster you can stop being bullied by Clegane and that rabid stallion of his."

Eager to stand (er, ride) on your own two feet, you followed him before realizing there was only one horse readied.

"Uh, Ser?"

"You didn't think I'd jump to letting you ride on your own that quickly, did you?" Jaime practically laughed in your face. "Here, you first."

"I..." you gawked at the saddle the horse was set with. "You mean riding astride?"

"Something wrong with it?"

You thought for a moment before embracing your mistress's request to trust the knight.

"No, not at all"

He hoisted you up onto the back of his sturdy mount before swinging his legs up behind you. You swallowed a gasp, suddenly finding yourself pressed between the pommel of the saddle and Ser Jaime's chest.

"Let's get into some open terrain so you have space to learn"

Before you could protest, the knight had set the beast off at a quick gallop, one hand gripping the reigns and the other arm wrapped firmly around your waist to keep you from falling off.

Once you were well away from the party and in a broad scope of field, Jaime stopped the horse.

"Now," He handed you the reigns and without preamble place two solid hands on your shoulders. "The first thing to know about proper horse riding is your posture. You want to guide the beast properly? You have to sit it properly."

He gently guided your shoulder back, straightening your spine in the process.

"Now there's a saying my riding master taught me as a boy. And while it may seem forward, I need you to trust me."

Your skin prickled at the near constant contact between your bodies but tried to push it down and focus on the lesson. "Her Grace insisted you were the best. You have my full trust, Ser."

"Good Girl" Jaime praised in a tone that almost melted into a purr. "Now the first thing you want to remember about riding a horse is; Shoulders like a Soldier..."His hands slid from your shoulders, down your arms, before coming to rest on your hips. "and Hips like a Whore."

"Ser!" You gasped but Jaime tutted you into submission.

"I warned you it was forward, but just trust me." He soothed, "Now I am going to drive the horse forward slowly, and I want you to just-" His grip on your hips tightened "Follow the motion."

The beast began to move forward at a gentle walk and as the they went; Jaime's hands slowly guided your hips to match the motion of the horse's gait.

"A little faster?" He asked and you nodded, growing in confidence.

The walk turned to a trot, and the trot to a brisk cantor, and finally to a full gallop which left you breathless, clinging to the horse with your thighs as if you might fall off at any moment.

"Very good" Jaime practically cooed in your ear, slowing the beast back down to a peaceful trop. "You are everything my sister promised."

You beamed at that, proud to have lived up to your mistress's praises.

As your breath returned to you, you began to notice something different. Something that hadn't been there when you started your ride.

A hardness pressed against your ass, brushing up against you with the motion of the beast below you.

"S-ser Jaime." You swallowed. "We should go-"

"Go back, so soon?" Jaime crooned, pulling you closer to him in the saddle and bringing the horse back to a quick trot. "It's a lovely day, we should take advantage of it"

The hardness grew, and you tried not to notice until you felt it twitch slightly and Jaime muffled a moan in his throat.

"I don't think Her Grace would-"

"Would what?" Jaime grinned knowingly at your confused tone. "Sweetling, why do you think she left you out here all alone with me?"

"Because she trusts you, you're her brother."

"Hm" Jaime's hands massaged your hips slowly, running over your soft thighs and even venturing around to the front to cup your sex through your skirt.

You gasped at the sudden touch, pulse pounding as his two fingers skillfully located your slit and began to rub gently through the fabric of your dress.

"Ser" You breathed, trying to organize your thoughts as Jaime pulled your hips back to him, your back flush against his chest, rubbing slow circles through your skirt with the tips of his fingers.

"Just relax, sweetling" He breathed into your ear, "If you get too excited, the horse will sense it. Then we're both in trouble."

"We shouldn't..."

"I don't see you stopping me." He pointed out, hips continuing to brush the length of his cock against your ass. "All I feel is your body heating up against mine. Are you getting excited?"

"Oh Gods." Without thinking, you scrambled off the horse, falling onto your back as you did so.

Jaime laughed out loud, dismounting skillfully and grabbing you by the ankle before you could run for camp.

"Easy, easy girl" He chuckled, batting off you attempts to kick him like they were nothing. "Just calm down."

"The Queen will know." You gasped, heart suddenly pounding. "Her Grace, she trusted me, she's done so much for me, and now I'm here with you and she'll be so angry."

Hot tears began to stream down your face as you began to panic. Jaime paled, not expecting this to go this badly as he attempted to shush your sobs.

"No, no, no, Darling. Just listen, just listen" He tried to grab your attention. "Look, we'll go back to camp. We'll see my sister. Everything will be okay; I swear to you."

Not quite believing him and half convinced your mistress would abandon you here in the wilderness as soon as she heard, you wiped your tears and nodded.

Jaime gathered you in his arms and guided you back to the horse and ferried you both back to the party. He did his best to hide your distress from everyone else as you approached the queen's royal caravan.

"Enter." Cersei turned eagerly as her brother entered, giddy to see how her plan unfolded before her face fell. "What happened?"

Jaime opened his mouth to explain but before he could, you fell to your knees and bowed lowly.

"Your Grace," You sobbed into the ground. "I'm so sorry, I have failed you and betrayed you. I am not worthy of your mercy, but I beg for it all the same."

"I-" Cersei starred at Jaime who shook his head, shrugging in a helpless fashion. "Jaime, what did you do?"

"Exactly what you told me to do, I swear." Jaime insisted,

"Oh" Cersei's mind clicked with understanding and an amused smile crept across her face. "Oh, Y/N. You stupid little thing. Get up."

You obeyed, wiping your tears as the Queen knelt down to look at you.

"Y/N, I sent you out with Jaime *hoping* he would seduce you."

"What?"

"Yes, sweetling." She laughed, "You've been so good for me these last few weeks, and I wanted to reward you. You foolish girl, look at you worked up over nothing. Don't you feel ridiculous?"

You did, ridiculous and embarrassed and ashamed.

"Ser Jaime, I owe you an apology." You couldn't meet his eye, "Her Grace told me to trust you and instead I took you for a villain. Please forgive me?"

"I suppose I can." The knight nodded. "Though you did leave me in quite the uncomfortable position."

"Oh" a blush flooded your face again. "I'm sorry."

"Sweetling" Cersei placed a hand on the top of your head, "You aren't thinking of denying my reward for you, are you?"

"I-" The words caught in your throated. "Your Grace, I-. But-"

"Jaime, come here." Cersei beckoned her brother closer, leaning in to whisper in your ear, "You haven't quite earned the privilege of my bed yet. Treat Ser Jaime as you would me."

Your instructions were clear, and if it pleased your mistress, you were more than happy to comply.

Cersei's nimble hands reached forward to undo the laces of Jaime's trousers, pushing you forward to do the rest as she returned to the chaise with an eager gleam in her eye.

"Have you ever bedded a man before?" Jaime asked and you nodded. It had only been once, but you remembered how everything worked.

Peeling through layers of fabric, you freed the knight's semi-hard cock from his small clothes and scooted closer to him on your knees. A deep rumble of a groan filled the caravan as you took the tip in your mouth, sucking gently before taking more and more length down your throat. Before long, the tip of your nose was buried in the patch of fine blond hair at the base.

"Gods" Jaime breathed, a hand reaching down to grasp at your hair. "Gently, darling gent-" His words caught in his throat as you drew your tongue up the length of him before swiftly taking it whole, gagging slightly to accommodate it. The taste of salty pre-cum coated your taste buds and you hummed with satisfaction.

"That's enough."

You paused your ministrations when your mistress cut in sharply.

"Jaime," she crooned lowly, "Don't be greedy."

Jaime sighed, his brow already shining with perspiration as he withdrew his cock from your throat, a thin strand of saliva hanging from your lips as you gazed up at him.

"The queen is right, sweetling." He sighed, guiding you up by the tip of your chin. "This is supposed to be your reward, not mine."

Eagerly, you allowed him to unlace your bodice and aided him in removing your skirt and small clothes.

"Excited little thing, aren't you?" He chuckled, pulling you in for a deep kiss. His tongue prodded at your lips pleadingly until you parted them, making sure to explore his mouth as much as he did yours. He growled at this, unaccustomed to not being the dominant one, but you responded by sharply nipping his lower lip and grinning. He pulled away with a challenged look, as if calculating his next move.

"Come here" He spat, spinning you around and pulling your back flush against his chest, one hand snaked to your throat as the other danced across your chest. His calloused fingers grazed over your nipples, which responded eagerly as he palmed the softness of your breasts.

"Look" He breathed in your ear, rubbing his hips against your ass as he had in the field. "If you'd been a good girl, we'd have had privacy. Now look at you, about to be fucked in front of your queen."

You moaned at this, biting your lower lip and closing your eyes as he chuckled against your shoulder.

"Or maybe you like this better? Tell me, how long has it been since you've been properly fucked, hm? Years, perhaps?" His hand wondered between your legs once more, locating the sensitive bundle of nerves he knew drove women wild.

"That's right sweet girl," He breathed, firmly pressing his fingers against your clit. Your body tensed and your hips didn't know if they should chase the pleasure of his fingers or flee the intensity of the electricity building between your legs. "Now now, you stay right there."

One hand tweaking your hard nipples and the other pressing your ass against the knight's cock as it circled your clit, you knew you wouldn't last long like this. Your thighs trembled and tried to tighten around his hand, which only made him tease you more.

"Look at this sister, only a few minutes and her body is begging for release. Is that what you want, sweetling? To cum in front of your mistress?"

"Gods, yes! Please, please, please." You begged, skin slick with sweat.

"What a sweet girl, begging so nicely for us." Jaime cooed, sucking on the crook of your neck with a humming laugh. "What do you think, sister?"

You looked up and saw your mistress's face alight with excitement, her own thighs squeezing together as she watched the show her brother put on for her.

"I think....not"

You whined when Jaime all at once withdrew his touch from your body.

"Take her to the bed. I want to watch her cum around you." Cersei requested and Jaime gladly obliged.

"Tell me, sweet sister," Jaime hummed, watching Cersei leave her chaise to meet him at the bed where he deposited your aching, desperate body. "How would you like your little slave fucked?"

"Bend her over" Cersei demanded without hesitation, cupping your face almost gently as Jaime flipped you on your stomach. "I want to watch your face when he fucks you."

Her words drove another spike of need between your legs as Jaime spread your thighs and thrust into your dripping cunt without preamble. The sudden intrusion made you instantly clench around him and claw at the bedding desperately as he drove into you over and over.

"Look at me." Cersei cooed, watching your eyes dart rapidly trying to find her, "Gods, you look so pretty like this. How does he feel inside of you? What I would give to fuck you like this." Her hands petted your hair, damp and clinging to your neck and forehead with sweat. When she spoke to you like this, it was like the whole world melted away and became an extension of her. Even Jaime, especially Jaime, was just an extension of her and her will. She was the one who was fucking you right now, and it was her who made the muscles in your core snap as waves of pleasure washed over you.

When your body began to spasm under him, Jaime could only hold back long enough to pull out as quickly as he possibly could, coating your ass and back with ropes of cum. His weight collapsed on top of you for a moment, both of you breathing heavy. Both of you feeling like you'd been fucked by someone who hadn't even touched you.

Cersei rose up off the bed and tossed a rag at Jaime before leaning over you again, peppering soft kisses over your still sensitive skin.

"Good girl, sweet girl, how wonderful you've been for me." she purred.

[vodika-vibes]

I need to see Papa Wolffe doting on his child rn—

A New Addition

Summary: Wolffe gets to meet his newborn several hours after she's born.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader

Word Count: 700

Warnings: Discussions of mother's dying in child birth (what do the clones know about natborn births, after all)

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So. Not exactly him doting on his kid, but a first introduction is not a bad way for the story to go, right?

You stir awake at the light knock on the door, and you smile at the familiar face that pokes into the room. Familiar, in part, because Wolffe has millions of identical brothers, but also because he’s Wolffe, and you’d recognize your riduur even if he was dressed identically to his brothers.

“Hey, can I come in?”

A warm smile crosses your face, “You don’t have to ask, love.” You reply gently.

He slips into the room, silently closing the door behind him, “Just making sure.” Wolffe crosses the room and takes a seat next to you, and then he immediately reaches out and smooths some hair out of your face, “How are you feeling, cyare?”

“Exhausted.” You reply with a small smile, “But also, really good.” You lean into his touch, “How are you?”

“I wish I had been here for you.”

You hum softly, “Not your fault.”

“I still feel bad,” He takes your hand in his and brings your joined hands to his lips to press a light kiss against your fingers, his gaze is locked on the small cradle next to your hospital bed, “Is that her?”

You laugh softly, “It is. Our Ellie.” You extend your fingers to brush against his cheek, “Go on and introduce yourself.”

He starts, “Am I allowed?”

A slightly louder laugh falls from you, “She’s your daughter, Wolffe. Of course you can.”

He releases your hand and stands to walk around the bed. Once he’s at the small cradle he just stares into it for a moment, “She’s so…small.”

“She’s only a couple of hours old, riduur.”

“The Tubies never looked so small back on Kamino. Is she healthy?”

“She is. Just small. My fault, I’m afraid.” You reply with a small smile. And your smile grows as you watch him reach into the cradle to scoop the infant into his arms. 

“She looks like you,” Wolffe murmurs as he cradles Ellie in his arms.

“Really? I think she looks like you.” He turns to sit on the edge of the bed, bringing Ellie into reach. She’s still asleep. “Those Fett genes run true,” You joke quietly, as you brush a light finger against Ellie’s dark cheek, and then up through her dark curls.

“My coloring, maybe.” Wolffe allows, “but she has your features. A perfect mix of us.” He pauses, “Cyare,” He admits, his voice quiet, “I don’t know anything about being a parent-”

“Shh. Neither do I. We’ll learn together.” You smile at the baby, and then up at Wolffe, “We’re going to be fine, I know it.”

“Well, if you say so then it must be true.” Wolffe teases as he leans in and kisses your forehead, “My brothers and General Koon are in the lobby, can I take her to meet them?”

You hum thoughtfully, “Why don’t you give Ellie to me, and then you can bring them in here to meet her?” You offer.

Wolffe flashes a small grin, “Even better idea, I know they’re worried about you too. Cody made the mistake of asking General Kenobi about natborn childbirth, and they were convinced that you were going to die.”

“Well, not on Coruscant.” You admit with a tired smile as you take your baby from him.

Wolffe blinks, “Wait, what?”

“Women generally don’t die in childbirth on Coruscant unless something goes really wrong.” You clarify as you adjust Ellie on your chest, “If my midwife had been concerned, I would have reached out to the temple for help, Wolffe. So, no need to worry.”

“...okay. I’m going to go and get the others.” He kisses your forehead once more, and then he ducks his head to kiss Ellie’s head, before he circles the room again, and steps into the hallway.

Only minutes later, the room is flooded with people. General Koon immediately takes a place next to the bed to quietly talk to you while Wolffe shows Ellie off to his brothers.

And when they leave an hour later, Ellie’s picture has been taken a dozen times, and she’s been officially named as the Wolfpack’s mascot. And also the mascot for most of the other Battalions as well.

After all, she is the first niece.

[pupcuck]

NOUVEAU GAULTIER !

ft. leon s. kennedy x reader x ashley graham

tags. leon is ashley’s dad, daddy-daughter incest, age gap, threesome, implied/referenced cheating, reader has a pussy, 1 tiny reference to an eating disorder, creampie, daddy kink, dub-con, reader gets cucked sort of, ex-president leon :3

notes. was gonna name this nouveau roturier like newly rich but thought I was soooo funny for making a designer brand pun and I’m not even french so it’s probably wrong like but idc omg I’m sorry!!! the timeline of this is fucked like idk but leon is old in this 50+ i’d say :3 i adore ashley with all my heart and she’s one of my faves but i totally bimbofied her in this fic so excuse that 😭 no pronouns are used but reader wears dresses/skirts and is shorter than ashley and leon calls them wife once, leon is ooc againnnnn I promise next time he will be getting pegged.. I am not happy w the smut in this bc it’s oddly put together but whatever not proofread ignore typos

You’re a social climber. Admittedly so. The minute you see Ashley, kitten heels clicking on the marble floor, shiny blonde bob, cat-eye sunglasses - you need her. Whether it be as friends or lovers, you need her. Her dad spent two terms in office a few years back, the name alone was enough to get people to vote for him, President Kennedy has a nice ring to it. Been tried out once, so why not again? He was super cute at the time too. Well dressed, soft-spoken, and Italian-American, but not Italian enough to make the general public go into a frenzy about how some foreigner snuck his way to the top. C’mon, look at those baby blues, that’s an American man born and bred. You wanna do the whole Happy Birthday Mr. President shit with him, bastardised JFK and Marilyn.

Ashley is easy, the sorority girls flock to her, use her till they get what they want. All it takes is some shiny shoes, a flashy handbag, and a pearly smile to get her attention. You go the extra mile, manage to snag a Miu Miu chino miniskirt after hours of bidding to match hers, put on some knee-high socks and loafers, saunter into class and sit right in front of her. Pull out your very authentic and vintage Vivienne Westwood pouch that you use as a pencil case, make sure she gets a good look at it.

She approaches you after class, flutters her fingers at you and asks you to wait up. “I love your bag,” she gushes, “I’m Ashley, sorry, I didn’t catch your name today.” Her bangs are clipped away from her face today with a crystal-embellished pin, matching the pendant that sits nestled in her cleavage.

You tell her your name, smile at her just as wide, tell her you’ve seen that cardigan in the Blugirl fall 2004 runway. She says it’s a replica, couldn’t get her hands on the exact one, but her daddy did manage to get her the bag straight off the model. Albeit a little busted from all the years of use. She’s too open, so willing to spill all her secrets to the first person she deems trustworthy.

It takes approximately three weeks before the two of you are thick as thieves. You feel like you’ve known her all your life. Ashley invites you over to her gilded cage in no time, located in the very back of a gated neighbourhood where all the old money is. Colonial mansions, lion statues, perfectly trimmed hedges, something out of the Stepford Wives. Gives you the creeps.

“Daddy’s home, but mom’s on vacation,” Ashley loops her arm in yours, greets the man who opens the door for both of you . He nods at her. “He’s probably in his office though, so he won’t bother us.”

The family portrait on the wall is too much. Isn’t that some mediaeval shit? Ashley looks like her mother, you note. Just kinder. She can never help the smile that reaches her eyes. Her mom’s a total bombshell, heels that make her taller than Mr. Kennedy, all tits and not much else. You always thought wealthy guys liked them small.

Her room is what you expect from Ashley. Tidy, shelves upon shelves of squeaky clean shoes, a handbag variant in fifteen different colours. Walk-in wardrobe that’s entirely colour-coded and sorted by brand. It’s a wannabe nepo baby’s personal heaven. The thing all your dreams are made of.

“Ash, this is crazy,” you find yourself opening drawers and cupboards, doing the complete opposite of what your parents taught you. Totally invading her privacy by playing dress up in her closet, and yet, Ashley doesn’t mind one bit. She lets you try on a Shushu/Tong dress, one that was tailored to fit her just right, so it’s slightly tight in the bust for you. A little too loose on the waist, she’s taller after all. Fatter ass too. Got that from her dad, you’ve seen how those slacks stretch uncomfortably far around his thighs. “It’s like a department store.” You wonder if she’s ever been in one. Probably not.

“I guess so,” Ashley giggles, helping you out of the dress with ease. “I’m glad I met you.” She wears her heart on her sleeve, can never lie to you, has to say it right there and then. “People are so mean to me ‘cause I have a lot.” Poor little rich girl.

“They’re just jealous, Ash,” you say breezily, fixing your hair in her full-length mirror. Framed by lights and everything. “It’s not your fault you’re rich, babes.”

“I know, that’s what I’m saying!” Ashley tosses her arms in the air, “like, it’s not my fault, I was just born into it.”

“Exactly, you didn’t ask for it.” You coo, cupping her soft cheeks in your hands. God, you’d kill for China doll skin like this. Some people really do have it all.

“You just get it,” she sighs, bats her mascara-coated lashes down at you, “I love you like so much.”

“Aw,” you stand on your tiptoes to kiss her cheek, she doesn’t complain when your lip gloss stains it, “I love you, like, even more, Ash.”

Sleeping at Ashley’s becomes a frequent thing. Anytime she asks, you agree. What’s better than free food, a big comfy princess bed, mani-pedis, and a pretty blonde by your side? Literally nothing tops that. You’d do anything to leave your dorm, your roommate smokes too much and never airs the place out.

You’ve never seen her dad despite spending all this time over at hers. A second home by now. All the staff know you by name. Bow their heads and greet you like they do Ashley. It gives you a real rush. Don’t even need that pat-down security check outside the gates anymore. Dude just lets you straight in.

At the dining table is where you meet him for the first time. You and Ashley, in matching slips, hers minty green and yours baby pink, sit chatting away and picking at your breakfast the way rich people do. ‘Cause god forbid you actually eat, Ashley said her mom was bulimic in winter and simply starved in spring. Anorexia is totally in this season.

“Daddy!” Ashley’s off her feet throwing herself at him the moment he steps into the room. He catches her easily, and it really is heartfelt, till they kiss. On the lips. Like. Tongue and all, spit dripping down Ashley’s chin kinda kiss. It takes you off guard, you choke on the shredded cucumber you put in your mouth, serves you right for trying to eat. No fucking way. Her hand dips low between their bodies, did she just grab his fucking balls? A ball grab is sacred. No way this is real. Oh my god. Jesus Christ, lord and saviour, this is what you get for making friends with rich girls. You’d rather the family secret be murder, not incest.

“Hi, my princess,” he coos, whispers something in her ear and winks, Ashley giggles and slaps his chest. Ew. You need to get out of this place, stat. “Who’s this, Ash?” Mr. Kennedy straightens up when he sees you, face goes stern, makes him look older. You used to find him so dreamy. Face like an 80s pornstar.

“Oh, daddy, I told you already,” she says your name and it must ring a bell ‘cause he nods his head slowly in recognition, “We’re going shopping soon, so I’ll see you later, daddy.” Ashley wraps her arms around his neck, god, you’re going to throw up a breakfast that you didn’t even eat.

They kiss and it’s even worse than last time. His hands go from her waist to her round ass, gives it a squeeze and Ashley squeals in delight. “I love you daddy.” She chirps.

“Love you too, princess,” he takes his freshly brewed coffee from the counter and leaves like he didn’t just traumatise you. Like you don’t need years of intensive therapy to get over what you just saw. No wonder her mom is still on vacation.

you: i need cbt

claire: cock n ball torture?? why??

you: ?? BITCH?

you: need to get out of here like asap

claire: told u they r part of a cult !!!

claire: illuminati

you: worse i’ll tell u when i escape

claire: send me ur will :(

“Isn’t he so sweet?” Ashley giggles as she sits back down beside you. “Daddy can drive us to the mall today, he said he’s free.”

It hurts to smile. “Oh, Ash, he’s so busy, he totally doesn’t have to!” Your voice is strained, but she doesn’t notice. “I don’t mind walking either.”

“No, it’s okay, it’ll be fun!”

It is not fun. It’s the farthest from fun actually. ‘Cause all you can see is them kissing. The scene keeps replaying in your head anytime Mr. Kennedy speaks. A man you’d once found so handsome, all suave and suited up, kissing his daughter on the mouth. Just as weird as every other politician. Worse maybe. Biden don’t get down and dirty with his daughter.

He doesn’t pay much attention to you, meets your eye in the rear-view mirror a few times, and that’s it. Daddy doesn’t like you, huh? Whatever. Ugly freak. Ashley and her mom are too pretty for this guy. Poor Ash, does she even know that it isn’t normal to kiss your dad? The thought is making you nauseous.

“Wait, can I get out here?” You blurt it out after thinking too hard. Ashley blinks at you in surprise. “I feel a little sick.” You admit.

“Oh em gee, are you, like, okay?” She covers her mouth with a dainty hand, light brows bunched up in worry, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. “You’re kinda clammy, oh my gosh.”

“Yeah,” you smile at her weakly, “must be what’s going around college.”

“Daddy can drop you home,” Ashley insists, but you’d rather not let her see the state of your dorm building. The university does nothing to make it look pretty. Crumbling, old-fashioned brickwork, moss stuck to every inch of it. “He doesn’t mind.”

“No, I think the fresh air would be good for me, Ash,” you pat her shoulder, Mr. Kennedy pulls up near the curb, doesn’t spare you a second glance.

“Only if you’re sure…” She chews on her bottom lip, slender fingers intertwined with yours. Clingy. Ashley doesn’t want to let go.

“I’m sure,” you kiss her hand, “I’m sorry for cutting it short, Ash, we can go when I’m better, alright?” You tell her as you get out, she’s about to roll down the window and speak, but daddy drives off the second you shut the door. Fucking asshole.

Straight to Claire’s it is.

“I don’t believe you,” Claire laughs in your face when you recount your distressing morning. “You could've told me anything and I would believe it, but I do not think Leon S. Kennedy fucks his daughter on the low.”

“Claire, I’m serious,” you dig your acrylics into her arm, stomp your feet, “I fucking saw it, she grabbed his balls, like, like, she fuckin’ groped him!”

“Right,” Claire rolls her eyes, “Jill doesn’t even grab my balls ‘n we’ve been together since forever.”

“You don’t have balls to grab, bitch,” you’re shaky when you take the drink she offers, breaking out in a cold sweat when you think about it too hard. “Fuck, Claire,” you whine, “I thought you did journalism, can’t you like, tell someone? New York Times?”

“I’m in my second year of college, dude, I don’t think it works like that. No one’s gonna believe me when I say Kennedy kisses his kid.” Claire picks at her cuticles, she’s so over it already! Couldn’t this be her big break?

“Kissing your kid is fine, but not like that.” You keep grabbing and pinching her, trying to emphasise just how wretched it really was, but Claire tears herself free each time. “Like, that was porno shit, man.” To be fair, if Claire really did go to someone with your story, then wouldn’t they know it was you who leaked it? Then you’d be killed and it’d be framed as suicide, and so would Claire. Or a murder-suicide. They’d act like you were capable of such things. Claire might be, but you’re certainly not.

“Film it,” she shrugs, “then I’ll believe you.”

“No,” you shake your head, face grave, “Claire I couldn’t show you that, it would be too much, way too much.”

She laughs at you again, full belly laugh, pinches your cheek like you’re a toddler. “C’mon, it can’t be that bad. I think you’re just not used to it ‘cause you’re not close with your dad.”

“That has nothing to do with this!” You elbow her in the tit, “Even if I was close with my dad, I wouldn’t have my fucking tongue down his throat.”

“Suppose so.”

“Dude, if you had a dad would you be deepthroating his tongue?”

“I’m not deepthroating any guy,” Claire retorts, “Dad or not.”

“Okay, then what about Chris?”

“Gross!” She elbows you in the gut to get back at you, “Don’t even go there you fucking freak.”

“Claire, I’m like, you don’t get it, I’m fucking freaking out right now.” You can feel the tension headache building already. All the pressure is ready to pop. Is this how you die? Spontaneous combustion? In Claire’s apartment? All over the back wall that reminds you of how T.G.I Friday is decorated. Weird ass biker shit, old rock band posters. It’s ugly and this sucks. Who even listens to Guns ‘n Roses now? Axl Rose isn’t even cute and girly anymore.

“Dude, film it and I promise I’ll do something ‘bout it.” Claire holds out her pinky, you wrap your one around it. Deal. Some fucking friend she is.

Acting normal around Ashley is so hard. The hardest thing you’ve ever done. Harder than any exam, harder than any cock you’ve sucked. Just looking at her makes your tummy flip. Luckily, Mr. Ex-President ain’t around today, so you don’t have to worry about any ball fondling. No footage for Claire.

“My mom has that,” Ashley says offhandedly when you show her the Jean Paul Gaultier gown saved to your Pinterest board of needs. She’s filing her nails, popping her gum, having a good ol’ time like she hasn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb on you.

“Are you fucking serious, Ash?” You sit up in her bed, grab her by the shoulders, “I’m literally gonna throw up, can I see it?”

Ashley tilts her head to the side, and smiles cutely, “Of course you can, you can wear it if you want.” Holy shit. You’d kiss her on those gorgeous doll lips if she didn’t kiss her daddy with that mouth.

You knock her back into the bed when you hug her, “Ashley, I am literally going to take you home and put you on my shelf.”

“What?” She giggles again, “why?”

“Because you’re a fucking doll, babe, god, I could kiss you!” You could, but you won’t. Don’t really want Mr. Kennedy cooties.

Her mom’s wardrobe is significantly bigger than hers, there’s a single rack of suits that all look the same in the corner, obviously belonging to Mr. Kennedy. He gets a sad slither of space where he’s stashed a bunch of folded polos and slacks. That’s how it should be.

“I’m gonna shit myself, Ash,” you tell her when she pulls it out. There’s a fair amount of garments on the floor at this point, all costing more than you would if sold on the black market.

“Please don’t do that,” Ashley looks genuinely worried, she holds it to her figure so you can see the dress in all its glory. A lace bodice, sheer and naughty, delicate and subtle beading threaded into the patches of fabric. The skirt is sleek, sticks to the body like a second skin, but stiff like it’s unworn. Never been put to use. You’d be wearing this shit at every event no matter how small. Night out at the local bar? Yeah, you’re whipping out the Gaultier.

“It’s gorgeous,” you mumble, reaching out to touch it ever so softly like it could fall apart at any second, break apart like butterfly wings. “Are you sure I can put it on?” It sure looks good on Ashley, she’s lithe and slender in the way models tend to be.

“Duh, mom won’t notice anyway,” Ashley’s nimble fingers come to slip you out of your clothes, “it’ll fit,” she reassures you.

“Hi, beautiful,” you run your hands over the dress, it’s snug on the hips, loose on the bust. Opposite to how Ashley’s clothes fit. “Shit, Ash, I feel like I’m gonna pass out.” You can’t take your eyes off of it, the intricacies of the beadwork, the lace flora that stretches to your shape.

“You look so pretty,” Ashley fawns, “your tits look great.”

“Right?” You cup them, “I don’t even know how to thank you, Ash.”

She’s about to speak when the door to her mother’s dressing room clicks open. With his belt halfway undone, Mr. Kennedy enters, lips parting like he wants to say something. No god is on your side.

“Hi, daddy,” Ashley greets him with a kiss to the cheek today, thank fuck!

“Hi there, babydoll,” he rubs his cheek against hers, the roughness of his stubble making her cry out. “You playin’ dress up?” Good lord, get me out of here, you’re praying to whoever’s listening. The devil himself could answer and you’d take it.

“That tickles, daddy,” she clings to his arm, then nods at his question. “Mhm, doesn't it look pretty?”

Mr. Kennedy narrows his eyes at you. Alright, jeez, calm it, old man. You smile at him sheepishly, “Hi, Mr. Kennedy, sorry ‘bout this.”

“It’s alright,” he says coolly, “I’m sure it was Ashley’s idea.” He smiles at her fondly, eyes going soft and watery, he draws her in for a lip-smacking kiss.

It takes every morsel of your self-preservation to not cry out, run out screaming, take the dress with you and never come back. Move to Greenland. Meet some nice fellow and settle down with him. Are there hotties in Greenland? You stand there with a tight-lipped smile, bottom lip wobbling ‘cause your cheeks are starting to ache.

“It’s cute though, right, daddy?” Ashley’s lips are shiny with his spit as she makes her way back over to you. “Looks better than it does on mom.”

“Hm,” Mr. Kennedy raises a brow, looks you up and down. “Guess it does, Ash.”

“Will you help ‘em out of it, daddy?” Ashley asks innocently enough, she holds out her hand, “I don’t wanna break a nail if the zip gets stuck.”

“Sure, baby.” He agrees so easy ‘cause Ashley’s so sweet she gives you a cavity.

“No, it’s okay!” You turn your back away from him, reaching back to feel around for the dangling zipper, “I can do it myself, Mr Kennedy, there’s really no need.”

“I insist,” Mr. Kennedy steps forward, two strong hands on your hips and he spins you around to face the mirror. You feel his breath on your neck, the scent of his cologne wafts your way. Wearing so much you can taste it. It’s expensive of course.

You can’t stand him. Your knees go weak when his eyes catch yours in the mirror. Damn him for being so handsome. If he wasn’t such a freak, you’d do unspeakable things to him. Dip your tongue in his cleft chin, suck on his neck like a mosquito, grab his ass, his balls. Whatever he likes. He unzips it slowly on purpose. Or maybe it just feels extra long ‘cause this is so painfully awkward.

“It fits real nice,” Mr. Kennedy comments, his lips curl upwards, did he just pat your ass? Um, Ashley, hi, stop folding those clothes and control your dog of a father. “Wanted to be my wife or something, that’s why you put it on?”

“No, sir,” you say shakily, you’re so gonna vomit all over these cute heels.

“Might fit, but it don’t suit you,” the zip is open, you wrap your arm around your chest so you’re not left completely without dignity. “Low-class whores shouldn’t be playin’ house with my Ashley, alright?” He says it with a smile so blinding you almost thunk to the ground. Hold your horses, Kennedy, classism is so twenty years ago. “I know Ash likes you lots, but don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.” Oh shit. C’mon Mr. Kennedy, you called her a bimbo once. That’s a compliment these days. Then you called her ditsy, airheaded, and a plethora of other things. Did he have access to, like, all the weird shit you’ve said?

“I love Ash,” you do, you really do. There’s no one in this world sweeter than Ashley. “She’s sweet to me.” You’ve got cottonmouth. Can’t get much else out.

“Did you get it off, daddy?” Ashley peeks over his shoulder.

“Almost, baby,” he urges you to move your arm, “lemme hold ‘em up so you can take it off, sweetheart.”

In your dreams old man. Never in a million years will he get to hold your prize-winning tits. Organic and homegrown on the farm that is your body. Okay, never mind, he’s holding them. You’re shaking like crazy, fingers hooking in the fabric so you can wriggle out of the tight skirt.

“Daddy, you’re so sweet,” Ashley flutters her lashes at him, so enamoured by this ugly creep. Handsome creep you guess. With a nose you’d like to ride.

“I’m sweet, huh? Shouldn’t you give daddy a kiss then?” Are they seriously doing this when you’re standing there ass naked with your tits in his hands?

“I’ll give you lotsa kisses, daddy,” Ashley peppers kisses along his jaw, down his neck, okay, she’s getting on her knees. Strangling yourself with that Hermés scarf sounds good right now. “Down here too.” She better not be giving him that ball squeeze. Trademark Kennedy ball squeeze.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, sweetheart,” Leon clicks his tongue, Mr. Kennedy was getting old and long to say. Fuck you, Leon. “Eyes up here, yeah?”

“Sorry, Mr. Kennedy,” you mumble, hear the sound of a zipper. God, she’s really going to town. Sucking and slurping.

“Step out of it,” Leon instructs, you do so carefully, leaving the dress pooled beside your feet. “Keep those on, darling.” Oh, only if you insist, daddy. You were going to run home in these red bottoms no matter what. “Why don’t you get those lips movin’, yeah?”

What in the fuck does that mean? Does he want you to suck him off too? He does. Right. You can do this. You’ve sucked every dick on campus, what difference does his make? It might be a little more wrinkly, balls might be more saggy, but plenty of guys have fucked up sacs. When you get on your knees next to her, Ashley takes your hand, gives it a squeeze as she works the shaft. Seriously, is this bitch leaving you on ball duty?

“Oh, you look so much like mommy, babydoll,” Leon tips his head back, runs his fingers through her silky bob. Does she find that hot? Being compared to her mom? If a guy said that to you, he’d be buried in a parking lot somewhere. Ashley takes him to the hilt, her button nose buried in dark hair, her throat bulging with his cock, and she’s not even gagging. She’s got skill. You gag a hell of a lot. But most of the time guys find it hot, ‘cause they start thinking they’re real big, brag that you couldn’t even make it to the balls. Really, you’re just not much of a giver. They taste weird, the burn isn’t pleasant, you just don’t really do a lot of cocksucking. Never got the appeal.

You make a meal of it still. Try to take his fat balls into your mouth, one at a time ‘cause they’re much too big, too heavy. Shouldn’t they be drained by this point in life? He’s like fucking old. Ashley and her daddy have it all. Nice cock, fancy suits, big car. Men don’t need much else. By the time you’ve managed to fit a single one in your mouth, suckling and licking along the seam, leaving him spit-slicked, Ashley’s making him cum down her throat.

She pulls off with a slick pop, cum drooling from the tip of his heavy cock, she puts a hand on the back of your head, forces her fingers into your mouth and keeps your tongue out. You feel the velvety head of his cock, dripping his salty seed in your mouth, he’s uncut on the fat. Cute. You like ‘em uncut. They look better that way. Like they’ve got a jacket. As he pumps himself, the head peeks out past the foreskin, nudges the tip of your tongue till he’s all done.

Ashley kisses you, swapping her spit and his cum into your mouth. She tastes like her raspberry lip balm. And cum. Lots of cum. Is this some initiation into the presidential candidate cult? Count you out.

“C’mere, my good girl,” Leon helps Ashley up, brushes off her clothes, uses a handkerchief from his breast pocket to clean up her messy face. And what do you get? Nothing. Every man for themselves, bitch. The heels hinder you from succeeding, but you hold onto the cabinet and stand all on your own. Didn’t need daddy’s help.

“Daddy,” Ashley whines, “I’m all wet.” Can you leave now? You gave the blowjob, more of a balljob on your part, but still, is it cool if you just slip out the back door. Or do they want you here for all this sweet talk too?

“You’re all wet, babydoll? Don’t worry ‘bout it, daddy’s gonna make it all better.” Are you in a porno right now? Is this all a huge setup? Where are the cameras? Shit, right. Cameras. You were supposed to be filming. Too late now, Leon grabs you by the wrist. Plops down on the chaise lounge, Ashley on one knee and you on the other. He’s got you by the tit and Ashley by the waist. How charming. Really shows what he sees in you.

Ashley kicks off her panties with ease. When she slid out of that cashmere miniskirt is lost on you, and where’d her bra go? Leon cranes his neck towards her, puckers his lip for a kiss that she gives to him instantly. They kiss more than they fucking breathe. He nudges you off of his lap, manspreads so it’s harder for you to sit comfortably. Why he put you on his lap in the first place? You don’t know. Maybe just to piss you off.

His ringed fingers part her puffy pussy, pink just like her nipples. She’s slick and shiny for him, doesn’t take much work to open her up. You watch her hole flutter when he takes them out, clenching around thin air, Ashley’s greedy. Even you know that. She needs everything in excess. God. Her cunt’s just as pretty as her face. Clit and folds sticking out past her lips, all pink and wet, wanna bite down on it. Needy little pussy that’s begging to be filled. Leon pinches her bud, plucks her nipples with his free hand. Ashley jumps with each touch, her chest heaves, eyes lidded.

Leon shoves his fingers in your mouth, coated in her arousal, candied as you lick it all up, every single drop. Pussy sweet just like the rest of her. Like she’s been dipped in a pot of sticky honey. “Ain’t it just the prettiest?” Leon hums, grins at you wolfishly, “My little girl got a pretty little pussy.”

“Daddy, you’re so sweet to me,” Ashley coos, her lashes dusting over her cheeks as her eyes close, his thick fingers stretching her open.

“That’s ‘cause you’re daddy’s princess, aren’t you?” Leon’s dick is hard again, standing proud against his stomach. Calm it, old man. Isn’t going multiple rounds bad for his heart? Is he on viagra? You wouldn’t put it past him. “Daddy’s spoiled little girl.”

Ashley throws her legs over his lap, sits so she’s facing him, sinks down onto his fat cock with such ease you choke on your saliva. Oh, so she’s like a fucking whore. Who takes big dick that easy? Her pussy swallows up the widest part of his cock, the base, leaves him glistening with her slick.

“Look at that,” Leon flicks her perky nipple, “takin’ daddy so fuckin’ well. All grown up now, aren’t you, babydoll?” You really don’t know if you’re supposed to be here anymore.

“No…” Ashley‘s little hands stroke down his broad chest, her nose scrunched as she grinds down into him, “I’m still daddy’s baby.”

“You’re always gonna be daddy’s baby,” Leon melts beneath her, he stops her hips from moving. Aw, she might be too intense for the old man. That girl fucks like a bunny, you’re not surprised. “Go on, sit.” Is he talking to you? He is. You take your seat between his thighs. Why you’re listening to him is beyond you. Okay, so maybe it’s turning you on a little. Like got you sopping wet, panties see-through kinda turned on. Shit. Pussy always thinking for you. Head says one thing and next minute you know you’re on your knees ‘cause Mr. President says so.

There’s some rustling, Ashley giggling, then your face to face with her sloppy cunt speared on his cock. Oh, that’s nasty. What a nasty old man. Fucking her like that. Full Nelson is just disrespectful to a preppy little lady like Ashley. Personally, you’d take her from behind. Watch her ass jiggle.

He doesn’t need to tell you what to do. Your tongue works quicker than your brain, lapping at her swollen clit as he fucks up into her, sucking on his balls, swiping up whatever mess she leaves behind on his dick. You’ve got a hand between your legs, grinding your clit into your fingers in a desperate attempt to get yourself off. Ashley squeals, her toes curling as you latch onto her clit, you’re rewarded with a gush of her cum. Splashes your chin, dribbles down your neck, wetting your tits.

“Was that good, babydoll?” Leon hums low in her ear, teeth pulling at her pierced lobe. “Enough for you?”

“Yes, daddy,” Ashley yelps as your nose bumps her clit, tongue still working to clean her up, but it’s inevitable, each thrust of his cock gets her creamy again.

“Yeah? Baby’s all done?” Leon’s cock twitches inside of her, then he dumps his load in his kid. Stuffs his princess with her daddy’s cum. Pats her belly and cradles her as you sit on the ground dumbfounded.

“Gimme a minute ‘n we can go again, daddy,” Ashley yawns, letting him pamper her, head twisting so she can see you, a dopey smile plastered on her face.

“I’m gettin’ old, princess,” he chuckles, “don’t know if I can keep up with you.”

“Course you can, daddy,” Ashley strokes his prickly cheek, “you gotta take both of us this time, promise?”

Sorry Claire, looks like you’re not making your big break in the journalism scene anytime soon. Not like she deserves it anyway. Stupid bitch didn’t even believe you. Well, if he puts his dick in you and calls you his baby, you might let it go. Might ask Ashley if this can become a regular thing.

[gabessquishytum]

Ballerinos paired together for romantic dance who initially can't stand each other.

Hob and Dream both found their way to a nontraditional ballet company - Hob didn’t really have the "body type" for your traditional ballet companies, he was very good but spent too many years in the chorus; Dream was also very good, had a rightfully reputation as a diva, but got injured by bad direction from Burgess, that was ultimately blamed on Dream. Dream has healed from his injury, but companies weren't interested in hiring him.

So they both need a chance and this "experimental" dance company might be the answer.

Their new company pairs them in a romantic pas de deux, but they are having the hardest time looking romantic with each other.

When they first met, Hob and Dream just rubbed each other the wrong way - it could have been a personalities clash, it could have been a seniority thing,,,,, it could have been the (unresolved) sexual tension. Whatever it was, it was making them clumsy and tentative with each other - who would ever think experienced dancers would be shy about putting hands on another for lifts. They could actually hurt each other if this keeps up.

So they are sent off for a weekend together to work it out!

Ooo I love this,,, the absolute tension and sexiness,,,

Hob is generally the kind of guy who can be very much trusted with lifts, throwing his fellow dancers around... even in the warm ups before rehearsals, all the young male dancers are practically begging him to please please please do an angel lift with them? They might never have the chance to be lifted again 🥺🥺 and of course Hob obliges.

Dream finds all of this very foolish. He's just waiting for the day when Hob acquires an unnecessary injury from messing around. His vibes when he's around Hob are full of disdain, and he makes Hob lose his confidence! His holds are terrible, his hands slip. Dream isn't helping at all. He seems to forget what he's doing half way through a movement. But the irony of it all is that they look amazing together.

So off they go to a small hotel in the country which doubles as one of those meditation retreats. And Dream spends the whole of the first day being a diva and ordering Hob around, until Hob finally snaps.

He says that Dream isn't the principle dancer and he needs to stop acting like it, that Hob is just as good as Dream if not better, it's just that Dream had the luck to be born pretty, and that if he doesn't wind his neck in then Hob is going to go and find a partner who doesn't make him feel like shit.

And after a blazing row, its inevitable: they fall into each other's arms, and fuck all over the hotel room. Dream graciously allows Hob to top in what feels like a metaphor for him relinquishing control - so Hob takes it very seriously and makes sure that Dream feels safe and has his mind completely blown.

When they both get back to rehearsals, they dance together beautifully and with such confidence, the rest of the company can't quite believe it. Hob is confident, Dream is trusting, their duet is everything is should be.

The only problem now is that they wont stop making out in the dressing rooms, but hey. Nobody's perfect!

[writingoddess1125]

Blip on the Radar pt. 1

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader + OOC Erik

Part 2 ->

Would appreciate a donation to my Ko-Fi so I can survive in this economy! Enjoy!

"Alright big guy bed time" You say as you swoop down and pick up your toddler, feeling him already tired from the day.

"No No Mama" Erik chimed. His mess of blonde hair covering his sleepy blue eyes which was trying to resist sleep

"Yes Yes Bean" You say with a giggle carrying him to his room and lay him down giving him his favorite stuffed bear you watch as he falls asleep in seconds.

Smiling as you watch his sleeping face and gently caress his cheek- despite the times that had passed you couldn't help but be amused by how much Erik didn't look like you, if it hadn't been for the 30hrs of labor you went through and seeing that headful of blonde hair when he was first born you would have been sure the hospital had switched your child.

He was a stocky and tall toddler, for being 2 years old he could easily be mistaken as a 3 year old- especially since he had big hands. He reminded you up a pitbull puppy, were you could see he was going to be a big boy.

Most likely like his father, which you assumed he was a carbon copy of.

It had been a bar hookup 3 years ago on a trip abroad, nothing special or unique in truth- You didn't even remember the guys name, you just remever his bright blue eyes, some blonde hair and a deep English accent. However that was about it- Besides you had your face in the pillows too much to know anyway, the next morning he had already been gone and you were content with that.

However seemed the universe decided to just screw you over as a few months later you found out you were pregnant. Not an ideal way to become a mother However you were one non the less.

Walking out of the room silently you began to pick up around the house, all Erik's toys and snacks he had dropped throughout the day but that was short lived as the couch called to you. Finally taking a seat you turn on some late night YV and sigh heavily- that exhaustion going through you as you laid there trying to will yourself to do more.

Going through your phone you see that you got a notification from Ancestory, raising a brow as you opened it and saw the results for your son upload.

"Oh yeah.. forgot about that"

A few weeks previously you'd done a DNA test on your son, mainly for medical history and to gather some basic information. As it populated you were met with pages of blacked our marker, Literally almost nothing was visible and you could see the British royal forces logo in the corner of most things but everything was crossed out.

"Why is so much of this crossed out?.." You muttered, squinting at the print on your phone over why so much information was limited from your sons father's side- You couldn't see much accept for last names and some general years.

"Weird.. Like a ghost... did I fuck a spy?-" You mutter, shrugging at this and close of your phone. Fairly sure you'd spooked yourself or that the Ancestory was wrong in some way. Waste of 90$-

0500 hr Other side of globe

It was far too early for this- Ms. Elis marched down the corridors of the Barracks with a file in her hand- her face no better then a thunderstorm as she marched.

Ghost could hear her from down the barracks hall from how loudly she was stomping around- he understood she was the TF 141 lawyer but she was a royal pain in the ass as well- he was seated on a couch of this temporary barracks common room and reading, dressed in more casual military attire and a plain balaclava covering his face.

"Price!" She called out once seeing him I'm his office and slamming the door behind her, Ghost looking up to see that banshee of a lawyer looking ready to snap again- sighing heavily as he tried to go back to reading.

"What do you think it's this time?" Soap said as he plopped himself next to the reading man with a relaxed sigh- Simon rolling his eyes at the Scotsman.

"Nothing that I'm willing to think about-" He grumbled, but his ear was picking up her yelling at Price dramtically- Once again. Banshee. That and one that had a flare for the dramatics.

After 10 minutes of this, The banshee of a lawyer stepped out of the office and turned to look right at Ghost-

"Mr. Riley, can you step into the office with us" She asked, a fake sweetness to her voice but he could hear the strain of frustration.

Fucking Hell...

Soap gave a crooked smile at the Lieutenant like a child pleased to see his peer being called in by the principal. Ghost silently stepped in and nodded at his Captian who gestured for him to take a seat.

Taking a seat he could see Price was on the brink of either snapping at the lawyer or getting a glass of scotch to dull whatever was happening.

"Sir" Ghost greeted Price but was giving a awkward nod- Clearly this not being something good.

"Well I never thought this would be a conversation I'd have but- Were you intimate with anyone in (insert location) around 3 years ago?" Price ask as calmly as possible- Clearly the lawyer keeping him from speaking in honest remark. Ghost felt a chill up his spin and his eyes narrowed.

"...What is this about Captian-" He asked sharply, Price grabbing two cigars and handing one to Ghost and keeping one himself.

"Well to be honest.. in short it looks like you have a kid Simon.. a little boy to be exact" Price said truthfully as the lawyer held the file out for Ghost. His eyes widened at hearing this, Looking slowly up at the lawyer as she handed him the file- Setting down the cigar quickly he opened it and saw the photos pulled from your Instagram as well as the ancestory website pages that did connect the toddler to him.

"It seems she was trying to get medical information through ancestory and we saw that your guys DNA connects. With the timing of the last time you were in that city it matches with the child's age" Ms. Elis said calmly as Ghost continued to look through the photos and information about you and his child.

"Simon?" Price said as he saw the man seemingly in a daze, staring at the folder. However Price could tell his mind was in a different place-

The lawyer was trying to go through options that Simon could take, paying child support, visitation, renouncing parental rights- However he was too dazed to even process any of this. Instead just sitting there thinking that he had a kid out there with this random stranger, were they a good mom? Did they love the kid? What if they were in a abusive home like he had been? Oh he couldn't let that happened.. it was be a nice snowy day in hell before he did. But also fear that his background would come to haunt him- How if he was in the kids life he could risk being a bad influence to the child as well.

Standing up suddently Simon held the folder looking to Price then the Laywer.

"What city are they located at Sir?-"

[tropes-and-tales]

Alone Time

Day 13:  Masturbation (Frankie Morales x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Frankie is mildly creepy and a thief; pining; smut (masturbation, male; Frankie's imagination; a pinch of voyeurism); 18+ only.

Word Count:  2415

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

It’s not rock bottom, but it’s damned near close.

Other men Frankie’s age have so much more:  family, a mortgage, a steady job.  What does Frankie have?  An ex-wife, a suspended pilot’s license, and a shaky year’s worth of sobriety.  He’s got a head full of bad memories—his time in the service, Tom’s death, the implosion of his marriage.  He’s got a tricky back that aches in bad weather and pinches his sciatic nerve if he breathes the wrong way.

The sum total of his personal belongings are stored in your garage and in your spare bedroom, where Frankie has been crashing since…well, when he sits and counts out the months, it makes him feel like the world’s biggest asshole loser, so he doesn’t dwell on it.

It was supposed to be a temporary thing.  It’s been ten months.

Hell, it takes less time for a baby to be formed and born.  Frankie Morales?  Ten months of crashing at your place and he’s no closer to launching on his own.  Rent is too high, his credit is abysmal, his mechanic job pays next to nothing, and he’s so damned broke that he’s technically owed alimony (though his pride will not allow him to accept it).

But if he sits and ticks off all the reasons why he hasn’t left your guest room yet, there’s a couple of reasons he won’t voice. 

That you stopped calling it your guest room and started calling it his room almost immediately after he moved in.

That you integrated his stuff into the wider home—his chipped coffee mug in your kitchen cabinet, his beer in your fridge, his scuffed work boots lined up neatly beside your shoes in the entryway—so he’d feel at home.

That you cook for him, that you wheedle his favorite meals from him and have an uncanny ability to know when he’s having a rough day and needs the comfort of a good meal.

That you eat his paltry attempts at cooking for you, a poor stab at repaying you, that you smile and thank him and pretend not to wince when something is burnt or too heavily salted.

That the casual intimacy of living with you—even platonically—has knocked something loose in him.  That seeing you early in the morning, mussed hair and sleepy eyes, rumpled pajamas as you get the coffee started…or seeing you before bed, after you shower, your skin soft and damp and smelling like your herbal soap.  It all makes something warm unfurl in his chest, and when Frankie starts to think on it, it makes him feel out of control.  He has no right to develop feelings for you.  You’ve been nothing but generous with him, and he cannot repay your goodwill by being a creep.

So he doesn’t dwell on it.

-----

He doesn’t dwell on it, and he doesn’t give it voice. 

He sits on the couch and listens as you dart between your room and the bathroom, getting ready for a work holiday party.  He listens to your muttered curses, your bathroom mirror pep talks you give to your own reflection.  He listens to the patter of your bare feet as you bounce between dressing and doing your makeup.

A moment later, you appear, a clutch in one hand and a pair of heels in the other.  You stand in the doorway and fix him with a nervous smile before you ask, “do I look alright?”

Frankie has a beat to study you—the dark green dress, the tasteful amount of cleavage, the skirt that flares just above your knees.  He looks closer and sees that you’re in stockings, subtly patterned, and as he watches, you brace yourself in the doorway and slide your heels on one at a time.  You usually don’t wear much makeup, but for this party, you’ve gone all in:  dark lashes framing your eyes, velvety red lips.

You look beautiful.  You look like a damned present just begging to be unwrapped and ravished, and Frankie clears his throat roughly before he answers you.

“Yeah, you look alright.”

You snort, shake your head.  “Jerk.  Seriously, is it too much?  Not enough?  Give me something to work with here, Francisco.”

“You look nice.”  He swallows hard, amends it by adding, “you look beautiful.” 

“Alright, nice, beautiful,” you laugh as you pull on your coat.  “Good adjectives.  Thanks, Frankie.”

He gives you a mock-salute.  “Anytime.”  And because he feels like a sulky asshole now—he can never strike the right tone with you, tries too hard to hide his feelings and so swings too hard the other way into sullen indifference—he adds, gentler, “no, you look great.  Seriously.”

That earns him a hug.  You walk over to where he sits, and you lean over to wrap an arm around his shoulders.  Even the brief press of your body against his is enough to fuel a month of fantasies, because you look feminine as hell—dress, heels, deep red lipstick on your kissable mouth—but you’re wearing a warm, almost masculine perfume.  You smell like tobacco and rum, undercut with the sweetness of vanilla, and the juxtaposition makes him perk up at a cellular level.

“Be good,” you tell him once you release him from the hug.  You walk towards the front door and gift him one of your sweet smiles.  “Enjoy your alone time.  I’ll be back late.”

“You be good,” he replies.  “And drive safely.”

-----

You leave, but your presence haunts Frankie.  The ghost of your perfume lingers, as does the click of your heels as you walked out.  The image of you in that dress feels like it’s burned on the back of his eyelids.

He tries to settle.  He tries to relax.  He orders in, puts on a mindless movie.  He picks at his food, drinks a beer, then a second beer.  Hours pass and he still feels jittery, and it’s like the early days of his sobriety, but he’s not craving cocaine.  He’s craving you, which is stupid because he’s never had you, so it’s all conjecture—pure imagination, pure pining.  Pure want.  But the fact remains:  he’s not hard, exactly, but he’s at the point of near-arousal, the ghost of you just in his periphery.   

Frankie puts his picked-over food in the refrigerator.  He cleans up a little.  He should go to bed, try to sleep, and so he makes his way back to his room.

But in the hallway, he pauses by his doorway and glances towards your bedroom.  The door is cracked.  Frankie has been in there before, has sat on the edge of your bed once when you were sick with a migraine and he nursed you back to health.  Alone, with you out of the house, your bedroom feels like something in a gothic novel:  the forbidden chamber, your sanctuary.

Be good, you told him, and Frankie wants to be good, but his feet lead him the few steps to your door, and his hand pushes your door open wider.  The scent of your perfume is stronger here—the incongruously masculine scent that reminds him of a dark-lit jazz club, even though he’s never been to a dark-lit jazz club.  The scent curls around him, fills him up, and he steps inside your bedroom.

You’re neat but not painfully so.  A neat stack of books are on your bedside table.  A basket of freshly folded clothes sits on the bench at the foot of your bed.  He steps further inside and studies the top of your dresser:  the little dish that holds some of your jewelry, a half-burned candle, a row of lotions and perfume bottles.  He leans against the dresser and looks at your bed, and of course he pictures you lying there, which leads to him imagining more.

You lying on the bed.  Naked.  No, in that green dress.  He imagines unzipping it, pushing it off your shoulders, dragging his nose along your warm skin and smelling the perfume on you, your fingers threaded through his hair as he—

No.  He rewinds it in his head, starts over.  You lying on the bed.  In the dress.  He imagines pushing up your skirt, imagines you in garters, imagines shoving your skirt up—

No.  He shakes his head, goes back to the first scene.  Stripping you slowly.  Yes, that’s better.  Frankie was always the kid who unwrapped his Christmas presents slowly.  His mother saved the paper, so it was a contest between him and his brothers to see who could unwrap it the best while saving it for future Christmases.  He could strip you just as carefully, his fingertips dancing over your skin, making you twitch at too much sensation, moaning out his name—

No.  It’s still not right.  He switches the two of you in his mind, imagines himself on the bed, you perched over him.  Your hands undoing his belt, his zipper, grasping his cock and stroking it before lowering your head, wrapping those red fucking lips around him, your dark-fringed eyes gazing up at him while you—

“Fuck,” he breathes out, aware of how he’s passed the threshold of near-arousal into outright excitement.  He’s hard just from imagining it, and his erection presses painfully against his jeans.

He turns to leave, but his gaze falls on your basket of clean clothing.  Christ, he could swipe a pair of your panties, and the thought tempts him but it’s going too far…so he reaches out and swipes one of your t-shirts instead—a soft cotton one you wear around the house.  He’s still crossing a line but it doesn’t feel quite as bad, so Frankie flees to his own room with your shirt clutched in his hand.

But not before he pauses, hesitates.  He snags your bottle of perfume and spritzes your shirt with the scent. 

He has no plan; he’s operating on lust alone, but he figures he can just wash it on the sly and give it back to you, give you some tame lie about it getting mixed in with his own laundry.

-----

In his room.  Door locked, just to be safe.  Lights off, naked in his bed, the soft scented cotton of your shirt clenched in one hand and held up near his nose.

His other hand gripping his cock, stroking himself.  Eyes closed.  Pretending it’s your hand and not his own.

Frankie tries out the fantasies from in your room.  You on the bed, you in the dress, you with your skirt hiked up around your waist.  He tries out other fantasies he’s entertained in the past:  taking you against the kitchen table, taking you on the couch.  A million positions, a million scenarios, and he can’t settle on one.  His orgasm feels far away, unattainable.  He’s never been good at just imagining things, has usually relied on a handful of tried-and-true porn clips he’s saved on his laptop, but he doesn’t want that now. 

He wants to imagine you.  He sighs, refocuses.  He reaches over to his nightstand and squirts a fresh dollop of lotion into his palm, then grips himself again.

You….you wouldn’t rush it.  You’d go slow.  If it was your hand and not his own, you’d go slow, so Frankie goes slow.  Strokes his cock slow and steady, imagines you pressing those kissable lips to his neck, his chest.  You’d leave smudges of dark red lipstick on him, a trail marking him as yours.

“Good boy,” you’d whisper to him.  “Such a good boy for me, Francisco.”

“Yes,” he whispers in the silence of his room.  “Always for you.”

“Such a big cock,” you’d whisper to him.  “So thick I can barely get my fingers around you.”

Frankie tilts his head back, brushes his nose against the bunched-up t-shirt.  He takes a deep inhale, feels the answering throb in his cock as he strokes a bit faster.  He imagines you whispering more to him, imagines you telling him how you can’t wait to feel him inside you, his big, thick cock splitting you open, your pussy molding to the shape of him, how wet you already are for him just from jacking him off—

“Always wanted to do this,” you’d breathe in his ear as you stroke him faster, harder.  “Touched myself at night thinking about you, Francisco.”

His orgasm, so far away initially, takes him by surprise.  He feels the hot coil of anticipation snap, and he groans out your name over and over in the darkness of his room as he comes, spurts of cum painting his belly and thighs, coating his hand.  He lays there a long moment, his blood and heartbeat roaring in his ears, his harsh panting slowly calming.

Frankie lays there a long moment, and the post-orgasmic bliss fades too quick.  Masturbating is a release, but it always leaves him faintly sad afterwards.  He’d rather have the real deal, obviously, but he’d rather have all of it.  He wants the afterglow of sex with you, wants to fall asleep beside you.  Wants to wake up too early and take you again.  Wants to know how that smoky, whiskey-tinged perfume of yours pairs with the scent of sex.

Frankie wants all of it, and when the post-orgasmic bliss fades, he despairs that he’ll never have it.  That he’ll be stuck contenting himself with these pathetic moments, jacking off to the smell of you, your soft shirt laid against his skin.  That he’ll be stuck at rock bottom.

But the nice thing about rock bottom, as they cliché goes, is that there’s nowhere to go but up.  Frankie has hit his bottom and is on an upward trajectory—he just doesn’t realize it yet.  It’s the final moment of him not realizing, of feeling maudlin about himself.  When he stands up and reassembles himself enough to leave his room and clean up in the bathroom, he’ll run directly into you:  standing outside his door, high heels in hand, eyes wide at what you’ve just heard.

You’ve heard everything.  Frankie and the obvious sound of him masturbating.  Frankie and the sound of him groaning out your name over and over as he came.

Frankie so wrapped up in his fantasy of you that he failed to hear your car in the driveway, the click of your key in the door.  Frankie so wrapped up in his own world that he hasn’t realized that hours have passed; that it is late and you’re home when you promised.

[tenpintsofsundrop]

Thinking about Spencer being a girl dad.

(I can't stop thinking about Dad!Spencer in general because it's so clear from the show that he wanted kids so badly. I need to write a fic of him having a kid omg.)

(Also - mentions of systematic sexism, including women being the target of violent crimes. But this is mostly fluff.)

When you first find out that you're having a daughter - you are terrified. Working at the BAU has caused you to be imprinted with all the horrors that could happen to a woman or a young girl. Even though your daughter has been born yet, you can't stop thinking about all the bad things that could happen to her - all the monster out there that are just waiting to take her away from you.

One night Spencer comes home and finds you clutching your stomach, sobbing, and he asks you what's wrong.

You ask him why he's not worried. Him, of all people, who knows so much about everything. He must have so many statistics bouncing around in his mind - he must know how it's so much more likely for your daughter to be targeted, to be raped or killed.

Spencer holds you until you stop crying. And then he oh so calmly says:

"I'm no worried." "Why?" "Because I won't let anyone hurt her."

And it's those words that live in your mind forever - especially on the day your daughter is placed into your arms for the first time. He could have been worried too, but he's so self assured that this is a fact. He won't let anyone hurt her.

Spencer fawns over your daughter from day one.

He hardly ever puts her down, and sometimes you have to fight for time holding her. When he goes back to work after his paternity leave, he calls you for updates almost every hour - he has a feeding schedule on the fridge (one for you and one for her, because Mommy shouldn't forget to eat either) and he's constantly reminding you to swaddle her well and keep the baby monitor on and read to her.

He has Mozart playing in the nursery on a low volume almost constantly.

When your daughter gets a bit older, Spencer's hair is a bit longer and she has a field day putting pigtails on him and nearly ripping it out of his head playing dress-up. You know that he grins and clenches his teeth through it out of love.

One time he showed up at the BAU with play makeup all over his face and sat through the presentation of a case without realizing it was there, wondering why everyone was giving him strange looks until Garcia broke and handed him the combat mirror from her purse. It's something everyone still jokes about.

Spencer never says no to his daughter. Literally anything she wants, she gets.

After a while, he gets tired of trying to convince a toddler of the nutritional benefits of eating broccoli by talking about omega 3s and micronutrients and he does just give in and let her have ice cream for dinner. He likes ice cream too.

Sometimes you are annoyed by having to be 'the tough parent' - but he has been able to convince her to take a bath by making a rubber duck 'appear' behind her ear with slight of hand, so you both have your strengths as parents.

At one point, she made him a friendship bracelet with a beading craft kid that Auntie JJ got her for her birthday - it's mismatched, gaudy, and colorful, but he never leaves the house without it. Sometimes he's convinced that it's the only thing that keeps him safe during a hard case. He often finds himself toying with the plastic beads under his sleeve whenever he's trying to come up with a new lead.

[raventreehall]

no one wants to talk about the theon and littlefinger parallels fine I'LL TALK ABOUT THEM. they're both social inferiors in a foster family that they desperately wanted to join but are prevented from doing so which leads to all sorts of complexes!!!

littlefinger didn't really do anything wrong in seeking out catelyn's hand and dueling brandon, he only misread his importance to the tullys and tried to functionally be part of the family that he had been raised in. but that was not allowed to him because of his low birth, just as theon was always relegated to an outsider role within the stark household because he was a hostage. (also note theon's boyhood dream of marrying sansa and ned accepting him as his son; littlefinger's obsession with catelyn seems to actually have catelyn at its core rather than just being a projection of a desire to be accepted within house tully, but who knows, his obsession with cat could actually be the product of an obsession with house tully and his general ambitions to increase his social status). they both had such intense 'i hate you'/'i want to be you' emotions knocking around in their heads as a result of this that they ended up killing—or trying to convince people that they killed—their foster siblings! (i know there's a lot more complexity with the littlefinger and lysa situation, but i think this parallel is really interesting)

littlefinger also had to work for years in gulltown/king's landing to rise through the ranks, to in a way 'regain his standing' to what it was when he was a ward of hoster tully's. throughout his childhood he was constantly around lysa, catelyn, and edmure—all of whom were destined to become lords and ladies of great houses—and was raised like their brother, but after he is banished he struggles to hold even half the status that his foster siblings enjoy naturally. theon goes through a little bit of a similar rude awakening when he arrives back at pyke expecting his father to hail him as his heir returned only to find out balon could not care less about him and likes asha way more, and he takes winterfell to try to prove to balon and the rest of the ironborn that he should be respected. interestingly, we have seen both theon and littlefinger's homecomings on page and they both come across as complete outsiders in the places were they were born, acting above their station because of the circumstances they got used to during their fostering—while this leads to theon trying to reject the starks and gain acceptance from his birth family in acok, in asos when littlefinger goes home to the fingers he wants to get to the eyrie (and to one of the tullys) as quickly as possible

they share some behaviors/character traits, too. littlefinger is noted to dress well, he pays a lot for clothes made of fine fabrics, while we know that theon likes to do the same. littlefinger certainly does this to prove that he is rich and powerful and has made it, showing that he can pay for the same things that any great lord can, which is probably born from more than a little resentment towards hoster for taking him out of the luxury of riverrun and sending him back home to the fingers. similarly, theon dresses elaborately to set himself apart in winterfell, to impress people, and to make himself known, and again this is born from resentment and insecurity (seen best when he goes back to pyke and stresses about what to wear in front of balon). they're also both arrogant and flippant, with a tendency to smile/make jokes too much, perhaps to try to further resist and disparage the social order they feel restricted by

finally there's catelyn: theon looks to her as a quasi-mother figure while he's in winterfell and littlefinger looks to catelyn as a lover, but both of these are impossible and end up being rejected. there's no evidence that catelyn was, like, especially mean to theon, they seem to get on fine in agot, but he was her husband's hostage and we know that she does mistrust him. this attitude is obviously a result of her not trusting the greyjoys because they're reavers/rose against the crown in open rebellion, but it is also no doubt informed by her previous experiences with petyr! it would make sense for her to be wary of a foster son getting close to her children after what happened to her as a kid

[eveningserenityyy]

In sickness and In Health | One Shot

Rating: General.

Pairing: Luke Skywalker x reader

Word Count: 3215k

Summary: Luke thinks the day shall be seemingly peaceful and perfectly content…until he finds you struck with an illness he must help care for.

A/N: I started writing this when I was sick, and whilst i'm better now, I do hope this helps comfort two of my friends who are! <3

Luke woke up early this seemingly delightful morning, eyes both kissed and scorched by the golden rays of the morning sun as it dawned upon his sleepy figure; easing him into a state of consciousness.

His first instinct, just as the day before and just as likely fated to be the same tomorrow, is to turn his attention to you in order for you to be the first thing he sees and may admire when he awakens. That alone is the key to a great day in his opinion, getting to wake up next to you and watch as your chest rises and falls with light breaths, and the way your lips are slightly parted with your messy hair framing your pretty face. 

His day cannot start until he can be assured you are next to him, safe and happy in his loving gaze.

You seem so peaceful and content, therefore he did not have the heart to wake you up so selfishly. He leaned over, careful for his movements to be anything but heavy as he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek; the heat of your flesh warm and inviting against his soft lips.

Naturally, he finds himself to be smiling as he rises from the bed, getting himself dressed and ready to attend to his students. 

He hates to leave you just to wake up on your own whenever that time may be, yet alas, he would have to go regardless of his desires. You would be just fine, and close by if anything were to happen.

He whispered a sweet “I love you.” before leaving you to your rest, hoping you don’t wake up too lonely whilst he's gone. 

Soon after, the fog of dreams lifted on your end, and reality was born before your eyes as they fluttered open just to squeeze shut again in mere seconds. It wasn’t simply the sunlight of which was a source of woe, but too the dizzying pressure in your head that had struck you immediately.

Something was deeply wrong, wrong enough to be noticed despite the dreadful sleepiness that swarmed you like a warm weighted blanket fresh from the dryer. 

You sniffled, noticing how both stuffy and runny your nose felt- there too was a soreness in your throat, gathering the unrelenting need to clear it over and over as fluids coated it on the inside.

“No…not today!” You could not help but whine in such a moment as this, dreading the very idea of being sick so suddenly and without warning. 

Okay, that's not entirely true- for over the past two days, you’d noticed your throat felt rather dry, but being sick never crossed your mind. Instead, you simply drowned your throat in water and called it a day. You thought perhaps you had spoken too much, or hadn’t drank enough water, for germs were never a suspect.

Immediately, your body and mind craved comfort and care for this curse of illness casted upon you. You wanted to be cuddled, soothed, and brought copious amounts of soup until you could start feeling better at last, to be cared for as a parent does for a child. 

You wanted Luke most of all, reaching out for the empty space next to you where he no longer was; The only remnants of his presence was that of his imprint left in the mattress, the imprint of which had been lovingly filled when you had first gone to rest the night before. 

You extended your arm, reaching for his pillow as you brought it close to you like a teddy bear. You nuzzled your face into it, gathering his scent, for the pillow smelt of him; eucalyptus, and the light mist of fresh springwater, paired with a flowery scent that you could not put your finger on but was comforting nevertheless. You did in fact worry that your germs would swarm the fabric, but you could always wash it later- you needed the comfort when in such a state as this, and you dearly hoped he would not mind (Which, in all probability, he wouldn’t).

A sharp pain then built in your throat, mimicking the sharp stabbing of a dozen knives as it caused you to cough about a dozen times. You couldn’t stop as hard as you tried, a tingling feeling in the back of your throat that demanded your coughs of suffrage as compensation. Your throat was beyond irritated, close to nausea after such a fit.

You just about wanted to cry, too tired to deal with this. It wasn’t fair, and so suddenly were you mourning the days when your illness was beyond comprehension, when you could lay back without the mucus wishing to be drained.

Furthermore, from a distance did Luke sense something to be wrong indeed, the very fabric of the force singing to him in silent desperation. He attempted to focus on it, yet the younglings had so many questions for him at this time in their lesson, therefore he waited until the break in between sessions to go and check on just what was the matter.

Once the break commenced, he was quick to return to you, wasting no time as he entered the home you had shared and built together. 

As he entered the bedroom, his heart dropped as he saw you curled up under the blankets, your poor figure shivering and holding his pillow to your body as you struggled to keep the coughs at bay.

You appeared so weak and delicate, suffering under the effects of a sneaky illness. He couldn’t stand to see you this way, immediately tending to your side as he crouched next to you, pressing a hand to your forehead before placing his lips there instead, feeling the warmth you radiated so violently.

“Luke?” You mumbled out, voice sounding so rough and weakened. You had barely noticed him enter the room, a telltale sign of your state.

“I’m here, star, im here…” He tried his best to give you a reassuring smile, despite how much it pained him to see you like this. “Sick, huh?”

You nodded with a frown, sniffling to drain your nose as your eyes wet themselves with the buildup of tears. “I don’t…don’t feel good-”

He had the strongest urge to care for you, to do everything in his power to make you feel a little less terrible than you did now. How could he leave you like this? His heart sank at seeing your state of being, and he simply wished to do all he could for you.

He made a choice in regards to the day he had originally planned, one he was perfectly content with.  “I’ll be right back, alright? Try and rest. Close your eyes for me, it’ll help.”

You complied, eyes falling heavy as you heard his footsteps disappear into the distance. You wondered what he was doing, although your brain was much too fried to think about anything too deeply. 

After a few minutes, he came right back, once again crouched by your side with a cold cloth to be placed on your forehead. You hummed in response, for it felt so nice on your skin. It was the best sensation you had felt all morning, compared to the waging war of your immune system.

You then remembered something, gazing up at him with tired eyes as it occurred to you. “Mmm’ Luke…don’t-” Cough, “-You have-” Cough. “-Class today?”

He smiled warmly, shaking his head as if to reassure you as quickly as possible. “I cancelled, don’t worry. Who else will take care of you but me?”

You were glad, although did not let it show as to not be selfish over his time you had stolen from the padawans. “You didn’t have to do that…”

“Star,” The loving nickname lingered over his tongue, drawing it out as if to question you with a hint of amusement in his tone. “You’re hugging my pillow for comfort- I think you need me.”

You blushed, or at least you think you did if your face isn’t already pink tinted. You and Luke were equally needy when it came to each other, sure, yet that intensified when you were sick- you’d have him glued to your side if you could.

He brought a hand to your forehead, brushing your hair out of your face with the tips of his fingers. “Can I make you some soup, see if that helps you?”

You nodded, weakly so. “Please…I would like that, if you don't mind.”

“The regular, I assume?” He asked for clarification, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. He knew you liked to be cared for whilst also not wanting to be a burden, but to him, you could never be such a thing. Caring for you made him happy, for he could help soothe the one he loved most.

“Mhm.” You hummed in response, thus watching as he got up to make his way over to the kitchen, your eyes struggling to stay open as you found yourself succumbing to the dark fog that was a deserved nap.

It's truly a surprise that you could fall asleep at all when in such a condition, therefore you would take whatever chance you got for some rest.

Luke smiled to himself, knowing you were napping peacefully, and for that he was glad. It was the one moment in which you could have any true peace, not having to experience the effects that's plagued you so terribly. 

He loved you so much, and hated seeing you sick more than he naturally should. He loved seeing you smile, or strut about the room with such grace, making his heart burn for you with the sound of your laughter…but seeing you so weak and fragile, so pale and miserable at that, brought him great pain.

He gathered the ingredients at the kitchen counter, setting up the pot and cutting up some vegetables for your soup with a rapid ease.

He thought himself to be a decent cook, with recipes he already knew, at least. He had his aunt to thank for that, having taught him how to cook select recipes when he was growing up. 

This soup was always one of his favourites, and now one of yours, of which Beru had taught him how to make. It was a simple recipe, lots of spices- there was only one thing he had adjusted for your liking, and that was grating the carrots in as opposed to chopping them. It was a texture thing for you, mushy carrots not having much of an appeal.

The process of making it wasn’t too long, some time passing before he could bring it to you. He too took some time to allow it to cool down, too giving you more time to rest in the process. As he did this, he kept glancing back into the room you laid within, tinges of worry tainting his mind.

He quietly spoke your name as he nudged you awake, already having placed your soup on the bedside table for you. He made sure to be gentle with his nudges, not wishing to disrupt you poorly.

“Mm?” You hummed, voice raspy as your eyes fluttered open. “Oh…Hi.”

You were so sweet as you looked up at him, feeling awful yet still so happy to see him as you always were. It made his heart flutter with the dancing of butterflies.

He smiled, pressing his curved lips to your forehead again to read your temperature. “Still hot, I see. You should take the blanket off, i don’t want you to overheat or-”

“I’m always hot.” You tried to joke, yet it didn’t much land, for your tone was quite monotone and depressed sounding due to the physical state. “-But yes…”

You caused a slight chuckle to slip past him, and for that you were glad as he thus asked you to kindly sit up in order to eat the soup he had made for you.

You nodded, carefully and rather slowly pulling yourself up to sit with you back leaning against the headboard of your shared bed. 

“Good girl,” That smile was still on his face as he praised your efforts, causing you to blush. He didn’t mean it in any way that you may have been thinking, for it was a rather innocent praise.

He took the mug of soup from the nightstand, holding it carefully as he took the spoon, gathering some broth on it as he brought it to your lips. You had no complaints in regards to him helping you like this, so you parted your lips in return and allowed for him to ease the spoon into your mouth.

As you swallowed, it felt comfortingly warm against your throat and dry mouth, the spices dancing on your tongue as the flavours hit you like a harmonious song. 

“Thank you…” You spoke after a few more spoonfuls of soup, swallowing the liquid coating in your throat as you did so.

Luke is always so good to you, allowing for you to feel so loved and cared for. You couldn’t feel more appreciative of the man who sat before you. 

You reached a hand to him, cupping his cheek as you caressed the pink flesh with your thumb. Your touch was so gentle to him, perfectly delicate and warm due to the heat you radiated. 

“Can we cuddle, please?” You pleaded, giving him the cutest pout and puppy eyes. 

How could he say no when you asked so nicely, and needed him so much today? He was quite sure that his heart must be melting in his chest.

“Of course. It's hardly a question, you know. ” He smiled so warmly once again with a joy that felt like medicine, placing the mug on the bedside table as you scooched over for him, giving him room to lay with your back to his chest.

You worried that facing him would put him at risk of gathering your germs, therefore spooning was the safest position…yet part of you hated that very fact. Your love language is physical affection; you wanted to kiss him, to place your lips all over his rosy cheeks and soft lips, and you wanted just the same from him in return. 

He had his leg draped over your own, his face nuzzled into your hair and neck as his hand found its place upon your chest, feeling your heartbeat thump against him in a calming manner. It was peaceful to know your blood was pumping healthily through your veins, even in a state that may have left you feeling as if death was on its way. 

Though, he could indeed sense something was bothering you, a sudden riff like the waves on a calm ocean becoming disturbed. Something was on your mind.

“Star, is something wrong?”

You would feel rather silly having to explain that you’re pouting because you can’t kiss him until you get better, so you brushed it off instead. “Mmm no, just keep holding me, okay?”

He wasn’t buying it, but just nodded, pressing a kiss to your hair as he felt the disturbance once again. He was beginning to catch on, smiling to himself for the fact that you were always so needy for him, craving his affection; he adored it, truth be told. He felt so wanted and loved because of it, but make no mistake, he still wished to comfort the anguish of which he was not so very fond of in comparison.

You felt him pull away from you before slowly and gently nudging you around to face him, leaving you half laying on your back. He placed a hand on your chin, thumb running over your bottom lip as he began to question you. “Starflower, be honest with me; are you upset because you think I can't kiss you?”

You blushed, forgetting how quickly he catches onto things. “Well…but you…you know can’t- i’ll get you sick and i don’t wanna be the reason you get sick…”

“You didn’t answer my question.” His tone was both reassuring to protect you from embarrassment, while also teasing at once.

You sighed, pushing a cough down your throat as you did so. “Yes…I am- don’t laugh at me.”

He shook his head, blushing just as you were. “I'm not laughing, I promise.”

You tried to hide your face in the pillows, escaping his gaze as his grasp drifted to run through your hair soothingly. “I’m not afraid to kiss you just because of a few germs. You only have to ask me.”

“It would be selfish to get you sick, Luke.”

“And it would be selfish for me to deny you when you want me…Star, there is nothing I would hesitate to give you.”

You peered up at him again with the brightest blush, shy to give in. “Don’t blame me when you get sick then.”

His heart thumped in his chest, eyes switching between your lips and your sleepy eyes. “The padawans deserve a break for how hard they have been working, and we get to spend time together. I don’t sense a problem with this.” 

He had his right arm resting on the other side of your head as he looked down on you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. A few quiet moments passed like this, finding comfort in close proximity before you thus spoke quietly, pushing a smile from your lips. “Kiss me, please…”

“Hm? What was that, sweetheart?” He lightly teased, wishing to lighten the mood further, thinking a tad bit of silliness may ease your mind. 

“Luke…” You whined, pouting. Although, there was a part of you that would have giggled if not for being sick.

He let out a chuckle, lowering his lips onto your own as they connected, latching onto one another as if they had moulded to fit together as a perfect puzzle piece over the years. The kiss was soft, and left your lips feeling warm and tingly as his kisses always did. Even the curves of your smiles blended together smoothly, considered almost addicting.

You could feel the tug of his smile against your own throughout the entirety of the moment, so blissful even when in the company of countless germs. It was a lovely contrast, truly. That was what you loved most, the fact he could make the dark times seem like a paradise.

Reluctantly did he pull away, yet not far enough for his hot breath still danced against your skin. “See? That wasn’t so bad, star…”

You shook your head, raising your arms up to wrap around his neck. “Just wait until you get sick, maybe you’ll change your mind.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, coughing along the way and yet not phasing him in the least as the germs were likely spread over him. “You’re ridiculous, Skywalker.”

“I’m only in love.”

With another cough, you spoke. “When did you get so cheesy?”

This would be one cue to say something along the lines of “when i fell in love with you”, but fortunately for you, he instead replaces such a phrase with another interlocking of lips instead. Suddenly, being sick wasn’t so bad as it once appeared…

[swiftieblyth]

I love your writing!! May I please request a fic with George Weasley and his pregnant muggle wife? George and his family doting on her and it’s super sweet and adorable? Reader being besties with Fred lol 💖

More Weasley’s

warnings- pregnancy, fluff

George!” You yelled, from bed, hands running along your ever growing bump, the twins kicking you in all directions.

“What is it love?” George asked, running in.

“Help me up. I’m too big to move!” You pouted.

It wasn’t exactly wrong. You were nearing the end of your pregnancy caring Weasley Twins.

“Okay, darling,” George let out, going to your side and helping you up. “Do you need anything?”

“Rub my back!” You ordered. George smiled and started kneading his way through the knots in your back. You sighed and relaxed a little. “Thank you Georgie!”

“Of course darling. Do you need anything before we go to my parents?”

“No. I’ll need help getting ready though.”

“Of course my love, let’s get you three some breakfast first though.”

❤️❤️❤️

You were standing at the sink, trying to get your dress on but failing to do so, ending up with a terrible cramp in your back and much more discomfort from the babies inside.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” George asked, walking in to see you crying.

“I can’t get my dress on.”

“Oh, it’s okay baby. I’ve got it.” George helped you put your dress on, then crouched down, cradling your bump in his hands. “Hey babies. It’s Daddy, I need you to stop making Muma cry. I hate when she cries.”

“I love you Georgie,” you breathed, racking your figures through his red hair.

❤️❤️❤️

“We’re here!” George called, opening the door to the Burrow, helping you walk in.

“Oh there they are!” Mrs. Weasley let out, walking to you too.

“Hi, Mum,” George smiled, hugging her.

“Hi, Y/N,” she smiled, carefully hugging you. “How are you?”

“Good but exhausted.” You smiled.

“Why don’t you go sit down, dearie, we’re just finishing up dinner, but everyone else is in the living room.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, as George helped you to the living room. He helped you down on the couch, making you let out a sigh as George sat down next to you.

“Any signs of my niece and nephew coming yet?” Fred asked, exited for them to be there.

“Not yet, Fred.” George let out, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and putting his other hand on your bump next to your hands.

“But if you keep pestering me about it they might,” you remarked, looking at your best friend.

“What? I’m just ready to see the next generations Weasley twins.”

“Oh no. They might be Weasley twins, but they will not be going around pranking people all the time!” You scolded.

“You don’t know that Y/N/N,” Fred sing sung. “They could be just like me and Georgie.”

“That would be a nightmare.” You recalled. “I never had to deal with you two as babies. Dad, how bad were Fred and George as babies?”

“Well,” Arthur started. “Um, about how you would think.”

“Oh great.” You sighed.

“Don’t worry love.” George cooed, kissing your temple. “I’ll be right here to help.”

“I love you.”

“Diner’s ready!” Mrs. Weasley called.

You sighed as everyone got up and went the dining room.

“Come her, darling, I’ve got you.” George cooed, helping you up.

You grunted in discomfort as babies shifted, fighting each other and hitting you in the process. You got light headed and leaned on George. Head resting on his shoulder, hands rubbing your swollen abdomen.

“You dizzy?” George asked, kissing your head.

“Mm,” you hummed. “Light headed.”

“Let’s get you some food.”

❤️❤️❤️

“So, Y/N,” Ginny smiled, as you ate. “Are you excited for the twins?”

“Yes! I can’t wait to get them out of me.” You smiled, looking at your bump. “I just hope they have the signature Weasley red hair.”

“I’m sure they will, dearie.” Molly smiled.

“Thanks, Mum.” You replied.

“When they are born, Molly and I will be more than happy to look after them when ever you two need us to.”

“Thank you, Dad.” George smiled, running his hand along the bump, calming the babies down. “Once they’re born, Fred said he wouldn’t mind taking care of the shop, so I can stay at the hospital with Y/N. Then once they’re all three home, I’ll stay home and take care of them.”

“And of course you can all visit when they come.” You smiled, finished your food, and resting your head on George’s shoulder. A content smile on your face.

[isawritesshit]

Someone - Prologue

image taken from @ patlmao on pinterest

Synopsis: Satoru became something to you during your school years together at Jujutsu Tech, which were ended abruptly when you were casted out from your clan and left the jujutsu world. When Satoru finds you again after years apart, you find out that you were something to him too. Maybe you still are.

Warnings: fem! reader, mostly just fluff type stuff.

Author's Note: My first fic on this blog and for Gojo in general! I originally had this planned as one whole story, but after I started writing I decided to make it into a series. Not sure how many chapters will be included. This story will have smut later down the line. Updates will depend on my availability to write. Hope you enjoy lovelies!

Word Count: ~ 1.6k

___________________________________________________________

Gojo Satoru was nothing to you. Well, he was someone, but during the beginning of your life, he was no one. As your adoptive father described it, he was born with a technique that had not been seen in years, so that's really all there is to him. You believed it, not because you thought it was necessarily true, but because that's what your adoptive father told you. Whatever he says must be truth.

The Gojo Clan and the Kamo Clan were not exactly rivals. They tolerated each other. They had long histories as two of the three major jujutsu clans. Sometimes they fought each other, sometimes they fought together. Sometimes they mingled, and sometimes they were distant. It was only ever what the current situation called for. So, whenever you heard the jujustu community go on and on about Gojo Satoru, you reminded yourself of what your adoptive father had said. You were Kamo. You were Gojo Satoru's equal. He was just another sorcerer.

You had first seen him at a gathering between the three clans. He stood out to you immediately with his white cropped hair, flawless skin, and bright cerulean eyes behind long lashes. He was hard to ignore, especially with the way he was presented with his clan.

Always at the front. A symbol of power. Just like you.

You were always presented in the same way among the Kamo clan. Dressed in an orange and red kimono, holding onto the hand of your caregiver, an image of young, innocent, maternal grace against the hard, strapping demeanor of the Kamo boys and men. You remembered how Gojo's eyes had met your curious ones during that gathering. You were both barely 7 years old. You had been staring at him, the only other child in the room.

So cold, you thought. He looks mean.

And now, unbeknownst to you, you were about to meet him for the first time. You were starting your first year at Jujutsu Tech in Tokyo, not far from your home. You sat in a small classroom, chatting with another girl whom you had just met. Her name was Shoko. Shoko spoke calmly and cooly, and you liked that about her.

Your conversation was interrupted by the door opening silently, a black haired boy stepping through with wide leg pants and gauges. He looked at you both, shut the door, and sat in a nearby desk without a word. Another classmate.

You turned to Shoko. "Do you know how many are supposed to be in our class?" As if in answer, the man who could only be your teacher entered the room, introduced himself as Yaga, and that was that. You, Shoko, and the black-haired kid.

After introductions, Yaga glanced at his watch, sighed, and then looked back up at the three of you. "No use in waiting. Let's just get on with our first lesson. Meet me outside in about 20 minutes." He left, visibly disappointed.

Each of you stood one by one, chairs scraping. Black haired kid, Geto, said nothing. You wondered what Yaga could have been waiting for. Shoko spoke up. "So, are we all going together?"

With muttered agreements, the three of you walked towards the door. Geto and Shoko froze when your hand met the handle. You looked at both of them from over your shoulder. "Something wrong?"

Shoko reached out a hand. "(l/n), wait-"

Instead of you opening the door, the door opened right into you, it's corner hitting you straight on your brow.

You yelped in pain and met the force behind the door. You recognized him immediately. Gojo Satoru, now a young man. He was tall, almost too tall, and his eyes were covered by round sunglasses. Shoko and Geto took a step back. You grabbed your nose.

"Hm? Oh, sorry about that. You guys know if Yaga is going to be here yet or is he late?" he asked, not even bothering to check if you were okay. His tone struck you harder than the door. It was light, nonchalant, as if he were asking about what you had for lunch.

"He just left," Geto replied, his face hard. He is what you thought Gojo would sound like when he talked. Both him and Shoko surveyed Gojo, noticeably on edge. "Are you a first-year?"

"Yeah, he is," you grounded out, glaring at Gojo with your nose pinched between your thumb and forefinger. "And he's also late."

"Oh wait, I know you! You're that adopted Kamo girl!" Gojo exclaimed, leaning down to examine you like you were some pet hamster. "What was your name again?"

"(l/n)," you replied lowly as you backed a step away from him. "(l/n) (y/n)..."

"Right, right, with the reversal technique. Say-"

"Excuse me, are you going to ask if she's alright, or are you going to let us through?" Geto crossed his arms and sauntered over to him. They were about the same height, Geto being slightly taller. "Because Yaga-Sensei needs us outside. Not to mention, you were late. You should come with us so you can apologize."

"Oh? Oh yeah, I guess I was. Oh well, he'll get over himself." Gojo looked over Geto's shoulder at the clock and waved a hand at it.

Geto immediately looked irked at Gojo waving a hand in his face, his neutral expression scrunching into a scowl. "Who did you think you are?"

"I'm Gojo Satoru," he replied with a smirk and a pointed look at him from under his sunglasses. "You might've heard of me-"

"Oh, who gives a damn? I-"

Shoko interrupted them by grabbing you by the shoulders and shoving you through the door. "I hate boys..." she whispered.

___________________________________________________________

The beginning of your first year went by in similar fashion. Gojo or Geto would say something. The other one would get annoyed. Either you or Shoko would break it up or they would take it out on each other. It wasn't new to you. The Kamo boys would always be fighting over anything, but back then you were more inclined to either watch or leave.

Geto was tolerable. He was polite, and treated you and Shoko accordingly. He had his moments and his lofty morals, but at least he had reason. Gojo, on the other hand, was the opposite. He was a tease, and loved to make fun of you three, especially you. You always get this funny look on your face, I just can't help it, was always his excuse for when you asked why he was, well, the way he was. Not only that, Gojo saw no point behind a lot of things, especially the things that did matter. He didn't care about going too far in training, oftentimes almost seriously injuring one of you. He didn't care about the reasoning behind his strength or what he should do with it. He claimed that he was young and that the meaning behind his extraordinary gifts would just have to come to him eventually. Geto hated that, and you weren't quite fond of it either.

However, multiple missions together forced you four to learn camaraderie, which led to your inseparable friendship by the end of your first year. Despite your difference in sorcerer rankings (the boys were both special grade, and you and Shoko were semi-first grade), you recognized each other as equals. The strongest, as Gojo put it.

But deep down, you knew that he was the strongest out of the four of you. You thought even Geto understood it, which is why they still fought from time to time.

Gojo explained his technique to you in exchange that you would explain yours, because, it turned out, both of you were still confused by how your respective techniques functioned. "Uhm, well, the best way I can put it is the convergence of all matter," he started, playing with a loose seem at the edge of his jacket. "My infinity is a constant of imaginary numbers pulling in and slowing everything down. And then my six eyes just let me see cursed energy. They both just work together like that, y'know? What about you?"

"Oh, well, I guess if yours is the convergence, mine is sort of the divergence?" you raised, trying to make a comparison. Gojo quirked his eyebrow. "I don't understand it either. For some reason, I can only produce negative cursed energy. I can make reversal energy easier than others because of that, but only reversal energy. I've never been able to let negative cursed energy leave my body, which is why I've been trying to get Suguru to train me in cursed weapons and hand-to-hand combat, but he's always so busy."

"Well, how about we make a deal then?" Gojo asked, stretching his arms above his head and standing from the bleachers you were sitting on. "You teach me reversal energy, and I'll teach you hand-to-hand combat."

"But, Suguru is better at it then you are-"

"You gonna take the deal or not, (y/n)?"

"Okay, fine." You rose from your spot and gave the huffing baby a condescending pat on the shoulder. He flicked your arm in response as you both left the gym.

That night, you realized your adoptive father had been wrong about two things. One, Gojo Satoru is strong, very strong. He was way above being your equal, the only person keeping the balance between the jujutsu world and the normal one simply by existing.

The second thing was that despite that, Gojo still considered you his equal. Maybe because you knew something he didn't thanks to your technique. Either way, he wasn't no one because he was your equal. He was someone because he was your equal.

It was the first two of many things, you realized, that your adoptive father had been wrong about.

[luvvyouforever]

Hello!! I saw that your requests were open. Could you possibly do another Modern AU! Rhysand x College Student! reader fic? I loved the first one you posted and definitely gave me some comfort with how stressful college is 😭

I always liked imagining the ACOTAR universe in a modern au. Especially Velaris in a modern setting.

Hope you are doing well and taking care of yourself💜💜

hi! absolutely dear <3 i tried to include more velaris in this!

comfort on the bridge - modern au!rhysand x college student!reader

↳ a night out in velaris ought to clear your worries about upcoming exams. does it actually, though?

↳ modern portrayal of velaris, mentions of self doubt and stress, reader is studying to be a teacher but it could be replaced with any major/focus. this isn't my best work, i'll admit, and it did take me like two weeks to completely finish but here you go!

↳ divider art from @firefly-graphics

usually, there was nothing better than a night out on the town in velaris, surrounded by the inner circle and your loving partner, rhysand. very little made you more excited than getting dressed up with mor, pregaming with cassian, and flooding the dance floor of rita's. tonight, however, it was the last thing you wanted to do.

rhysand could sense your hesitance about going out, feeling the bond between you two grow shaky and antsy but there was no way you could bring yourself to say no to them. you were just more stressed out than you imagined possible and so much more was in your mind than getting drunk and dancing to fae pop music.

mortal college was more than you had anticipated. it was always your goal, far before your ears grew pointy and you became a part of the night court's defenders, to go to college and make something of yourself. rhysand encouraged you wholeheartedly, telling you over and over that it was a good idea, that velaris needed more teachers, that you could accomplish it.

and now, your college career was coming to a close which only meant certifications, exams, and papers that all required more of you than you could give. you could only remind yourself of the shining new generation of fae being born in velaris that needed teaching so many times.

all of those worries and deadlines could not be suppressed by the strong liquor going down your throat, leaving a harsh burn in its wake. nevertheless, you took every shot cassian offered and with everyone one of them, rhysand grew more worried.

"you're putting 'em down tonight, y/n!" cassian cheered as the clink of the shot glass hitting the bar rang through the room. "you want another one?"

"yeah, i'd lo-"

"darling, i really don't think you should have another drink. you'll feel terrible later," rhysand's deep voice sent shivers down your spine as his large chest came up behind you. instinctively, you leaned back into his warmth.

"no! we gotta have fun tonight! i can't let anyone down!" you rebutted. your hand reached for the drink on the bar but your hand was trapped by rhysand's before you could. "hey!"

without a response or argument, rhysand began to tug and you didn't put up much of a fight (you were positive that one wrong move and your lack of coordination would land you on your butt on the floor). cassian looked at the two of you, making brief eye contact with rhysand and he nodded in understanding. something was wrong.

"where are we going?" you asked your partner after you stepped into the fresh air of velaris. despite it being so late, the city was quite alive with people, bikes, lights, music, and sounds. it was a beautiful sight, one that usually caught your breath, but there were more pressing matters. like why did rhysand take you away from your fun? the worries were just now being forgotten!

rhysand didn't answer your pestering but instead led you down some streets, up one incline, and landed at an old steel bridge that was at a high enough point to overlook the streets below. it was a spot you frequented when stressed but you didn't know that anyone knew. of course rhysand knew.

without having to say anything, you both perched on the edge of the bridge, wrapping your legs around the posts. your arms brushed against each other and with a few deep breaths, you felt the alcohol begin to leave your system as quickly as it came in.

"what's going on? you're drinking a lot, you seem stressed. i feel it. i don't even have to look in your mind to tell," rhysand said softly. his violet eyes shined in the night and though his gaze was strong, you couldn't help but fall into it.

you sighed and leaned your forehead against the cool metal of the bridge. the sounds of your city flooded your ears and it washed you with some calm that you were searching for. "i'm just stressed. there's so much on my plate, so much coming up, and i don't feel smart enough or good enough for any of it." just speaking the words out loud felt like a weight being taken off of your body. surgically removed and thrown hundreds of miles away.

"tell me about it," your partner said. he wouldn't get it, necessarily, but sharing the weight would help.

"there's three certification tests i have to take, all of which are unnecessarily hard. and that's just so i can get my license to teach. i still have four exams, all worth well over a hundred points, and i feel grossly underprepared for each and everyone one of them. then there's this theory class that's all about best practices in education and research and i feel like i'm picking up none of it," you expressed. "i don't feel like i am going to be the best i can be for velaris. i want to teach them but i'm struggling to pass my class. how am i supposed to impart all of this amazing knowledge on them when i don't even know it?"

your head fell forward onto the bar again and you relished in the soothing feeling of it. down below, music and laughter erupted from a rooftop bar. you wished you could know what rhysand was thinking.

"you know...i think you're the most intelligent person i ever met-"

"that's not-"

"ah! ah! no arguing," rhysand cut you off. "as i was saying...you are the most intelligent person i ever met. the capabilities you have far exceed anyone in the spring court and hewn city combined. the passion you have for our city and its education is so admirable, y/n. everyone will be so lucky to have you as their teacher. the fact that you committed to going to mortal college just to provide the small number of velaris children with a proper education proves to me that the cauldron picked the most perfect person to be my mate."

looking at onto your city, rhysand's words sunk in. somewhere in a back yard, high fae children laughed cheerfully, clearly excited to be up later than what would usually be allowed. it was hard work but work that you were more than excited to be doing.

with a sigh, you leaned into rhysand's side, grateful for him being your rock. "will you help me study for the praxis?" you asked quietly.

rhysand's head dipped down and planted a soft kiss on your forehead. "me and all of velaris will help you through whatever you need, darling. and we will be there at your graduation, glamoured and cheering."

[perseephoneee]

meeting santa Claus. With Klaus from Academy Umbrella

meeting santa klaus (klaus hargreeves x reader) {ficmas 2023}

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 9 of ficmas!

a/n: i forgot how much i missed writing for my baby boy. my favorite klaus (sorry mikaelson).

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

Much like everyone else in the world, you lived under the assumption that Santa Claus was a larger man with a long beard, rosy cheeks, and a jolly troupe of reindeer. While the reindeer part is correct, the rest of it is horribly wrong and something that will haunt you for years to come. 

You discovered the truth of the universe when a long banging, followed by much swearing, could be heard in your living room. It was Christmas Eve, but you had been alone since your roommates had gone home for the holidays. You were spending the day alone, not wanting to deal with family politics this year. This is why hearing any sounds was very alarming at this moment. Afraid of a burglar in your house, you held your phone in one hand with the finger over the 911 button and a plunger in the other. You had no great weapons and felt that at least you could whack someone with the toilet plunger. You tip-toed down your stairs, your heart beating erratically as you looked down over your banister into your living room. Someone dressed in a loose-fitting red suit was cursing in your living room as they struggled to get some stuff out of a sack. You snuck into the living room, plunger above your head, and were entirely ready to attack when the burglar looked up with wide eyes at your weapon. You both started screaming. 

“What are you doing in my house?” you yelped, jumping back as the intruder sat up. 

“Is that a plunger?” he asked, voice confused. On closer inspection, he was a skinny man with thin facial hair and kind blue eyes. He looked a bit eclectic, and he was dressed like Santa. 

“My house, why are you here?”

“Funny story, actually,” he drawled hands on his hips. He was wearing Chuck Taylors. You had never seen someone dressed as Santa wearing Converse. “I am…Santa.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, seriously, I’m Santa! Santa ‘Klaus’ to be exact,” he raised his hands in front of him as if in surrender. You pocked your phone but kept your plunger weapon up. 

“And I’m Krampus,” you deadpanned, not believing him. 

“Technically, my name is just Klaus, and my brother is Santa,” he laughed, eyeing your plunger with a small degree of fear. “In my family, one of us inherits the role of being Santa every generation. However, he decided he wanted a break this year, and I had to deal with it. I’m not first born or a favorite of daddy dearest, so it shouldn’t be my post at all.”

You listened to his story with wide eyes and a level of confusion. 

“Anyway, here I am, being Santa Klaus for everyone this Christmas, and I have to say, I have no idea how my brother, Luther, does it. He’s a huge guy, and I fell down that chimney. Also, I’m exhausted and could use a drink. Got any tequila?”

“I’m sorry?” You were wondering if you were still dreaming. 

“Tequila? I swore off the drugs a while ago, but I still consider drinking okay.”

“Prove it,” you huffed. “Prove you’re Santa.”

“Oh heavens,” Klaus threw a hand over his face. He looked around, exasperated, before flicking his hand. Suddenly, all the decorations in your room were floating, and the lights flickered in a rhythmic pattern. You fell back into one of the armchairs in the living room, mouth open like a fish as Klaus set everything back to normal. Oh, you had to be still dreaming. This couldn’t be happening. You had a clinically insane Santa Claus, sorry ‘Klaus,’ in your living room, and you were armed with only a plunger. A candy cane was waved in front of your face. You looked up to see Klaus before you, apologetic as he handed you the candy. You noticed tattoos running up his hands and arms—a tattooed Santa Klaus. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Y/N. I hate scaring people.”

“How do you know my name?” you whispered.

“I’m Santa; I know everything,” he winked. You unfurled your candy cane and stuck it in your mouth, brain trying to catch up with everything happening. 

“Okay, you’re Santa. Santa is real. Santa is not one guy but a bunch of guys. Santa likes tequila.” 

“Luther hates tequila. I just like to rebel across the system,” Klaus smiles. It takes you a moment to notice that his Santa costume is red leather lace-up pants, a red robe, and a classic red hat that barely fits on his dark hair. 

“Punk rock, Santa,” you mutter, taking a bite from your candy. “How is, uh, being Santa?”

“Oh, it’s going terribly,” Klaus sighed, collapsing to the floor before you. His hand was thrown over his eyes like an old Greek statue. You said nothing about his state of dramatics. “I’m so behind. I don’t understand how this has ever been done in one night.”

“Do you use magic?”

“Of course,” he rolled over, his head propped up on his hand. Suddenly, an idea came to him, and he rolled towards you. You jumped back as his hands landed on the armrests of your chair, trapping you in. He smelled like a mojito– minty but also alcoholic. Mojitos were your favorite drinks. “You should help me!”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re by yourself, armed with a plunger. I’m in need of assistance, and I’m lonely,” Klaus was infectious with how he smiled at you. He was like an excitable puppy. “We can help each other! Make Christmas memories.”

“Why would I be helpful?” you ask.

“Because you’re a helpful person,” Klaus says, matter of fact. “You organize the homeless drive every Sunday, don’t you?” You would ask how he knows that but decide it’s likely magic, and that asking would leave you with more questions. Instead, you nod, confirming his question. “You have a big heart; you’re perfect for this job.”

“I’m…human,” you mutter meekly. Klaus grabs your face between his hands, effectively shushing you. 

“Me too! Mostly. Darling, you’re perfect.”

You decide that arguing with the fake Santa that wandered into your house wouldn’t be fruitful. Plus, you had no plans for Christmas except reading a good book and drinking mimosas. You ask if you can get dressed, but Klaus assures you that what you wear is fine. Of course, you wear a robe with pajama pants and smiley-face slippers. You and Klaus left out the front door since the chimney sounded like a bad idea. You guffaw at the sight of reindeer in your suburban street with a cherry wood sleigh. Klaus skips over like an excitable child and gives loving pats to all the reindeer. He shows you the proper way to pet them, and you giggle as Dancer and Blitzen lick your hand and try to steal part of your candy cane. Klaus lends a hand, and you climb into the sleigh. It’s so quiet outside that you’re shocked your neighbors aren’t hearing the commotion. You’re even more shocked when they don’t hear your screech as you take off into the air. Klaus grabs your hand in comfort, and you realize you like his presence. He’s mental, but he’s kind and somehow makes you feel completely safe when you should be losing your mind. 

What Klaus has in enthusiasm, you make up for in organizational skills. He gives you a magic skull key to help sneak into people’s houses (it feels illegal), and together, you double productivity as you drop off presents. You even steal a few cookies and some baklava from a Ukrainian home as you go. The kids were asleep on the floor as you snuck by to drop off your presents, and you were afraid they’d hear you as you moaned around the taste of the dessert. You stole some extra for Klaus, who reacted like you. 

You went to so many different countries you had never been to before, and the smile on your face was permanent as you soared across the skies with the real-life Santa. You wondered how you were chosen for such a treat, and you still wondered it as Klaus finally brought you back to your home at five a.m. on Christmas day. 

“Why me?” you asked, turning to Klaus in the sleigh as he eased the reindeer to a stop. He looked at you, confused. “Out of everyone that could’ve helped you tonight, you chose me. I just…don’t know why. I’m not special.”

“Oh, but you are; you’re so special,” Klaus grabbed your hands, running his fingers over your knuckles. “And I just like you. You’re kind. I could tell from your aura the second you tried to kill me with your plunger.” You chuckled a bit at that. 

“Thank you for choosing me,” you whispered. You kissed Klaus’ cheek, exited the sleigh, and bound into your house. You watched from your doorway as he became nothing more than a beam of light on the horizon. Climbing up your stairs, exhaustion finally crept into your bones, and you passed out immediately in bed. 

When you woke up and blearily descended your stairs, you were startled to find a present under the tree. You were even more pleasantly surprised when you unwrapped it and found one of the reindeer bells and a note from Klaus:

Call me. Even Santas use telephones.

[achillesnotfound404]

Hazbin Hotel human college au cuz I’m sleep deprived and insane

Listen I may be a college dropout but this au came to me in a dream so now I gotta or else I’ll explode this is gonna be a part one fs

I want to keep the Idea of Charlie helping the crew so instead of her rehabilitating sinners here the gang minus of course, Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor, are a group of students who are on academic probation, they meet Charlie through various ways and Charlie invites them to join her study group to help them save their GPA’s. Though they dont really get much studying

Charlotte “Charlie” Morningstar (she/they)

- Dual hospitality and psychology major with a minor in hospitality

-18 years old, Freshman

- Kind of a rich nepo baby, her dad is like an alumni and a huge donor to the university

- She does try hard, though! She’s such an over achiever it’s insane

- She’s the kind of girl who makes a Google doc of all the notes she’s taken and shares them with anyone and everyone

- She lives on campus in a dorm with Vaggie. Her dad tried to convince her to let him rent her an apartment, but she refused

- Autistic

-after graduating she wants to open a mental health/ rehab center

Honestly, basically the same as in canon

-token white girl of the group

Vagatha “Vaggie” Perez (she/her)

- Criminal justice major

-18 years old freshman

- Comes from a military family(very beneficial when filling out the FAFSA🙏🏽)

-works at one of the school book stores

- Used to do martial arts a lot as a kid and in high school, when she got to college her practices got less frequent but she still does it from time to time

- Very encouraging of Charlies study group even if everyone there annoys her

-very organized and has fantastic study habits

-constantly arguing with Angel because good lord they live to piss her off

Anthony “Angel” Ragno (they/he)

- Undeclared major

-19 years old sophomore

-Honestly, only went to college due to encouragement from Molly and threats from his father to cut him off if he didn’t

-his dad bankrolls his life(with very heavy strings attached) so they don’t need to work but he does do online sex work, ie OF/something similar

-- Lives off campus in an apartment his father owns with Cherri

- ADHD, Autism,BPD

-joined the study group first purly because he knew his dad would cut him off (and kill him) if he was kicked out of school

-“My class starts at 12 and it’s 11 now, by the time I get to campus it’ll be 11:15 which is basically 11:20 which is almost 11:30 which is basically 12 so I’m just not going”

-had a stint in rehab before starting college, did not stay clean very long

-had an extremely toxic and complicated on relationship with Val, Angel finally broke it off but is honestly still reeling From it

-token white boy of the group

Alastor Benoit (he/him)

- Radio Broadcasting Major

-24 year old senior

-runs a school radio show

- Very much a “I was born in the wrong generation 💔💔” kind of guy

- Total mama’s boy, doesn’t speak to his father and has not since he was a junior in high school

- Fluent in French and still regularly speaks it

- Originally wanted to go culinary school but opted against it, still cooks on the daily

- No one knows where he lives, no one has seen him leave a dorm or apartment, no one has even seen him walk to class he just kinda shows up,,,

- Very well dressed constantly, he has never been spotted wearing a t-shirt

-he is a very good student, he agrees to help with Charlie’s group cuz he was bored and thinks its funny to watch people try and still fail

-aroace and completely sex repulsed but is in a queer platonic relationship with Rosie

Husker Adler (he/him)

-Business major

-23 years old junior

- Works as a bartender at one of the local restaurants near campus

- Has weird history with alastor, he won’t elaborate what that history is, and no one asks

- Mostly kept to himself until Alastor dragged him along to one of Charlie’s groups and now he is stuck with them until he dies

-he didnt want to go to college, but his family runs a casino/hotel and he intends to go back to help run it so he figured going to school to learn more about business would be good,even if he thinks all his self taught skills are much better.

-lives on campus

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME THE GOLDEN GIRLS / SEASON 01 EPISODES 05 + 06

just where do you think you're going?

i'm an old white woman, i'm not supposed to have color.

i want you to see how good i look in my new dress.

i've lived in this body since i was born.

if something goes wrong, i'm the first one to hear about it.

i have to wash my hair every day for the rest of my life.

thank you for being a kind and generous god.

the only thing i haven't tried on is the bedspread.

what kind of woman do you think i am?

i am not accustomed to being manhandled.

you are no gentleman.

there is something about that man i don't trust.

she'll be heartbroken when you tell her.

the last time a friend's sweetheart made a pass at me, i lost my friend.

what kind of friend would i be to hurt her?

what kind of friend would you be if you let him ruin her life?

he put his big, masculine arms around my tiny little waist.

why would i make up such a thing?

you're used to getting all the attention and someone comes along and wants me and not you and it's eating your guts out.

nothing you say is worth repeating.

you are an amoral, backstabbing, self-centered woman.

the hell with you and your oversexed boyfriend.

she deserves to know what kind of person he really is.

why does everything happen to me?

isn't there some way we can settle this like rational adults?

how dare you leave in the middle of a fight.

now hold it right there.

i'm not fooling around.

look at him. he's twitching and blinking, he's lying.

i have just never felt so betrayed in all my life.

i haven't been a good friend to a lot of people, but i have been a very good friend to you.

you take some stranger's word over mine?

who'd believe they'd break up their friendship over a man?

i can't just stand by and watch this happen.

i take awhile to warm up, but once i get going i can turn your topsoil til the cows come home.

i probably lost one of my best friends because of you.

i've been an idiot through this whole thing.

there's no excuse for my behavior.

i didn't believe you because i didn't want to.

nobody ever believes me when i'm telling the truth.

it's the curse of being a devastatingly beautiful woman.

you miss a lot of things.

it wasn't my fault, i promise.

i'd keep an eye on this one.

i'm just so glad you're alright.

i'm willing to overlook this little incident.

i don't believe in hitting children.

personally, i like to lay into a kid with a melon baller.

if i breathe and it bothers you, put a pillow over my face.

what are you trying to do, pickle yourself?

what am i supposed to do, just sit around and listen to your arteries harden?

i am having a real problem with your attitude.

you can all just kiss my attitude.

is that all you italians know how to do, scream and hit?

you had no right to hit him.

i'd rather be alone than trapped here with you.

idle hands are the devil's workshop.

he might even start feeling good about himself.

crossing the street without getting pregnant was a chore back then.

life is full of crappy stuff to do.

you can tough it out or you can let it beat you.

it wouldn't be fair to be this old and have to raise children.