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spirit-lanterns · 9 months

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THIRST COMMENTS 2

synopsis: (celebrity AU) your girlfriend get's jealous when she reads your thirst comments. (part 2/2) part 1 here.

featuring: kafka, himeko, serval, yukong, topaz

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, jealous s.ex, cunnlingus (reader giving and receiving), pet names, slight degradation (use of whore in kafka's), rough s.ex, semi-public s.ex (himeko), possessiveness, lap s.ex, fin.gering, handcuffs, use of vib.rators, mating press, strap ons, doggy style, might be ooc, not proofread.

art credits: bad thinking diary

KAFKA

“You liked all that attention, huh? You liked it when all your fans were thirsting over you on the web?”

Kafka scoffs and bites her lip, keeping a firm hand on your scalp as she pushes you further into her skirt. The exasperated gasp that spilled past your lips pleased your girlfriend greatly while she listened to you with a grin, as Kafka couldn’t help but satiate her jealousy by making you remember just who exactly your lover was.

“Ooh, a new comment. Let’s see what it reads, shall we?” She drums her fingers against the top of your head and groans when she feels your tongue lap eagerly over her clit. You two had just gotten off the filming of the “thirst comments” video that would be uploaded to some popular celebrity news channel, but Kafka found herself growing envious over just how many of your fans lusted for you all over the internet.

The moment you two stepped into Kafka’s private limousine, she had you pushed down on your knees in front of her, one hand guiding you to peel her panties off from her skirt with your teeth, and the other hand reaching for her phone so she could read some of the other comments thirsting about you from Twitter.

“Anonymous said: I think (Reader)’s moans would be the cutest thing to listen to. I’m practically wet just thinking about it.”

Kafka chuckles when she finishes reading that thirst comment out loud, gripping your scalp a bit harder and causing you to moan.

“My, my…the commenter was right. Your moans are the cutest thing to ever listen to. In fact, I think I feel myself getting a bit wet, don’t you feel it?” She grits her teeth and yanks your hair up a little to see the glistening sheen of her pussy juices smeared around your face. The sight makes Kafka groan with pleasure, a wave of possession filling her chest as she pushes you back down to continue eating her out. “Mmpf…such a good girl…she knows exactly who she belongs to.”

Kafka scrolls a bit further through her Twitter feed, eyes landing on another comment that sends another pang of jealousy through her heart.

“Anonymous said: I’d drink up (Reader) till there’s nothing leaking out.”

Kafka grits her teeth at that and subconsciously pushes your head a bit deeper into her cunt. She revels in the way you writhe and squeak, gripping her thighs in your hands as you lap up her cum so eagerly. “Really? They want to drink you up till there’s nothing left? Hah…if only they knew that you were the one who is lapping up my juices so thirstily. You needy girl…”

She smirks and cups your face to pull you up and meet her lips in a sloppy kiss. You’ve never seen Kafka so…possessive in all your time of dating her, yet you’d be lying if you said you weren’t getting turned on at the thought of it. Normally she’s much more in control of her emotions, yet ever since you finished the filming of the thirst comments video, Kafka had been a little out of it till you got to the car.

“One more…let’s read another thirst comment about you, hmm? See what all your fans have to say about a cute whore like you.” Kafka chuckles and her eyes practically glow at this one particular comment. One hand reaching down to grope your ass possessively, while the other clicks on the comment to see it enlarged.

“Anonymous said: (Reader) is just so cute and innocent. I want to make her cum on my fingers until her voice goes hoarse and she’s crying for more.”

Kafka tsks at this and pulls you closer onto your lap, causing you to yelp. “Cute and innocent…” she repeats in a low, husky voice. “Well that’s far from what I see right in front of me.”

She chuckles darkly and snakes her fingers down to your pants, teasing you through the cloth before whispering into your ear. “I bet I can make you cry far, far better than that fan of yours…wouldn’t you agree?”

“Y…Yes…Kafka.” You murmur quietly, breath hitching when she kisses your neck.

“Good girl. I’ll make you cum better than any idolizer in the world. You are mine to devour…”

HIMEKO

“Hmm…I really didn’t expect your fans to be so bold, my love.”

Behind the set of the video “thirst comments” Himeko was currently pinning you up against the wall with her thigh slotted in between your legs. Though filming took place not too long ago, it seems as if Himeko has gotten just a tad bit jealous when she heard you reading off all your thirst comments for your portion of the video.

So now, here you were with your passively jealous girlfriend clinging to you while the staff and crew of the set chatted idly not too far away. Though they couldn’t see where Himeko had you pinned up, if you made any loud noises, they’d be immediately alerted to your proximity.

“Let’s read one of your beloved thirst comments, shall we? Just to remind you of what you remember.”

Himeko purrs and hands you her phone, allowing you to open up her Twitter and see the mass amounts of thirst comments clogging up her feed. “Go on, read one…” Himeko murmurs, pushing you back against the wall as she begins sensually rubbing up your thigh.

“Ah…mmpf…@/servalisms said: not even a guillotine could take away the head I’m about to give (Reader)…”

Though very creative and honestly quite flattering, you gulped and looked up to see your girlfriend staring down at you, with eyes that seemed clouded by something you could not decipher. “H…Himeko?” You murmured in a softer tone.

“Pffh! Quite creative your fans are, hm?” She gave you a teasing smirk, before suddenly dropping down on her knees in front of you.

“Ah! H-Himeko—”

“Just keep reading, darling. Keep reading those little thirst comments of yours and I’ll show you just how good my head game is for you sweet little pussy.” She suddenly pulled your pants down to part your thighs with her hands, nudging your panties with her nose and evoking a series of stifled little whimpers. “Come on…don’t be shy…”

She chuckles and continues prodding you for more access to your pussy. Leaving you no other choice but to continue reading as per request from your girlfriend.

“Anonymous said: the way I’d fuck (Reader) in every position is wi— AH!”

You didn’t even get to finish reading the thirst comment before Himeko suddenly plunged her tongue in to lap at your folds behind the thin, scantily fabric of your already dampening underwear. It was getting increasingly harder to focus on the pixelated words as Himeko just kept pushing against you with more force. Breaths hitching at the way she began losing control in your body…

“Every position? If only they knew your favorite position to be is under me,” Himeko chuckles, hiding the envy behind her golden eyes before planting a sweet kiss to your inner thigh. The sight of her rosy red lipstick left a faint imprint on the surface of your skin, and it left you feeling breathless with the way your normally composed girlfriend was beginning to show her true colors.

“Keep reading,” Himeko all but purrs, voice almost a throaty growl when she pulls your underwear down. “If you can’t even read the words on the screen, I’d say it’s a job well done for me.”

You gulped and shakily looked down to read another Twitter comment. Eyes blurring between the lines, but managing to focus on one singular post.

“@/sinsmockingbird said: (Reader) is so cute and beautiful. I just want to bend them over the table and completely ruin them till they’re a crying mess.”

It was difficult to read every word properly —given by how hard your thighs were shaking— but when you looked down, you saw Himeko biting her lip and staring rather intently at your cunt. It was kinda embarrassing to witness, but confused as to why she suddenly stopped her teasing, you gently tapped on the side of her cheek.

“Himeko…? Did I say something wrong?” Your thighs immediately buckled when Himeko dove her tongue in to press firmly against your hole, reveling in the way it twitched and puckered while your wobbly little legs tried so desperately to keep you upright. A small whine left your throat at the feeling of your girlfriend starting to go to town on you, eating you out with her hands gripped firmly on your thighs, while the tip of her tongue split you open with groans riveting from Himeko’s voice.

“God…you truly have no idea do you,” the usually calm woman exhales, diving back in to taste your juices while you buck your hips rather pathetically into her face. “If only your fans knew I was the one bending you over each night. The one making you cry until your tears have clouded you blind.”

As if to prove her point, Himeko suddenly nibbles against your clit and forces a small cry from your lips.

“So delightful, your noises are.” Himeko chuckles, staring up at you with a lustful gaze that kept you pinned under the redhead’s touch.

“I hope you always remember just how good your girlfriend pleases you.”

SERVAL

“Aghhhh, I knew your fans were down bad for you, but I had no idea they were this down bad.”

Serval chuckles rather hastily, but the envy was green in her eyes that once shown bright blue. Your girlfriend had tried to contain her jealousy after the recent filming of your “thirst comments” video, yet when your portion of the video came up —aka it was your turn to read thirst comments from fans— Serval was making it very obvious that she was jealous from the get go.

Well, it’s not like your girlfriend was that good of an actress in the first place. She was a singer, not an actor, and it resulted in some of her emotions spilling over after the filming, because suddenly you were locked up in Serval’s dressing room, on her lap, and on her couch while she lazily fingers you.

“Ah…shit, you’re so tight baby…” Serval groans, keeping an eye on her dressing room door while your soft, quiet whimpers play in her ear. Your phone sat idly in your hand as you could barely focus on the text on screen, your girlfriend pummeling her fingers inside you and distracting you from the task at hand.

“A…Anonymous said: I would let (Reader) peg me, no fucks given—”

You clamped your free hand over your mouth to stifle a loud moan as you felt the tips of Serval’s long fingers hitting that spongy spot inside you. Though pleasurable, this felt like torture to you while Serval laughed aimlessly and twisted her fingers around to see you writhe. “Peg me? As if this sweet thing could ever peg anyone in her life.” Serval chuckles and thrusts her fingers a bit faster, the middle and ring fingers of her right hand pumping so steadily into your cunt. “Come on, let’s read the next comment. Don’t tell me you’re at your limit yet.”

Serval kisses the navel of your neck and smirks up at you with that cocky expression she always had. Driven forward by her sloppy thrusts, you groaned and narrowed your eyes to focus on the screen in your hand, before latching onto Serval so you wouldn’t accidentally tip over.

“@/the-voxinton-tavern said: (Reader) played her role in her newest horror movie so well! I’d just want to see her legs shaking in a different context.”

Serval scoffs at this before giving your outer right thigh a soft slap to the skin, causing you to yelp and nearly jump out of your girlfriend’s lap. “I’ll have your legs shaking so much you’d be clinging to me to carry you out of this room.” Serval husks, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Aha…well at the pace we’re going at, you’ll be achieving your goal v-very soon…” you mumble, an attempt at making a light joke falling on deaf ears.

“I know. No one knows your body more than I do.” Serval whispers, pushing your body up higher as she forces a third finger in to fill you up even more. At the sudden stretch of your girlfriend’s three fingers all attempting to fit inside you, you buckled your hips forward and gasped, clutching onto the singer’s sweaty shoulders. “S-Serval! Not too quickly—”

“It’s okay, it’ll fit. You’ve taken so many bigger things up you before.” Serval grins, nudging your cheek with her nose. “Alright, let’s read the last thirst comment. Read it all the way through and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

“Maybe?!” You groaned and glared at your girlfriend with a somewhat pouty expression.

“Maybe.” Serval grinned, teasingly kissing your nose and urging you to read the next comment.

“Anonymous said: if (Reader) ever needs a chair, my face is readily available 🤭”

Serval actually laughs at this and suddenly slides her fingers out of your cunt, hoisting you up in those strangely strong arms of hers, and placing you down on the couch to crawl over you in a pinning position.

“If (Reader) ever needs a chair?” Serval tilts her head, a devious smirk on the blonde woman’s face. “Why would you ever need to sit on something other than my lap, babygirl?”

You whine when she suddenly thrusts her fingers back in and causes a cacophony of moans to slip past your lips. Suddenly Serval is faster, harder, and her fingers are starting to plunge further up into your folds, causing you to arch your back and nearly scream.

“You’re so fucking hot…” Serval curses, pulling you closer before bringing you closer and closer to your impending orgasm. “I’m so glad that you’re mine.”

And as if to prove her point, she thrusts her hand till the palm slaps wonderfully against your clit, causing a small squirt of cum to drip past and coat her already slick fingers. “That’s my good fucking girl…” Serval groans, pulling her fingers out to clean them with her tongue. “My good fucking girl…”

YUKONG

“This generation is rather prude with their flirts, hm? That’s no way to pick up a lady…”

Yukong tsks her tongue at the particular thirst comment she sees regarding you and your body. Though thirst comments are almost always a joke within the celebrity community and space, Yukong being of the older generation, was not pleased at the slightest to see how her girlfriend was ogled at and thirsted over on the internet.

Especially to this degree.

“@/lindseynguyen said: (Reader) can step on me with her heels and I’ll thank her for it.”

Yukong narrows her eyes at the thirst before sighing and looking down at you. “Honestly, how masochistic can your fans be, dear? I’m starting to believe you could punch them and they’d get turned on, don’t you agree?”

You’d respond, of course, if not for the fact that you were currently handcuffed to the hotel bed with one of Yukong’s personal vibrators stuffed up your hole. Ever since you two had left the set of the thirst comments video to head back to your hotel room, Yukong had you handcuffed to the post of the bed, sliding her hidden vibrator out of her suitcase so that she could shove it up your cunt for “discipline.” Apparently, for as old and wide as Yukong could be, she was still capable of getting jealous, evident with her rough treatment of you the moment you stepped foot in your suite.

“Darling? Oh, that’s right. You can’t even speak, just moan like the needy girl you are, so desperate for my command.” Yukong strokes a gentle hand across your face, wiping the overstimulated tears from your eyes and giving you a kiss. “Don’t worry, I’ll finish soon enough, then you can get the glorious orgasm you so desperately crave.”

Yukong grins and glances back down at her phone.

“@/chamomillecamille said: (Reader) would NOT be able to hide if we were in a hotel together. The way I’d be screaming her name.”

Yukong raises a brow at this, before chuckling and turning up the vibrations of the toy. “Oh, how ironic isn’t that, my love?” She traces a small drip of precum sliding from your inner thigh, before scooping it up with her finger and licking it. “The fact that I have you tied up and fucked in a hotel room at the moment…I bet Camille would be seething that she can’t savor this.”

As the vibrations of the toy are turned up, the buzz pulsing through your sensitive walls increases and causes you to close your thighs out of pure pleasure. A whine leaks past your throat, alerting Yukong to your now closed position and causing her to tsk at the sight.

“My darling, I thought we went over this. Legs stay open during your punishment.”

Yukong moved your thighs back into their spread position on the bed, eying the way the pastel blue vibrator was now covered in your slick and lube. You caught the older woman drooling a bit, saliva pooling behind her canines before she swallows and moves closer to adjust the shaking toy.

“So wet…it’s almost slipping right out…” she pushes the toy back deeper into its original position, smiling at the way you could barely keep it together. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Last one, I promise. No more teasing.”

She playfully flicks the clit of your swollen, sensitive cunt before diving her eyes back to the faded screen.

“Anonymous said: I want (Reader) to break my back like a glowstick.”

The older woman chuckles quite amusedly at this, picturing the thought before sliding the dripping wet vibrator out with a pop. “Breaking backs like a glowstick? Wouldn’t that hurt, though?” Yukong tilts her head and smirks at the way you whine with how she tore away your orgasm from you. “If anything, I think your back would be the one broken, my dear.”

She hoists you up by the waist and props your legs up over her lap to get a better view of your sensitive, glistening folds. Using her two thumbs, she spreads them open apart and can’t help but let out a throaty grunt.

“All mine…to think this sweet woman is all mine…”

Pushing your legs forward suddenly, you nearly cry when she pushes your legs down in a position you find yourself in countless times before. A mating press.

“Here, let me show you just how good I could break you.” Yukong purrs, the soft, older woman figure now gone and replaced with someone much more dominant. “I hope all these guests hear just how loud you are when I’m done with you.”

TOPAZ

“Heh, to think I had so much competition vying for your love, babe.”

Topaz raises a brow while reading a particular thirst comment about you on her phone. Normally she’d be more focused on you at the moment ��given by how she was currently fucking 7 inches of her strap on into your cunt, doggy style— yet it seemed as if your girlfriend was focused on more…trivial affairs, as she was more upset over the fact that fans were getting pretty possessive over you, rather than the fact that you were buck naked and grinding on her.

“Anonymous said: TELL TOPAZ TO BACK AWAY. (Reader) is mine and mine only.”

Your girlfriend narrowed her eyes at this and gave a particularly hard thrust with her hips. “Pfft, wow, jealous much?” Topaz traced the palms of her hands over your ass and gave the soft, rear ends a harsh squeeze. “I mean, we aren’t even officially dating when it comes to the public, is our relationship that obvious on screen?”

You attempted to answer, but with the way Topaz was grinding the thick shaft against your insides, pulling any word or sound out of you to turn into a moan, had you practically speechless as you were left face planting into your pillow.

“I mean, we do flirt and touch each other sometimes on camera, but I mean come on…” she continued her shallow thrusts and pressed firm nail indents into your sides. “Just listen to this one baby, just listen to it.”

“@/lenzxii said: The way I would let (Reader) literally fuck me until my only coherent thought is her, step on me, beat the dog shit out of me, abuse me, run me over with her car, carve her name in my thigh, let her use any hole she wanted, cheat on me, rob me, steal my shit, kidnap me and I’ll still say thank you for blessing me with your presence.”

Somehow Topaz said all of that under one breath, eyes practically popping out of their sockets as she had to take a quick moment to reread the absolute unit of a thirst comment about her girlfriend. “Lord almighty, babe, your fans are practically ravenous over you.”

“Go…Go figure…” you mumble out in a grunt, noticing how Topaz was starting to slow down with her thrusts, as she was beginning to get distracted with her Twitter feed. “Topazzzzz…please move faster…”

“Hm? Oh, Aha…you want me to go faster? What, do you need me that bad?”

“Yes!” You exclaim almost immediately, now slightly annoyed that she was focusing more on her phone, than you. “You wanted to fuck me because you were jealous so act like it! Stop staring at that phone like it’s your girlfriend, I’m your girlfriend!”

You pouted up at her and gave her the cutest, neediest eyes Topaz had ever seen on a woman, causing her to blush and nearly drop her phone on the bed. “Ah…fuck. You really are cute when you look at me like that…” she chuckles, gripping your hips tighter and repositioning her angle for a better thrust game. “Alright, alright…just don’t pout at me like that. You’ll make me feel bad for putting you here.”

She leans forward and kisses each of your shoulders, starting up her thrusts again before glancing at her phone one last time.

“Okay, I know I said I’d pay attention to you for now on, but this thirst is funny.”

“@/melodazeee said: literally need (Reader) to be elbow deep and braiding my guts 😍🙏”

Topaz snickers at this, before moving her hips back and forth behind you and pushing the tip of her shaft deeper till you were practically split. “Elbow deep and braiding your guys, huh?” The image is so funny for Topaz, as she could never imagine her sweet and cute girlfriend rearranging someone’s guts. “Oh how different reality is, huh babe?”

She wraps her arms around your stomach and could practically feel the small belly bulge she was giving you, every time she pistoned in and out with her cock. The sight of you creaming around her hips and staining the sheets with your juices almost too much for Topaz to handle.

“Fuck…if only I could show the world how hot your face and moans are when I take you…” she groans, before keeping you locked against her body. Breasts pushing languidly against your back while Topaz begins toying with your clit with her fingers.

“I wish I could tell the world how it’s me making you scream behind the scenes…but at least you know it’s only me. That’s all I really need…”

#kafka smut #kafka x reader #himeko smut #himeko x reader #serval smut #serval x reader #yukong smut #yukong x reader #topaz smut #topaz x reader #celebrity au #hsr smut #hsr x reader #star rail smut #star rail x reader #hsr women smut #hsr women x reader

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adore-laur · 4 months

Note

the girls asking Harry & their mom how they fell in love ?

——

With bath time for the kids done and dusted, you fall onto the couch like a rag doll with your eldest daughter in your arms wearing a fluffy white robe. She's about to get the princess treatment—her favorite thing is when you comb through her curls with apple-scented detangling spray. Harry holds your youngest and rhythmically walks around the living room to make her sleepy. She's in her zip-up pajamas, and she smells like fresh lavender. Her eyes are not yet closed, but Harry knows what tricks to use. Before long, she'll drift off and be transferred to her crib, all clean and fed.

As you yawn, the little arm tucked in your embrace wiggles free. It'll take significantly longer for her to become sleepy, but you're hoping some snuggles and soothing hair brushing under the dim lights will speed up the process.

She points aimlessly toward the fireplace, yet her eyes track above it. The artificial plant? The pillar candle? The row of picture frames?

"What, baby?" you ask, kissing her damp curls while readying the comb and spray.

"Pretty dress," she says, aiming her finger more precisely. You follow it and smile sweetly. On the mantel shelf, there’s a photograph in an elegant gold frame. It has been proudly displayed there for nearly five years as a keepsake from one of the most euphoric days of your life. It's an eight-by-ten photo of you and Harry after your marriage ceremony, sitting in the sleek black limousine that chauffeured you both to the reception venue. Through the open window, the hired photographer captured the moment Harry tried to unclip your lace bridal veil. Your legs, covered by the lush and heavy silhouette of your gown, were thrown over his lap even when there was plenty of space to spread out.

The reason that particular photo is the chosen one for the living room is because of how you and Harry are looking at each other in it. His fingers, one in particular the forever home of a gold wedding band, were tangled in your intricately styled hair, working to unclasp the many pins lost in the strands. But his eyes were feasting on you—captivated, ecstatic, and soaking you in like you were the only thing that existed. His smile was the brightest part of the photo. He was mid-laugh, with his dimples deep, nose scrunched, and cheeks pushed up so that crinkles formed near his eyes. You can hardly remember what he was laughing at. He was giddier than a kid in a candy store, with unrestrained hands and excitement. He never did end up successfully removing your veil. His mother later helped him out, and it's now packed away in a storage box in the back of your closet.

Your expression in the photo is quite similar to his—irrepressible joy mixed with fierce love for your better half. The high resolution captured the residual tears in your eyes, which were caused by the overwhelming emotions from when you greeted family and friends after the ceremony concluded. It was a gorgeous, sunny day. The afternoon sunshine poured into the limousine and accentuated the details of your exquisite gown and Harry's traditional tuxedo. You parsed through countless photos after the honeymoon, and Harry agreed that this one encapsulated the intimate love you shared with each other the best. It always brought you back to that day and that indescribable feeling. It still makes your heart pound. You would marry him a million times over just to cherish every single second again.

When you and Harry started a family together, the mantle shelf was filled with more precious photographs over the years. Now, with two children, anniversary milestones, and vacation memories under your belt, it's a beautiful display of the life you built and experienced with Harry. It's a reminder of what life is all about.

"That's mommy's wedding dress," you say proudly, beginning to comb through her hair. Harry stops his laps around the rug and stares at the picture too.

"You wore it when you met Daddy?" she replies, a cute sense of curiosity quieting her voice.

You laugh and catch Harry's gaze just as a crooked smile breaks loose on his lips. "No, I wore it when I married him."

"Oh. What did you wear when you met Daddy?"

"Gosh, I don't think I even remember," you say, searching your brain for that night at the dive bar. It was a late-night encounter, and you were tipsy.

Harry, still staring at the wedding photo, says, "An open-back dress. Black, long, and form-fitting." He shakes his head, lost in thought. "Effortlessly gorgeous."

"How in the world do you remember that?" you ask, a blush crawling up your neck.

"The disco lights were dancing across your bare back." He shrugs, like the memory is permanently stamped inside his brain. "I'll never forget that sight."

"It was a funeral dress?" your daughter asks, piecing together the visual her father verbally painted.

"Definitely not," Harry says, sending a secret smirk your way.

"Where did you see mommy in the black dress?" She lets you move her head around as you spritz her hair with the detangling spray.

"We were at the same... restaurant," you say slowly, careful not to mention bars around her. Better to keep her innocence alive as long as possible.

"What did you eat?"

"We didn't eat," you reply. "We had strawberry and lemon drinks." You intentionally leave out the infused with alcohol part.

"What did Daddy say?"

You smile, loving her endless questions. "He asked me questions about myself. Made me feel comfortable and special. Unfortunately, our conversation didn't last very long. Mommy was tired and had to go home."

"And Daddy thought he was never going to see her again," Harry added theatrically. "He was really bummed out about it, but by some magical force, he crossed paths with her a month later."

"Magic?" Your daughter whispers the childlike word, her eyes wide with interest.

"It sure seemed like it," Harry says, gently sitting beside you so as not to wake the baby. He looks at you, and somehow, his eyes transport you right back to the start of it all. "Took us three tries to finally get things right."

You lean forward to kiss him tenderly. "Look at us now."

He reciprocates the kiss—his is a bit more urgent and sentimental. He then admires his daughters, both on the verge of sleep, and rubs his palm over where his heart is. "Thank you for choosing me, baby," he says to you. There seems to be emotion lodging in his throat, but he clears it away and breathes in deeply. "I'm yours every day. And I love you for infinite reasons, but growing our little family has the number one spot in my heart."

You toss the comb aside and hug him, your daughters cocooned by two souls that somehow found each other more than once. By magic, fate, or simply coincidence, you truly lucked out.

——

#harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #dad!harry #dadrry #harry styles fanfic #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur

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eldritch-spouse · 5 months

Note

I'd give almost anything to be squished between Vesper and Santi.

[You'll give your holes, that's for sure. Fem reader.]

" Are you sure I'm ready? "

Santi watches you squirm in place, picking and plucking at an outfit that shows more skin than anything you've ever put on before. He assured you, several times, that by the standards of Lust you're being very conservative.

The incubus rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time, but tries to be patient. After all, going to Hell, even if just for a little visit, isn't something all humans treat casually. Especially not his darling match, poor thing that you are, so ignorant of his origins, his nature. Visiting the King of Lust specifically is twofold the stress for your little head, he must imagine.

" And why wouldn't you be, love? "

You huff.

" I... I don't know... What if I get nervous and say something really stupid? This is a -What did you call them?- An Icon of Hell, I can't be making a fool of myself- "

" Dearest. " The dark demonoid interrupts, lifting himself off a lush bed to stand behind your figure in the mirror. " Vesper may be a King, but he's also my friend. I only want him to know about us, you're going to do just fine. "

Averting your gaze from his, your lips are still firmly set in a frown.

Santi whispers sweetly. " Don't you trust me? "

" Y- Yes. "

There's a grin. He plays with the hem of your scarce top enough to let a nipple flash for a lurid second.

" Then do this one favor for me, I promise you'll like him. He's quite the character. " Understatement.

He can hear your heartbeat pound inside the vehicle.

The trip through his birth Ring has been uneventful for the most part. It could only have been that. You may be considered fresh meat by his kin that inhabit this particular zone of Hell, but you're accompanied by a high-ranker and being escorted in a limousine sporting the royal insignia.

No one would dare interfere.

It doesn't stop the curious glances, the oohs and aahs, or the sights Lust often has on display. The streets are an open ground for depravity, it's very standard to watch pairs and groups of demonoids crawling over each other in a cacophony of moans, humans and monsters alike giving into their carnal whims, lewd smiles on their faces as they're paraded in fetish gear and shown off like the prizes many of them are.

Santi watches your scandalized expressions as you nearly fog up the window in morbid curiosity.

" S- Santi! "

" Mm? "

" They're- Oh lord, they're tied to a post Santi! "

He arches a brow, fingers ceasing their casual groping of your thighs to glance out, seeing some poor sod of a human tied to a street post by the wrists. They look disheveled and pant in exertion, sweaty, infernal obscenities scribbled on their skin while gratuitous amounts of seed ooze out of their orifices. They lean on the post for support.

" Oh, the poor thing- " He jests, failing to keep straight-faced at your glare. " They're going to keel over! "

The fiend who had just finished using the community cumdump gives them a loving pat on the head and reaches from a bag to offer the human water. The two appear to be chatting idly. Santi watches confusion etch itself in your pretty complexion at the contrast of the human's bruised, exhausted state and the care they're shown by the one you recognize as an assailant.

The nature of Lust is conflicting.

It's oftentimes hard to tell whether or not someone is here of their own volition, partaking and letting go because they decided to, or because they caved under the Ring's influence and began to enjoy their unfortunate demise.

Some people argue that Lust is the most merciful Ring of Hell for those that get dragged into the annex, because while you may lose yourself, your last lucid moments are spent in utter bliss, and that bliss is what you'll know from henceforth. Others argue that Lust offers the ultimate humiliation of the soul, turning you into a beast of the flesh that craves only to use and be used.

Santi doesn't quite care. The end result is always the same, everyone enjoys themselves here.

Deciding that perhaps it's best not to let you get too into your own head, the incubus looms behind your concentrated figure and plants soft kisses on the back of your neck, gently coaxing you to turn around so he can pull you into his lap and shower you in idle affections.

" Santi... " You start while he kisses the back of your hand.

" Yes, love? "

" How did you and the King meet? "

What a question.

He doesn't want to think too much about those days, that past which seems so distant yet not at all. He was someone else, back then. Someone harsher, someone you wouldn't have fancied, someone who'd make you quake in fear even if your loins sang. He wouldn't have been able to appreciate you for the treasure that you are, during that period. You deserve more than that, you're worth the world and all its pleasures.

" I don't remember all that well anymore, but I know it was during a party, sweetness. " He vaguely replies.

" An orgy. " You correct him, having started to put two and two together about the cultural cues of a concubus' speech.

" Same thing. " Santi counters, knowing very well there's a difference.

A silence settles for a brief couple of moments where the incubus gets to close his eyes and bask in the comfort of your perfect form, feeling your every muscle twitch against him, the hitch of your breath as arousal has yet to fade from your system.

He's doing this intentionally.

For things to go well today, it's ideal for you to always be somewhat stimulated. Plus, he's always loved watching you writhe and try to conceal your own desires. Not as much as Santi adores seeing you boldly demand he do obscenities to you. For you. To please you.

" You used to live here before, right? "

" Mhmm... " He hums smoothly.

" What made you want to leave Hell? "

Santi halts, gathering his thoughts, coming up with a decently abstract yet still valid answer.

" I wasn't happy with myself back then, love. I figured a change of scenery couldn't hurt. "

Half-truths, oh bittersweet as they are, he almost doesn't feel bad when you smile your blind acceptance.

" I'm glad you decided to leave. "

The monster's heart stirs in its confines.

" What, you wouldn't want to move in here? The heart of Lust? " Santi mocks.

" Fuck no- "

And he cackles.

You've entered mansion grounds.

This sly-eyed imp with pointed hair introduced himself as King Vesper's head imp, and has been escorting you two through the halls of the royal mansion so far.

If you had to describe the place, you'd call it deceptive.

Deceptively ornate. Suspiciously calm. Questioningly beautiful.

There's something amiss, is a better way to put the vibe of this location.

Varying shades of pink fade invitingly into purples and reds that seem to comfort and beckon. Many were the gold-swirled corners and turns that you peered into momentarily before returning to following the guide. The furniture and décor is just standardly royal enough to make you wonder if many of the set ups are meant to be as phallic and yonic as they seem. You could swear one of the walls had patterns carved into it that resembled the vulvas of countless individuals. A statue was poised just suggestively enough that it resembled malehood. Many are the paintings and figurines scattered across walls and vases depicting pairs and groups of lovers entangled in dirty yet passionate acts. Are the objects on the shelves meant to be sex toys or just peculiarly shaped abstract figurines?

When passing by what Lacai called the "Hall of His Majesty's Favorite Commissions", Santi covered your eyes occasionally. As far as you could tell, it appeared to be furnished with many differently styled depictions of Vesper's raunchy adventures with a plethora of his attractive playmates. You trust Santi's judgement that maybe some of them are too potent for the human eye.

Since the moment you set foot here, your grip on the dark incubus' hand has been iron-like, trying to siphon some of his calmness. Santi looks absolutely enamored with some of the design choices present, making you wonder if maybe he'll do some tweaking to your living space later.

" And we've arrived. " The imp, previously idly chatting with your lover, exclaims.

Two incredibly tall doors separate you three from whatever lies beyond. Infernal is engraved in them, statements you can't discern, stylized in a type of perfect, gentle cursive and accompanied by sculpted tendrils embracing the torsos of emerging demonoid figures sporting androgynous builds.

You can't help but get lost in the expressions of such visceral bliss captured in their faces. They appear to be molds, almost. Alive. Suffering the torments of eternal pleasures. Grotesque, beautiful. Maybe you really are Santi's match after all... Or maybe that's this sweet smell you've been drowning in for a while getting into your head.

" King Vesper will welcome you shortly, if you need anything, do scream my name. "

A wink, directed at both of you, and the head servant is gone, slinking back into the previous halls without a moment's notice.

Perhaps your gulp was a little too loud.

" Deep breaths, you know what's going to happen- " Santi pulls you into a big-titted hug, rubbing your goosebump-riddled skin. " No need to sweat about it. "

Much more easily said than done.

Chuckling and giggling is heard from the other end of the doors.

" There there, all set to rights, head on out honey. "

One of the massive doors parts forward, and a small hand struggles to find balance upon it. A grayish monster woman emerges, shaky, glazed eyes unaware of either of you. She tries to rearrange her fur and tuck loose tufts into her clumsily worn suit, but only succeeds in nearly wobbling to the floor. The stacks of paper and cases under her right arm tell you that this woman came here for some kind of diplomatic task, and probably didn't get much done...

Santi politely helps the lady step forward, unable to wipe away the only slightly mocking grin on his face.

" Do come again, I believe our business isn't quite complete! "

The same voice calls.

It's hard to describe it. Strong, potent, undeniably demanding of everyone's attention to a scary degree, but also loving, desperate, begging you to listen, to come closer. Velveteen reverence and the authority of someone who can take it away from you in the snap of a finger, a tempter, a lover, a challenger.

You don't need to think too hard to understand whose voice that is.

The poor woman mumbles some kind of exasperated farewell before she too disappears into the same halls Lacai had left through.

You recall a conversation about royal etiquette you had earlier with Santi. When the King of Lust accepts a request for a meeting, even if he's not being summoned, it's considered polite and common sense to also bring him something to eat. This meal could come in the form of a second person, or the requester themself. You suppose you know the choice the monster girl made.

" Next please! "

A shudder wracks its way down your body, but a firm warm hand on the small of your back prevents you from stepping back.

You're guided forward, into what appears to be a lavish lounge room, sharing the same inviting tonalities from before. Big couches and beds and tall mirrors with rails and steps spread across the room, even what you think is meant to be a pretty discreet altar in the middle, disguised as an artistic design choice. A neatly arranged table is set up next to a balcony, half obscured by darkened curtains. A great chaise lounge is clearly meant for your majesty, the other smaller two are meant for guests obviously.

The two of you stand politely at the entrance, waiting for acknowledgment, and the odor permeating this room is so intensely thick it feels like it's dripping into your skull, caressing every inch of you.

Alarmingly, your skin becomes feverish and you gasp for much needed air, feeling the peaks of your tits perk immediately, a rush of blood flying to your nethers. You feel the overwhelming urge to drop your already light clothes and throw yourself into one of the many soft cloths offered.

Santi too sniffs and rumbles at the atmosphere, no doubt incensed by the scent of what might have transpired only moments earlier. Although he's much more in control of himself than you, a gentle touch guiding you back into focusing on the present. You thumb at the bracelet he gave you, the one that presses into the inside of your wrist, dispensing a countering substance into the thin sheet of skin there.

Said substance is the only thing that's keeping you from crawling on the floor like a dog in heat.

A large, flowing tail swishes, and the two of you finally have the composure to glance right, met with the visage of King Vesper, naked as the day he was spat onto Hell, grabbing belongings from a fancy cabinet. When he turns around, your breath catches.

It's not entirely news to you. Santi described him to you, and Vesper has got to be the Icon of Hell who most desires to be seen by everyone, so you knew he was pink, voluptuous and fluffy in a few sections.

But seeing him in person is a whole other matter. It doesn't compare to any detailed descriptions.

Only Santi has managed to captivate you more intensely than the demonlord standing before you. It's... Well, if you had to try to put it into words, when you gaze into those big, predatory magenta eyes, it's like the shock of when you first glanced at Santi- But without the warmth in your chest.

No, this here is just warmth in your loins.

No soul in Heaven or Hell is stopping your eyes from dancing all over Vesper's body. From flowing tendrils to piercing pinks, heart-shaped nipples, golden chains, neatly-arranged fluff and thighs for days, a second mouth grinning at the two of you- There's so much to focus on, so much to ogle, that your sight nearly crosses for a moment.

He's a lot.

It's hard to steady your breathing.

Eventually, you notice those purpled claws are holding onto a spiral-shafted bottle and three miss wine glasses. You don't know what's inside the bottle, but it looks like a regular wine.

" Your Majesty- "

" Vesper, Santi. We've been over this. " The Icon frowns.

" Vesper. Long time no see. " Your incubus smiles, a slight wag of the tail behind him.

In contrast, the Icon's entire head tendril curls with happiness. " Oh say less! Much too long! And after this news, I would drag you here myself if you refused my invite. "

Santi nods with an expression that clearly shows he doesn't doubt the King one bit.

Suddenly, the ruler's gaze snaps to you, like a hawk spotting its lunch a mile away. He bends, much too close, invading, before grabbing smoothly onto your left hand. This close, you can smell the lush, almost floral scent coming from what must be that mane around his neck.

" And where have my manners fled- You must be this harlot's one and only match, the human I've so been aching to meet. " A thumb runs across your knuckles.

" Hhh- Hello- It's a pleasure, your majesty. "

Brilliant. Flawless. You definitely didn't choke up like a cat trying to cough up a hairball. Santi chuckles, introducing your name to the monarch, who licks his lips.

" You may recognize me as a King, but just as I said to Santi, tonight you know me not as a ruler, but a friend. A lover, even. " The last part swooned dreamily, planting facetious suggestions.

Then, he does something you should have seen coming. Should have remembered, actually, but even knowing what was about to transpire, no one could blame you for blanking.

Gleefully, the Icon reaches down across his own figure, hands drifting along his front to grope and paw at his fattened slit. It looks good enough to make you want to shove your whole face in there, and frankly that might be the intended effect. In mere practiced seconds, Vesper's cocks proudly slide out.

To say he's hung is an understatement, but he wouldn't be the King of Lust if he didn't sport a trial of willpower between his legs. Two of them, actually. Ringed and slick, with this restless tentacle poking and prodding between them, occasionally latching onto one of those lengths before switching to the other like its indecisive. You can appreciate the pigment of his cocks, which is a weird thing to say but true nonetheless. It makes you wonder how they'd look stained by the wetness of your puffed cunt.

More than gawk, you huff some kind of bewildered animal noise, hues flickering between the Lord's own and Santi's face. When Santi kneels, so do you, blinking as Vesper grows half-hard in a twitch or two.

The lump in your throat won't go down while you observe Santi lean forward and chastely kiss the tip of Vesper's right cock, before swirling his tongue around the head as best as he can and leaning back. He made that look like the most erotic thing you've ever seen, seemingly unbothered by the effect that view had on you when he expectantly beckons you to tend to the spare member.

Nowhere near as charming as a concubus, your small lips tremble when you close your eyes and lean in to imitate the act, cheeks aflame. This will be the first person you've put your lips upon after having started a relationship with Santi. You decide not to think too hard about it. A small peck is planted against Vesper's length, and the shudder that rocks your body afterwards has you exhaling hard through your nose. Although you glance at Santi for approval, he smiles and arches a brow as if to tell you that you're not quite done yet. The cock hovering in front of you flexes and you understand you're going to have to put some heart into it.

By the time you decide to try and swirl your small tongue around the King's tip, he's already beading in excitement, the view of a still somewhat timid human trying to appease him probably doing something for the demonlord.

It's messy. You have to turn your head and put more effort into it than Santi, ever practiced, did. Unfortunately, Vesper tastes almost as good as the other incubus next to you, so even if you're struggling, it's hard to let go. You could suck at him all day if it meant keeping that taste on your tongue.

Eventually, when you do pull away, a string of precum follows, snapping onto your chin and making you try to clean it away with your fingers. A bad idea, they're sticky now. Thankfully, Santi is there to lick them clean for you, winking to let you know you did a good job.

" I do so love making new acquaintances. " Vesper seems to ebb satisfaction. He doesn't bother with his exposed malehood and motions over to the chaise lounge area. " Please, both of you, sit. Talk with me. "

And you do. Of course you do. Your legs might eventually give out if you don't.

The King gracefully splays himself on his seat, uncorking the bottle with his index claw and placing the three differently sized glasses onto the table. You and Santi sit closely on one of the opposite chaises lounges.

" Can I get you lovebirds some temptation rouge? " He purrs, beginning to pour the drinks anyway.

Santi nods. " I'll have some. None for the lady, please. "

Vesper pauses his pouring, the alluring stream of purplish delight fading enough to allow you to focus.

He frowns. " Oh come now. "

The high-ranker doesn't budge. " Vesper, this isn't something humans should- "

" Mmm really? I recall you offering it quite generously. " The King taps idly at the shaft of the bottle, his tone petty.

The black-horned demon offers a look that begs Vesper not to push on the matter, which is apparently met with mercy.

" But I understand, you're in love, the world has a different hue. "

" Yes... You couldn't guess how distinct. "

Not quite deciphering the exchange the two fiends had, you choose to speak up when Vesper inches Santi's drink his way.

" I can have some. "

Santi shoots you a look. " No. No, that's silly- "

Santi's tense, sighing.

But a large paw has already been raised. " Hush! The lady has spoken, and who are we to deny her? "

" Surely, just one sip is alright. Besides, she's a virgin of Lust, let her enjoy some of my land's exquisite offerings. "

You watch the King pour half a glass for you. You're no virgin, how could you be with Santi by your side? Though saying that someone is a virgin in Lust generally means that it's their first time visiting the Ring.

You spot a muscle on Santi's arm twitch when you cautiously grab the miss wine cup. You know the contents within are likely a very potent aphrodisiac, perhaps a psychostimulant, something that'll make you trip balls essentially. After all, concubi don't drink or eat out of necessity, so this clearly has a use.

" Thank you. " Santi responds, a bit flatter.

Reclining on the seat, the Icon sips out of his glass, the mouth on his stomach licking its chops at the shared taste. A tail flicks, you note that he's been idly stimulated this entire time by the tendrils still squirming between his two dicks.

" So, tell me sweetheart, what do you think of my Ring so far? "

You hope he didn't catch you staring, but that face says it all.

" It's... " You have to think for a second, finding it difficult to articulate a plethora of mixed feelings.

" Freeing, in a strange kind of way. " You trace the rim of the glass. " It's still Hell, still scary, and I don't understand much of what I see out there... But I wish- " Your cheeks grow warmer. " I wish sometimes... That I could join. "

When you look back up, Vesper is grinning, this very amused glint in those magenta pools. " Mhmm, an honest response. I appreciate it. "

You smile politely in return.

Conversation unfurls easily afterwards as both demons partake of the rouge, their faces darken with time and they seem to sway the slightest amount, bodies restless. When you take your first sample of wine, the room is already thick with a scent you've grown to understand means hungry concubi are looming around.

Pungent. Thin but so sweet that it seeps into every pore in a wave of fruity warmth beckoning more and more of its sampler's attention. You'd have this for breakfast, for lunch and for dinner, quickly turning into some shameless alcoholic. It's of little surprise that all of Hell's confectionary is as addictive as it is to humans, that's how fiendkind tends to assert their power over other species. You suppose Lust, as the Ring of desire, has a particular ease creating concoctions of great addictive power.

Your idle reckoning is entirely derailed by the jolt of wetness from your loins, something you expected but couldn't calculate the intensity of, throat burning as you clumsily choke down the whore noise that wanted to flow forth. Maybe you drank too much at a time? How can those two have several glasses of this and look only mildly buzzed?!

Right on cue, Santi reaches to pluck the glass out of your hands. " Aaand that's enough for you. "

" Hah, oh the poor thing! You know that's properly aged, honey, try not to waste it. "

An embarrassing amount of time clearing your throat later, the King pipes up again.

" Ah, I've been meaning to ask, what is it like? " He waves a hand, his head tendril wraps around it fluidly, allowing the demonlord to toy with it.

" The sex? " Santi prods.

" No, the fighting- Of course I'm talking about the sex, you bumbling slut! "

The incubus straightens, eager to talk. " Oh, well- "

" Nuh-uh, quiet. " Vesper's tail nudges Santi into silence. " I know that part. Oh, sex with a perfect match is like pure ambrosia, it's the richest source of energy, a taste so delectable it fries you harder than the cocktail of an orgy of kissless virgins! You can never go back and you'll never have an experience half as pleasurable, it's the greatest gift a concubus can have but also the bane of their search for newer sensuous experiences because it causes obsessive infatuation- Etcetera etcetera... "

The Icon rises much faster than you'd guess his mass could ever allow him to, only to drop to a crawl, gaze piercing into you with an almost violating intensity. " No... " He murmurs sweetly, stopping to squat mere inches from your already overheated body, the chain anchored by his tits swaying hypnotically in front of you. " I want to hear it from you, darling. Regale me! "

Put on the spot like this, you don't actually know what about your perspective can be so appealing to the King, but his tone is authoritative, demanding. You must give an answer.

And so, you allow the hellish alcohol to speak for you, memory drawing upon the moments of your most intimate moments with Santi. The definition of his body, the noises he makes as he partakes of your form, the form you never gave much thought to yet the same one he reveres and coats in his drool. The whispers against your skin that you can never quite make out and the dance of claws on sensitive areas bordering between the sweetest caress and the plunge of a jealous lover.

" I- " You laugh breathlessly. " Well, I didn't know what sex was before I met Santi, real sex, real desire. There isn't a thing he does that I dislike, every time I lay with him, I only wish that it never ended, and I'm thankful he knows when to stop, because I might just tell him to keep going until I draw my last breath. "

You don't know where all of that came from.

The King's wolfish grin now turns shark-like, and he nods ever so fervently, egging you on. Santi has set his own glass down, blinking in bewilderment at your words, until a rumble bursts from his chest, and he seeks to hug you closer to himself.

" I know it sounds cheesy a- and dumb but I always want to try new things in bed with him because I've always felt so appreciated and- Santi makes me feel like I'll always look gorgeous no matter what I have on or what little accidents we have. I never knew sex could be so fun and feel so good... And I guess I only have him to thank for it. "

Santi doesn't say anything, just pulls you into a searing kiss full of tongue and approval. One you get lost in far too quickly, uncaring of your surroundings, or the demonlord ogling the two of you like steaks on a platter.

Maybe the King was looking for something a little more lewd and descriptive, but it seems the drink took you to a more emotional lane. Either way, what you said apparently resonates with the incubus in question, because he beams like a spotlight, eyes bright and smile so full of heated love it might just melt you.

It wasn't always like this. You remember the rocky start of this relationship. It could have turned into something ugly. It could have hurt you badly. Don't think about it.

" Oh- Oh, love does win! " Vesper dramatically rises, pretending to wipe a tear that isn't there. " So romantic, so heartfelt, I could just about write a whole drama from this alone. "

Eyes closed, getting a tongueful from your now overly-excited lover, you feel hands pawing at your body. His, you initially think, squirming playfully as they nudge your barely concealed breasts and squeeze at your tummy, palming at the swell of your ass possessively. Then, what you thought to be two hands become three, become different. It takes you a second of sloppily making out to finally open your eyes and check.

The Icon is now looming above you both, all glowing eyes and slobbering chops, cocks twitching for attention while he hastily reaches to place both hands on each of you. You're barely able to complain before your shorts are pushed aside with your thong and a large hand is palming at you insistently, met with the rush of wetness Santi's saliva has helped create. Speaking of, the high-ranker himself has already parted his legs to allow the King to tease his girth out of his slit, getting leisurely pumped. You watch each other get fondled for a moment, the shock fading into shameless acceptance and a burning need for more. Your cunt clenches around nothing.

" Mm, why'd you stop? Enjoy yourselves. "

The other grins, placing a finger under your chin and guiding you into another embrace. This one is slower, more measured, not just to savor the moment but to make a proper show for the sovereign of carnality. Santi works just well enough in tandem with the King's hand to draw out a wanton moan from you, eating it up with his own. Vesper apparently finds this very appealing, sighing his appreciation and rewarding the two of you with more attentive touches.

Your clit is flicked a certain way that forces your legs to jerk, and the situation is fixed when Santi readjusts to hold your leg slightly upwards, encouraging you to slide down a little. Just so, just so... Until Vesper has a finger in you, his index. Then two- His hands are large, larger than the average demon's, this is a stuffing on its own.

Whatever shred of composure you had left is gone, starting to keen and whimper as the demonlord immediately hammers onto the spot that usually has tears welling in your eyes. You don't know what kind of faces you're making, but they're probably not pretty in the wake of such intense stimulus. It feels as if your entire body is throbbing with sensation, the peak of it making your nethers pulse like an epicenter of delight.

Vaguely, you feel someone tug your top down so your tits can bounce free with every thrust upwards, turning to spot Santi rocking into the fist offered to him while he bites his lip to the debauched sight you make. You didn't think you'd be getting off to something like this, but seeing the desperation to use you in his eyes has you fuming in arousal, and likewise, he's loving your helplessly wanton exhibitionism.

" Ahh, she likes that. " The demonlord keenly observes. " Don't you, princess? Like the sight of your pretty incubus fucking my hand like a needy animal because he can't have you yet? Does it turn you on how lost he is in you? Do you think I should make him cum like this? You're both adorable, I'm loving this so much already! "

His depraved purring is the straw that breaks the camel's back, you can only roll your eyes and choke out some kind of plea for mercy before squeezing like a vise around Vesper's fingers and soaking him for all you've got, barely able to breathe in-between the thunderous pulsing of your orgasm. He rides you through it, nice and hard and milking the entirety of it for his own selfish gain, until you're spasming and gasping erratically.

Unfortunately, you missed Santi's own climax, finding him sagging against the seat in a state similar to yours, while the King whorishly sates himself with the mix of your released fluids, sucking and lapping at his hands for every hint of slick and humming pleasantly at the flavor you make together.

" Not bad... Not bad at all. Again, now, I can't wait to see your bond up close! "

You're a little bit confused when he plops himself back down on his massive lounge chair, then taps his thighs invitingly. Santi gets the idea however, tickling and nudging your clothes off you before settling on the monarch's lap.

Vesper hums, rearranging him so Santi's back is to his front, and then you are invited on. The resulting position has Vesper serving as a kind of living support with you seated atop Santi, giving the King a perfect view. Casually rumbling his glee, the King takes hold of your hips and steals any kind of autonomy from you by leading the pace, grinding you against the delectable ridges of Santi's hardness.

Laps are delivered to the side of Santi's face, and you know the mouth on the demonlord's stomach is also sampling around, tendrils closing in to shift between stimulating him and coiling luridly around your bodies like he just can't get enough.

One moment the two of you are locked in an desperate rut against the slow pace of regal hands, the next, you feel the sting of the demon's exquisite girth as you're swiftly impaled, the pain much too quickly blossoming into momentous relief.

It's a frenzy of movement you can hardly process. Maybe it's the effects of that drink, maybe it's just the cacophony of pheromones that being glued to a high-ranker and an Icon produces -You hardly doubt that bracelet is doing anything to protect your poor mind at this point- But you get well and truly lost in it. The world spins, only flashes of the experience register in your muddled brain, goosebumps, a swaying vision, waves of pleasure heightened to such a degree that you cease hearing anything but the muffled echoes of your lover's moans.

In that moment, there's nothing more to reality than the monster in front of you, looking as depraved as you, and leaning into it. Santi drools onto his own chest openly, pupils dilated, eyes relentlessly hypnotic as he swallows every twitch of your tormented form's muscles. No hint of higher thought lies in those acidic green hues, only the beastly impulse to have you, to reduce you to a spasming mess, to make you lose your mind and grow addicted to him.

Faintly, you can hear low whispers in a foreign, harsh tongue, and it never occurs to you that might be the source of your current trance. You don't know what it's doing to you or Santi, and you don't care.

You don't care about anything expect the constant pistoning driving you to a filthy paradise. If the Icon wasn't the one moving your legs, you'd be mush by now, point proven further when your top half simply flops onto the incubus' body, useless.

It must have been about an hour or more when the two of you are stopped, and no matter how gentle the winding down was, you still grunt and whine wordlessly in frustration, met with laughter from the two of them. Santi recovered faster, because of course he did. Looking down to where your bodies meet, you're disgraced with the sight of a sticky mess coating not just your mons and thighs, but plenty of Santi's lower half. It doesn't even reek of sex, you've gone nose blind at this point. It's almost terrifying, you have no idea how many times you orgasmed, or how many times he did for that matter, but the overwhelming evidence is clearly there, and your throat is quite sore. Whether from gasping, screaming or simply breathing through it, you don't know anymore.

Vesper says something to your partner in clear infernal, met with a reply you cannot hope to interpret either, and you're pulled forward to kiss the King, the three of you exchanging lips in a disheveled mess.

By the time you start giggling and breathing hard, Santi sighs.

" We... We should stop for now, no? " There's a mildly guilty look on his handsome features. Probably because you're going to be feeling this for a week.

The demonlord huffs. " Ugh- Fine fine, but only because you two were such a show, the imps flocked to the doors you know? I can feel them peeping. "

The darker demonoid snickers in amusement, reaching out to pet your face and try to ground you in reality, to no avail. You're eventually lifted to a stand, latching onto his arm for support and starting to somewhat ferally bite him in adoration.

Vesper follows suit, look too predatory to mean anything good, and both hands coiled around vastly neglected lengths. Making quick work of himself to the filthy view you and Santi make. He's the one who gulps now.

" I have been very patient however, the least my adorable guests could do is give me a lasting farewell. "

Santi looks like he's about to try to politely renegotiate.

" Pretty please? "

You clap and cackle in enthusiasm, entirely out of your gourd. More, more!

The incubus watches you jump in place, then turns to his old friend. " You have spare regeneration ointments, don't you? "

#Santi oc #Vesper oc #monsterfucker #demon oc #monster boyfriend #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #terato #terato tag #monster x reader #not sfw #minors dni

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meatlesbeating · 22 days

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On the Beatles' different reactions to their growing worldwide fame in early 1964:

Already, their fame had transcended their craft; they became the single most popular entertainment story in the world and learned to live their lives in a goldfish bowl. The first concentrated dose of fame in London was a little hard to take. It wasn’t the limousines or the glamorous nights spent table-hopping at the Ad Lib with Mick and Chrissie Shrimpton and Verushka that were hard to get used to, but the omnipresent photographers, the reporters, and sycophants who hung on their every word, who analyzed their every nuance and gesture in the next day’s editions. While the Beatles were a little put out at being spied on constantly, they read all the newspaper accounts of their activities voraciously—Paul in particular didn’t miss a thing—and further took on the characteristics the reporters assigned to them. They became caricatures of themselves, partly because it was the only way to hide whatever privacy was left, and partly because it was expected of them.

John wore his new mantle of fame most uneasily. While Paul and George could bask in the adulation, and Ringo seemed only happily bewildered, John felt slightly betrayed by it all. Here he was, the rebel, the iconoclast, who had become a plaster icon himself. John was being singled out as the great intellect, because of his wit and easy verbal facility in press conferences and interviews. Suddenly, all the wise-ass, mean-tempered humor he had exhibited as a youth that had gotten him into so much trouble was being interpreted as wit. It became, in a way, more difficult to insult people who didn’t know him, because he sounded so pithy and bright.

The Love You Make, Peter Brown (1983)

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lunchboxpoems · 4 months

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LIFE ON EARTH

The odds are we should never have been born.

Not one of us. Not one in 400 trillion to be

exact. Only one among the 250 million

released in a flood of semen that glides

like a glassine limousine filled with tadpoles

of possible people, one of whom may

or may not be you, a being made of water

and blood, a creature with eyeballs and limbs

that end in fists, a you with all your particular

perfumes, the chords of your sinewy legs

singing as they form, your organs humming

and buzzing with new life, moonbeams

lighting up your brain’s gray coils,

the exquisite hills of your face, the human

toy your mother longs for, your father

yearns to hold, the unmistakable you

who will take your first breath, your first

step, bang a copper pot with a wooden spoon,

trace the lichen growing on a boulder you climb

to see the wild expanse of a field, the one

whose heart will yield to the yellow forsythia

named after William Forsyth—not the American

actor with piercing blue eyes, but the Scottish

botanist who discovered the buttery bells

on a highland hillside blooming

to beat the band, zigzagging down

an unknown Scottish slope. And those

are only a few of the things

you will one day know, slowly chipping away

at your ignorance and doubt, you

who were born from ashes and will return

to ash. When you think you might be

through with this body and soul, look down

at an anthill or up at the stars, remember

your gambler chances, the bounty

of good luck you were born for.

DORIANNE LAUX

#dorianne laux #poem #poetry

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ieatangstforbreakfast · 11 months

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Pairing ೃ⁀➷ Earth 42! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ this one’s kinda long, for some reason my episode made me more productive wtf

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie

Chapter 6: At Home

Warning ೃ⁀➷ Mentions of child labor(?), cursing, a fuck ton of flirting, a bit suggestive (THIS IS HOW I ACTED WHEN I WAS SIXTEEN😭😭), daddy issues.

FIC MASTERLIST

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Montrell casts his eyes beyond the limousine's window to the sight of the traffic, the nostalgic view of Manhattan flooding his sights. To those unfamiliar with the borough, Manhattan would seem plausibly sophisticated to the average man, but he thinks of it as somewhat more provincial compared to cities he's flown to. Whether it be Venice, Singapore, or Dubai.

It’s nice to be home, he thinks. He’s grown to miss it all after spending a few years in London. But what he certainly missed the most was the presence of his family, particularly the one sitting next to him with a restless knee.

"This little... Brat."

Five missed calls. Twenty unseen messages.

"Is there a problem?"

Antonne snaps his head. "Nothing. It's nothing at all." He announces way too quickly.

Montrell taps at his collar, tugging at the tightness of his tie. "You're looking very restless." His voice gravelly speaks, laced with exhaustion from his eight-hour flight from good ol' London to New York. "I just got back home, now you're making me nervous."

Antonne doesn't reply, his attention still glued onto the flat of his screen. He alternatively switches between texting and calling, feverishly anxious. "It's nothing. Don't mind it."

Montrell parts his lips to reply, but instead silently agrees to drop the topic.

"... I trust everyone’s been well?" He piqued. "Seeing the news I've been receiving from the press, and my classmates, I'd reckoned you'd have improved since the last... Predicament."

“Predicament?”

“Would you rather I word it any other way?”

Antonne grimaces at the fine way Montrell speaks— his sophisticated accent bleeding into his every word.

"I have improved." He states, a little too condescendingly. "Wouldn't you have known that by now?"

"Well," Montrell sits up straight. "None of the problems you cause particularly strike me as interesting. However, I do have one particular concern. Have you been taking care of [Y/n]?"

At the mention of you, Antonne tenses up distastefully. "I've been taking care of her too much." He grits. "She's very, and I mean very, hard-headed."

Speaking of taking care of you, Antonne's been calling and texting your number for the last hour, thinking you'd still be up at this time. Seeing as how you weren't, you were probably fast asleep.

Oh, if only he knew.

"Well, we all share that trait now, don't we?" Montrell teases. "Stubbornness, hard-headedness. In the end, we all chalk it up to ambition. She’s sixteen, after all. Time passes by too fast." He bemoans. "I ought to take her to Shanghai after the fundraising event, little bonding or so."

"You do know that after the fund-raiser, people are going to lure her out of the manor for publicity?"

"Precisely." Montrell rolls the window open, placing a cigarette between his teeth. "But you and I both know how stubborn [Y/n] is. Do you really think anyone can force her out of her comfort zone?"

Antonne straightened his lips. "If she doesn't want to be cast away by society, she would have to try, or she’ll vanish off the map.”

Speaking of vanishing, where were you?

The rules of high society were simple.

Appear neat, be mindful of how you present yourself, and always, always take mind in how you act.

For the longest time, you followed these rules as though they were your variant of the ten commandments. Your mother ensured you a place in New York’s elite for your sake, or so she says. Since then, you crafted your whole image from people’s expectations of you.

By the time you were eight, you constantly switched between masks and personalities— that were all titled separately according to every event.

The beloved golden child; the mature older sister with her head leveled well, ; the bitchy conglomerate heiress with her head in the clouds; and your current, and notably hardest, façade; the obedient daughter who knows when to shut the fuck up.

A talent Antonne didn’t have, unfortunately.

Now, you had another title to hold onto.

“Are you sure your mother isn’t in there?”

You shift uncomfortably, arms crossed before your chest.

“She’s working the night shift tonight.” Miles reasoned, fishing the keys out of his pocket. “It’s not like you’re going to sleep here anyways— plus, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you go home like that?” He gestures over to your clothes that were soaked in dirt and rain.

Seven days ago, you swore neatness over any speck of dirt.

Yet here you are, some little girl who stole her brother’s bike, rode all the way down to Brooklyn in the rain, and kissed a boy out in the street.

You didn’t want to meet Miles’ mother like this. You wanted to present yourself the way most mothers would expect of their sons’ girlfriends— polite, proper, and of course, neat.

At that moment, you were just some wet nobody who came out of nowhere, wearing your brother’s stolen hoodie, stolen pants, and stolen shirt. Perhaps the shoes were stolen too.

“Gentleman my ass.” You mumbled, shivering like a sinner at church. You hear Miles deridingly snicker.

“I’ve always been a gentleman to you, you’re just oblivious as fuck.”

“I grew up with polite people. Politeness is my normalcy.”

“Don’t seem like it.”

You click your tongue.

Miles laughs at the way you glare. He’s grown way too used to seeing you like this. “M’just kidding, ma, don’t get all riled up, goddamn.” He simpered. “I guess I just have to out-gentleman the men in yo life, huh.”

“You can try, but that’d be kinda difficult.”

The door to his apartment then creaks open, a dark hall that smelled like citrus and florals awaited before you. Miles steps aside, gesturing you to go inside first. As you do, the warm air greets you like a welcome, the tension in your shoulders finally releasing. You mindfully looked down, checking to see if you were staining the floors.

Miles then slips his shoes off, making you follow suit.

“I’m gonna go get’chu a towel before you start spraying your bubonic plague germs all over my crib.”

“The bubonic plague’s a dead virus, dumbass.”

“It will be, when you die from hypothermia.”

“I fucking hate you— so much.” You breathily squeezed with clackering teeth. Miles only laughs, heading off to fetch the towel. As his fingers flick the lights open, you’re welcomed to the sight of this cozy home. You marveled, like a child first visiting Disney World, at the small picture frames hanging from the walls. There, you could see images of little Miles– with his hair unbraided and eyes a little brighter. There was one of him with his front teeth knocked out, still smiling as wide as ever while holding a puppy in his arms.

Hung jackets, mismatched cabinets, and walls with chipped wallpaper.

It was.. A foreign sight to you.

Somehow, this tiny apartment seemed much homelier than your own.

“Here ya go.” Miles approaches you with the towel in his hand. Though you try to reach out for it, Miles maneuvers it past your grasps and instead pats it over your head, humming a tune to himself. You look up, admiring the way he meticulously takes care of you, cautiously ruffling your hair as though every strand were pure gold. And when he notices you staring, he puts the towel over your face.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not even doing anything.” Your voice muffles, trying to pry his hands away. When he does take the towel off, he’s bent down to your level, face inches away from yours and smirking in a way that irked you. He then places both his covered hands over your cheeks, squeezing lightly.

“You look like a goldfish.” Miles piqued with a toothy grin. “Thas craaazy.”

You furrow your brows. “Fwook owff.”

“Fwook owff indeed.” He mocks of your voice before releasing you. “Now, you gon’ go inside or what?”

You move your head a bit, eyeing the apartment behind him. “You sure your mama ain’t there?”

“If my mama was here, she woulda whooped my damn ass for bringing a girl home.”

“… So she ain’t home?”

Miles stared at you. “…. Do I look like I’m getting my ass beat r’now?”

“… No.”

“… Exactly.”

Hesitantly, you stepped into the apartment, holding the towel close. You can see the kitchen drawing near, a few unwashed glasses in the sink, family pictures on the fridge, and lace tablecloth above the mahogany. There were tiny plants on the shelves, scattered books and chargers, and undone laundry in the baskets. It was the kind of home your mother used to mock— the kind of living she spoke so ill about, a glimpse of her past.

Strangely, you adored everything about it.

“Sorry bout the mess.” Miles sighed. “I was gonna clean up tonight— but I brought you here.”

“No— no,” You sigh, gaze still skimming around in amazement. “Your place is.. Absolutely lovely.”

A slip of an accent. Something sort of posh. Miles notices it, but he pretends not to.

“My mom’s the one who designed most of it— I just let her do what she wants since I ain’t really much of an interior designer.” He kicks a few trinkets away from his path, making way for you.

“I love her tastes.” A genuine compliment, not the falsified ones you half-heartedly gave out to the elite. “Can you, uh, tour me more?”

Miles looks around, also somewhat lost. He slips his hands out his pockets, randomly pointing at places while not uttering a word. You follow where his finger leads, expecting an explanation, but all you get was a gaping “uh…”

“What?”

“… Mujer, this is a two-bedroom apartment, I don’t really know what I can show you here.”

When he noticed the way you clutch the towel, he places his hand over the knob of his bedroom door.

“You still cold?” He suddenly asks. You shrug. “Sort of— my clothes are still kinda wet, but your apartment’s really warm.”

“If you want, you can borrow some of my clothes, and we can hang your clothes r’now so they can dry.”

“That,” You hesitate for a moment. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m probably gonna leave in an hour.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, ma.” He tugs on the end of your sleeve just to pull you in his bedroom, revealing a somewhat small but well-decorated room nonetheless. There were clipped drawings on the walls, framed pictures, posters, and a large trio of windows at the center. From there, you gasp and approach it immediately, sitting by the sill while staring at the rainy Brooklyn before you.

“What? This your first time seein windows?”

“.. I don’t usually keep the windows open like this— AH! MILES. MILES. WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” You smack your hands up against your eyes.

Miles, who had taken off his jacket, stood before you dressed in a plain wife beater, his lean arms drenched in sweat and rain. You kept your hands over your eyes, swallowing immensely.

“Don’t be so damn dramatic, I’m still dressed.” He huffs.

“Miles, idunnoaboutyoubutthisisveryimproper.” You speak in between heaves.

He clicked his tongue. “Aight, aight. Hol on.”

And in a moment of silence, you hear subtle shifts. Ironically, you can’t help but part your fingers in an attempt to take a peek at him. When Miles looks your way, you swiftly turn around and hit your head against the window with a soft thud.

“Are you done yet?” You ask, rubbing your aching forehead.

You hear him draw closer.

Placing a hand above you, Miles corners you into the sill. You look at him with widened eyes, hands over your mouth just to seal the squeal threatening to burst out of your throat.

“You look like you ain’t ever seen a guy’s arms before, ma.”

“I've seen a lot of arms before, thanks." You defensively answered, watching him remain ever-so amused by your shyness. Seeing you flustered like this was a surprise even for Miles who'd grown too used to you being cocky most of the damn time. He didn't think you were the type to go red just by the sight of his biceps.

"I guess I'm just too fine as hell, huh?"

Miles mischievously bends down to your level, fingers tracing the line of your jaw. Like instinct, you look up with furrowed brows.

"Hasn’t anyone ever told you to be humble, hm?"

"Ain't nobody ever told me shit," He grins. "What I do know is that you've been calling me pretty boy for the last two months, talkin shit 'bout how much you like pretty people, now suddenly, after kissin' me n all that, you're not saying it anymore. Really, mami," He kneels down before you, looking up into your eyes.

"Ain’t I a pretty boy to you no more?"

Miles watches and watches. He wanted to test the limits of how flustered you could get, but instead, he finds your amusement scribbled all over your face. Like a switch, your arrogance finds its way back to you. The light of the streets gleamed behind you as he marveled at the shadows cascading over your pretty face, a few droplets escaping from your soaked strands and down to the nape of his neck.

Your lone finger traces the lower half of his lip, tapping in intervals. Miles tries to head in for a kiss, but you pull away, pulling the hoodie he's buried in his arms out for you to wear.

"Sit down, Miles."

Straightening his lips, he mumbled.

"Yes, ma’am."

He stands up, heading over to sit by your side. As he watched you slip on his hoodie, he couldn't help but wonder.

“… When am I gonna come over to your house?”

As your head pops out of the hood, your eyes widened after hearing the sudden question.

"My house?" You repeat.

"… Who else’s?”

It’s crossed your mind several times— bringing Miles over. You’ve thought of taking him in under the guise of a project, or claiming he’s some kid you tutor, but it wasn’t particularly your home that was the problem. It was that Miles didn’t know anything about the sort of life you’re living.

If he were to ever find out, his view of you would completely change.

And you didn’t want that.

Your hands begin to fumble with the edge of the jacket.

“… I don’t know if I could let you meet my parents.. Or let you in my house yet.”

“Why not?”

Your gaze narrows. “.. Just… Stuff.”

Your gaze travels to the sights of the silvery pavements beyond the glass windows, hands reaching out to pluck the dry skin off your lips. Seeing this, Miles reaches out for your hands, gently pulling you over to his side. You follow his guide, wrapping your hands over his waist and resting your head against his chest. Silently, he plays with the ends of your drenched hair, resting his chin above your head. Hearing the way his heart beats, your own comes to ease down to match his pace.

Despite the comfort you were in, you were still understandably stiff. You’ve never been like this before, and for a while, you begin to agree with the movies you’ve seen— suddenly, the space between his arms became your favorite place.

“.. Ma, I’m gonna be pretty honest with you. I’ve been really wanting to know what’s up with your family.” Miles mumbles against your hair. “.. And I know how hard it is to open up, but I really wanna understand you.”

“… You don’t have to do all that, Miles.”

“I want to.” He insists. “I want to understand every part of you.”

His fingers comb through the sea of your locks, his brown gaze drawn to the shifting of your feet. He feels your head sink down to the center of his abdomen, and now you’re lying on his lap with your head turned to the window.

“… Are you sure?” You query so subtly, like you’d break if he were to falter.

He agreeably hums, fiddling with the tip of your strands.

“But Ion want’chu to force yourself, y’know?” Miles mumbles. “You don’t have to tell me now.”

“No,” You intervene. “No, you’re right.” Your eyes flutter shut. “I’ve been keeping everything to myself for too long… It’s draining me.”

What was there to say? What would a rich girl like you have to stress about so much?

“… How do I even start it?”

Miles tugged on one of your strands gently. “Well.. What are your parents like?”

You turn your head to look up at him.

Your hands flinch, almost like they were shaking. Miles takes his own and intertwines it with yours, easing you entirely. A quivering breath exits your lips, lashes fanning down.

“My father isn’t really much of a father to me.” You begin. “… More like a boss? I believe. Yeah, that’s the right word to say it. My family owns a.. Business. Small business.”

Small business. A grand hotel that’s been running since the industrial revolution of Manhattan— passed down from generation to generation. Your family was its sole custodian, and unfortunately for you, you weren't in line to be the lady of the house.

"What kind of business?"

You bite your lower lip, trying to pull through with an appropriate answer. "It's like an—" Your brow twitches. "A sort of.. Event place and catering or something like that.. Yeah." You vaguely answer. "... Like an inn."

Inn. The last time someone ever used that word, Jesus was being nailed at the cross.

"So.. Your family is, like, what? Rich?"

Rich?

You swallow the lump in your throat, lowering your voice. "My family's... Capable. Not that rich, but we make do."

You can sense him picturing this average, suburban American household— the kind of folks who can send off their daughter to a private academy and afford business-class trips to different countries every three years. As his mouth hung agape, Miles eventually does nod to signal that he’s getting the gist of your story. ".. Okay? So what do you do there?"

"I'm in charge of the upkeep." You search for a less complicated explanation. "Basically, I'm the one keeping the whole building clean. I'm in charge of customer service, and tidying things up when shit goes down the drain. I make daily reports, and I keep track of.. My dad’s employees."

You were the family's hostess, the one in charge of overseeing high-profile events. Though you weren't of the best pedigree, your family was still impossibly wealthy, and your mother's good looks spared you and your brothers from looking plain, and that enough made you interesting to many suitors.

You handled the media, covered up minor scandals, and took charge of spreading rumors for your family's sake.

Your father claimed it was practice, for god knows what— you weren't even the inheritor of the damn place.

"That's one long ass way to say child labor." Miles couldn't help but laugh. "Is your dad one of those.. Capitalist businessmen kinda dudes? Like, the only language he speaks is money?"

He imagines this tall, roundish man donning an iron-pressed suit with a sharp red tie beneath his collar and a stick of burning tobacco between his yellow teeth. Miles pictures, drawing the image and character of your father, him counting dollars while yapping on about you slacking off.

"Oh, no." You scoff. "My dad doesn't care about money."

Money was your father's least concern. In fact, none of you within your household cared about money at all.

"The family business was passed down from.. My granddad to my dad, so what really matters to my dad is.. Preserving the family's reputation."

Now the caricature shifts, from a roundish businessman to a strict and tall Padre De Familia, with a slightly unbuttoned polo shirt and belted shorts— with crossed arms and a permanent arch in his dark brows.

"That sounds.. Honestly, yeah, I see that a lot on my mom's side." Miles grumbled. "My mom's had a few relatives who were really more concerned about how other people viewed them, instead of taking care of what was actually goin' on inside."

Fingers snapping in agreement, "That! That's exactly it." You gleam. "The thing is, my brother, who's actually set to inherit everything, kinda fucked up his job, and it almost ruined us for life."

"How much did he fuck up?"

"... He got scammed."

"Scammed?" You knew how absolutely stupid it must've sounded to Miles, seeing as how he was shaking his head.

"He got scammed off.." You try to think of a reasonable number. "Fifty thousand dollars."

Two million actually, but that would be too much money.

His face still drops. "Oh, shit."

Ironically, you didn’t know what the weight of money was like— so casually slipping out fifty thousand dollars as a loss somewhat made Miles confirm that you were indeed from money.

"And because of that, your father appointed you?"

"I appointed myself." You corrected of him. "I wanted oppurtunities. I wanted to have a path paved for me other than marriage."

"Marriage!?" He looked at you like you'd just opened up a third eye.

"... Well, I mean of course I'll have a career, but I wanted the hote— the-the inn, the catering business." You struggled to discuss. "Since I'm not inheriting it, I would have to pave a path of my own. And the thing is, if I don't start now, I have nothing to begin with when I'm older... If I don't become anything when I'm older, I have no point of living, really."

"... Is that the reason why you didn't wanna admit you like me?"

The straightforward way he asks it snatches you off like the blow of the wind.

"I’m only realizing right now how very career-driven you are, very afraid of failure. I’m starting to think that you probably thought that facing what you feel about me would ruin your future— so you wanted to convince yourself that we're just friends."

Miles' talent for reading you provoked your fear of vulnerability, but this time, you didn't cower.

"... Is it a bad thing?"

"What is?"

Your voice largens into a croak. "Is it a bad thing that I'm too career-driven?"

"…. There's nothing bad about wanting the best for your future. It's safe to say that everybody wants a good future, but," Miles shifts, resting a hand atop your own. "But what's also important is focusing on your present, because once you lose your present, your regret will have you living in the past."

Your eyes fan up to look at him. "... Where'd you get that one from? Philosophy class?"

"… It was from one of the Facebook memes my maw maw sent me when I was twelve."

You snickered. "How convenient.. Somehow, it’s making me think twice about inheriting the damn business.”

"Well.. Other than inheriting your family business, is there anything else you want to achieve in your life?"

"… I’ve always wanted to be a painter.”

You hear him hum.

“… And I want to live far, far away from this place.”

At that moment— a livid pain shoots through your mind.

In a flash, a hazy vision manifests before your eyes, one that glowered in dark, faded blue. A mask of red, black, and white appears before you, its big, white eyes outlined with red furrowing like a frown as it stares. The skies were dim and blue, showering you in the rain. You reach your fingers out to pull off the façade, but your arm grows weak, faltering down to the growing puddle beside you.

“[Y/n]?” Miles’ voice pulls you out of the vision.

“Huh?”

What the fuck was that?

Only then you realized you'd sat up, which was weird as you hardly felt it. You turn to look at Miles, a little confused with all that had just happened. "... I must be getting sleepy." You whispered, running your hand through your face. "I'm starting to hallucinate n shit."

“You can rest here for a bit.” He tucks a strand behind your ear. “I mean— mama’s coming home at 7am.”

You yawn and stretch your neck to the side. “… I have to come back before three hits. I still have class later."

At that moment, Miles admires the way the moonlight prances around your figure, illuminating you like a light.

"... Now that I'm looking at you like this, you look like my mama's favorite actress."

"Which one?" You query, deeming this as praise. Miles steps back a bit, folding his arms before his chest while trying to remember who it was. "I forgot her name, but she was in that movie 'bout that whole Valencia thing. Mama used to watch it all the time. I think she's still got the poster."

"Valencia? The city in Spain?"

"Yeah." Miles fishes out his phone from the pocket of his pants. ".. What was it? Love in Valencia or sum like that."

Oh no.

"Oh, it's Love, Valencia." Scrolling through his screen, Miles spots the actress in the list of cast members and gasps. "Oh, here she is!"

Placing the phone next to your face, Miles is stunned by the comparison— finding similarities in almost every detail. You feel your breath clog your throat, eyes wavering as you turn to look at his screen.

Lo and behold, it was your mother.

Everyone told you and told you, over and over, that you were the spitting image of your mother. You never heard the end of it. You had her pretty face, her beautiful hair, her skin, and this sort of dark charisma she weaponized and abused— a talent you also endowed, but chose not to use.

"Yeah, I get that a lot." You grumbled lowly. "It's kind of fucking annoying."

"Oh," He takes his phone away. "Sorry, then."

Seeing as how quick he was to apologize, you immediately interjected. "No- no, it's annoying when people constantly tease me about it, but I like it as a compliment. I mean, she is pretty famous."

"But in a way, you're still you." Miles smiled. "You might look similar, but you're not her, and in the end, your own face is something completely different and that's what makes you even prettier."

Oh, that sounded so different to most of the compliments you got.

"… I like that. I really like that." You couldn't help but admit.

Shrugging his shoulders, Miles kneels down to pick your wet hoodie off the floor. "I'm gonna put this over the electric fan, and you can get it when it's dryer." As he stands up to leave, you instinctively follow him, fingers grasping the hem of his tank top. With the softest steps you had, you followed the boy to the kitchen.

Eventually, he placed your hoodie over the fan, soon finding your fingers clinging onto his shirt like some lost cat. He holds back a snicker, head traveling to look at you.

“What?”

You let go of him. “Nothin.”

“It don’t look like nothin.” He cocks his head, towering over you. “What is it?”

“… When’s our date?”

“Saturday. I’ll pick you up down the block at five.”

You thoughtlessly nod. “Okay,” You gulp. “Where to, though?”

With a hand over his lips, he hushes. “That’s a surprise.”

And yet even after asking your question, you find yourself following him almost everywhere he went. Miles mused at this, finally deciding to sit by the couch where he drags you by his side.

“[Y/n], what do you want?”

“Ion want nothing!”

“It don’t look like you don’t want nothing.” He grits. “If you want something, use your damn words.”

“I want an essential oil bath bomb.” You laugh, swatting his shoulder. “I’m being for real, Miles, Ion want nothing.”

Miles raised a brow, disbelief written across his pretty face. “It’s called communication, ma. Use those pretty lips of yours for somethin else other than complaining.”

“Oh, I’m the one doing all the complaining?” You snapped. “You know what else these pretty lips can do? Verbal abuse— so—“

“Tsk. There you go again.”

“Don’t go around saying I’m always complaining–“

“Ma, if all you want’s a kiss, I can give you allat.”

And you’re silenced with that alone.

Silenced, but not in the way that Miles thought.

“You don’t need to be all whiny about it, you could j—“

“Whiny?” Your voice deepens, back straightening. You take your knee and place it beside his hip, mounting his lap with a firm grip on his collar. He watches your figure rise above him, head dipping forward.

"I'll fucking show you whiny."

And without another whisper, you crash your lips against his, leaving him without time to breathe. His hands trickle up your waist, beneath your jacket, but never under your shirt. He was too afraid of touching your skin, in a way. Feared he'd disappear into the wind if he ever did, but when your hands pulled him closer and closer, Miles found his own gripping onto your waist, with the other lightly tugging on your hair.

Like in his dream, you nibble at the mauve and paint it with your saliva. Your tongue a little too invasive in the way it dampens his lip.

You're too good at that. Too good at this.

And in his haze, when you two part, a lingering string connects your brims. He heaves, a tiny whine rolling off his tongue with the harsh way you pulled off. "W-wait, I—" He catches his breath, expectantly waiting for the taste of your lips again. But when it doesn't arrive, he looks up expectantly, only to find you licking the corner of your mouth, savoring the taste. He desperately leans in for another, but you grasp his shoulder, forcing him down.

"I have to go home."

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wordsinhaled · 1 year

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got struck with an AU in which dream owns a weird little candle shop called Lucid Dreams Candle Co. (or something similar) and makes his own scented candles, incense, reed diffusers, and so on

there’s an aromatherapy relaxation room in the back, where you can go to have a quiet moment or a nap in a dimly lit space that smells lovely and has relaxing music or binaural beats for sleep playing from secreted-away speakers. there’s a workshop space where dream actually makes his products. and above the shop is dream’s little flat, full of mythology books and plants...

except it’s a wonder he can keep the plants alive at all, and that he runs a shop where so many people go for their self-care needs. as far as his sister is concerned dream always looks too pale, always drawn and tired and she thinks maybe if he opened his curtains or spent more time in his own aromatherapy room or perhaps went on holiday to the seaside for a bit it might do him some good

hob works part time at the inn across the street while going for his doctorate. he wanders into the shop one day on a break - in the middle of dream massaging a customer’s temples, as a demo, with an essential oil blend he carries that’s meant to help with migraine. “just a little will go a long way,” dream is saying quietly as hob enters, and hob’s attention snaps to him because who has a voice like that?

hob ends up staring at dream’s fine-boned hands, and at him, in general, because who is he.

until he hears that voice again, but this time it’s dream saying, “how may i help you?” in a tone that simultaneously has hob imagining all the ways this beautiful stranger could help him, thank you, and thinking that maybe he’s made a mistake and the shop is actually closed, or something (after all, it’s mostly empty)

“er,” he says, “no, just looking. around, i mean… looking around.”

“ah,” says the man.

and dream lowers his hands gracefully from the other customer’s face, rings up their little vial of essential oil, and then suddenly he’s at hob’s side, noiseless as a shadow. “is there something in particular you’re looking for?” he asks, very gracious and a little imposing and impossibly, almost ethereally beautiful.

people like this don’t own shops, do they? hob thinks. they walk the runway at paris fashion week and ride around in stretch limousines and most definitely do not cross paths with exhausted graduate students of history. god’s wounds.

“well,” hob starts… and stops. truthfully he’d just wanted a break from the monotony of his usual lunch, which consists mostly of revision or reading for class. “i suppose i don’t really know.”

and for some reason, the stranger smiles, as though he has been set a puzzle or a challenge that pleases him. it transforms his face, makes his eyes glimmer. “i am dream,” he says. “welcome to my establishment. i believe you may enjoy one of my newer creations...”

#is this anything? idk but i want it to be #i smelled a candle today called Lucid Dreams… it wasn’t very good but it made me think of this AU #the sandman #dreamling

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starlightdelrey · 7 months

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𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 - 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤

shut up and drive masterlist

(in no particular order)

! this soundtrack is constantly being added to - drop a rec !

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐬 "and don't go there, 'cause you'll never return"

𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 - 𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 "there's an energy when you hold me, when you touch me, it's so powerful"

𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 - 𝐫𝐢𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 "get you where you wanna go, if you know what i mean, got a ride smoother than a limousine"

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 - 𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞 "something 'bout you, makes me feel like a dangerous woman"

𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 - 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 "well, i don't give a fuck about your friends, i'm right here baby"

...

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busycucumbermelon · 1 year

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The deadly phone call that lead to blood….. and love

Summary—your brother had told you a lot about someone he had met in prison you just didn’t imagine he’d be like this or that he’d even want you

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

Your brother had told you countless times about his time in prison and how he wish he didn’t do what he did, you always brushed it off as him being paranoid or him just being nervous because it was his first time in prison, but now you’re starting to rethink all of that as you’re sitting in the back of a limousine with a strange Man’s arm over your shoulder, but this isn’t where the story starts. This starts the day your brother got out of prison.

You and your brother have been close your entire life. You were the only one there standing at the gates for him. The rest of your family had cut him off when they heard he had robbed a bank. They thought that it was a stupid decision, and he could’ve gone to someone in the family, but you didn’t care. Your brother was the one that had made you who you are now who is the reason why you were writing and painting and traveling around the world following your dreams

That night as you and your brother went home he told you a story a story that he said sealed his fate his he had made a deal with the Devil. It made him laying in bed awake every single night.

Waiting for Carmen to take his favor

Your brother had met Carmen in him federal prison. He seemed nice and had a particular Eifer artwork your brother often told him about you never going as far to say you were his sister, but he talk about you to him. Carmen was nice but he had a scary air about him but at the time your brother hadn’t noticed it not until the incident. he got upgraded. To a hire security prison one we’re Carmen knew many more people whoever he wasn’t friends with feared him. Your brother didn’t remember anything odd about the day that he saw Carmen in the prison with him Carmen was basically the Grim Reaper there, but he didn’t know that yet as he walked onto the compound, everyone knew he was to be feared, but your brother went up to him and hugged him, giving him a pat on the back. People would constantly ask your brother.

‘“ How in why he got to sit at Carmen’s table”

It would be an insult though if your brother didn’t eat with Carmen and no one left until they were done eating, no one even approach the table until everyone at the table was done eating except one day a big shot ready to make himself known, he walked right up to the table and spat towards your brother, and said he was dead just for something small that happened a couple days prior your brother had never told you what the incident was. a few of Carmens men stood up, ready for a fight carmen didn’t even bat an eye,he just continued with his lunch when he was finally finished Carmen slowly turned his head to your brother.

“Hey Josh, take care of it we’re trying to have a nice meal. He disrespected my family take care of it, or I will.” To you these words never haunted you, but it did for your brother, your brother could hear his thick Boston Italian accent even now what

Your brother told you that Carmen didn’t get to his state in life by being a good guy he got there by stepping over the body’s he buried and the only way your brother could earn his respect, and stay at the table was by killing the offender

was next happen next did scare you it was something you could never imagine your brother doing

Your brother had beaten a man almost 2 times his body weight, an inch to death with a pop in sock. You didn’t know what that meant, but you didn’t want to either. The man, we never came back to the compound, but his friends were quite mad at your brother, stabbing him five times and landing him in the infirmary. None of the injuries were more than an inch deep so after a week he was out of the infirmary. He didn’t even have any scars to show. Your brother, remembered the day he came back everything was silent. The men that had stabbed him weren’t at their table. Carmen turned to

your brother “you’re a standup guy I take care of standup guys.” This was the first time you’re brother ever really looked into his eyes and realize they were void of life like black holes. apparently Carmen had a few words with the people that stabbed your brother and the rest of them turned themselves in to protective custody. To your brother this means he was now in Carmen’s debt and he was simply waiting for the day Carmen decided he needed a favor

____________

That was two years ago and now your brother has two adorable, twin daughters they’re so cute and full of energy. every so often you come over like Tonight was one of those nights you had gotten comfortable in the spare bedroom already although it wasn’t even halfway through the day. the twins were down for a nap although, at their age naps were trying to be slowly went out of their schedule. you and your brother had gotten comfortable on the couch watching a new show the two of you had decided was worthy enough for both of you to watch. Well until the house phone started ringing, sadly you had to go get it because your brother was in the bathroom so it was up to you to be nice to whom ever was on the other side of the phone

“Hello”

On the other side of the line, you can hear someone with a deep Boston Italian accent, for some reason that rang a few bells for you, but not enough for you to hang up the phone

“ Well hello dearest . I’m so sorry I must’ve dialed the wrong number.”

“no it’s OK. It’s a common problem everyone has Good bye and have a nice rest of your day, sir”

Just as the phone call Ended your brother rounded the corner. “Oh hey, who was on the phone.”

You just told your brother that it was someone who got the wrong number which was completely true for you. but if your brother had been the one who picked up that phone, it would’ve been the worst thing that has ever happened to him that would have made him completely go insane basically be death for him

the two of you continued on with your night when it hit around 8:30 you decided that you were going to go to your room just to relax for a little while you knew you wouldn’t be going to sleep anytime soon, but it would just be good to at least get used to it because you knew you were going to have to wake up early to help out with the twins

——————-

You were woken up from your deep slumber by the sound of footsteps, heavy slow, methodic footsteps and if you focus, you could hear rushed ones moving close behind it but you decided that it was nothing and probably just your brother, so you try to go back to sleep well that was until you could hear the sound of someone walking down the stairs and it sounded like they were going to the kitchen until they abruptly stopped and then there was nothing well nothing until you found someone shaking you like their life depended on it

Your brother was standing above your bed shaking, and it looked like he might be crying. You didn’t exactly know what to do because you weren’t sure what the problem was. “what’s going on? What’s the problem? Are the twins OK?” all your brother could do was shake his head no before you heard a voice. that made your brothers knees shake it was a deep Boston Italian accent. The only thing that the person said was his name and then well something snapped in your brother he realize that he wasn’t going to be able to do anything besides face his biggest fear. you were slipping out of bed as your brother finally reached the kitchen, where Carmen was, he was simply standing in the middle between the dining room and the kitchen a pretty big open space with multiple men around him, guns drawn and pointed towards your brother, just in case he decided he didn’t want to help out

You didn’t want to upset anyone or actually join in so you kind of just stayed around the corner your brother continued walking. You slowly follow behind him. Well you were going to follow behind him until you saw on the baby monitor that was still on showing a picture of the twins, slightly stirring in their sleep if anything loud happened shots fired anyone screaming they would wake up and your biggest fear was that their daddy would be gone you’re frozen in fear standing there, shaking not your fear not your brothers fear, but fear for the two little children that had no part in this just at this moment everything was clicking

The story, your brother had told you countless of times the story you had always imagined being fake. No, this was the man your brother had always talked about you too but now your brother feared more than anything.

‘Carmen?”

. “I simply came here at first, wanting a favor, I know you’re experienced in stealing I wanted you to rob a museum for me. Well that was until I heard a very adorable voice over the phone.”

Your brother involuntarily went to look at the picture in the far corner of the room on a table with a lamp. It was a family picture your mom, your dad, you, your brother and your little brother. Carmen wasn’t dumb and his eyes followed your brothers.

This made Carmen a Tad bit sad. He was kind of hoping he would be stealing away his wife not just his sister, but he simply didn’t care. He wanted you either way so he was going to give your brother and ultimatum not that if he said, either thing you wouldn’t be coming with him, they were just be more violence And Carmen wasn’t going to lie he wasn’t a liar. That’s what he was looking forward to the violence in all of this.

“This is how it’s going either you can rob a museum for me and I’ll take your sister oh and I’ll kill the kids or let me take your sister and you can just forget about all of this sounds good?”

Most would think your brother was speechless, not knowing who he should go with, but it was the complete opposite your brother knew exactly what he was going to do. Either way Carmen was going to have you, and he wasn’t going to go through all the trouble and put his children in danger.”y/n”

You were only in a sheer nightgown that you had thought you were only going to be sleeping in, your hair was tied up already, your face washed and you were not at all ready to be sold for ransom but you had heard Carmen as well, and although you loved your brother more than anything, you weren’t thinking about him, you were thinking of the little kids. so you walked up next your brother, knowing exactly what was going to happen next, exactly what your future was going to be?

“Come here sweetheart” all the attractiveness that you could hear in his voice on the phone call was gone in this moment you didn’t know why maybe it was your fear or maybe it was just because the emotions you felt for him we’re gone. but all you could do now was walk towards him you stopped in front of him at arms length you didn’t know why but right now you really just wanted to feel secure and comforted and honestly a part of you really just wanted to jump into his arms. Maybe a part of him sensed that, because not even a few moments after stopping in front of him immediately pulled you into his arms.

Carmen. dried your cheek and wiped away the tears that you didn’t even know were there they must’ve happened when you realized your fate……..or maybe before, before he pulled you close to his chest, placing his chin right on top of your head then you heard the words that are going to haunt you for the rest of your life

“kill them all”

You tried to pull away from him he said he wouldn’t hurt anyone. He said he wouldn’t hurt the twins or your brother except he was much stronger and bigger than you. you’re fight was pointless, and his men had killed your brother and the twins in a matter of minutes.You couldn’t do anything besides continue to sob? Carmen was very well aware of this and it gave him the perfect excuse and reasoning to pick you up. He carried you bridal style to the car putting you in the backseat with him and pushing your head on his

shoulder. He continued to rub your arm trying to comfort you for the entire car ride back. The only thing you could think of is, how could you let this happen? How could you beat it? So stupid to think someone your brother was terrified of And just believe him that he was going to leave the twins alone and your brother alone and now your life is ruined now this was your life. Well, you didn’t know what your life was yet You didn’t know how he was going to treat you all you could do is sit and wait and hope it wouldn’t be as horrible and as my numbing as it felt right now. Just as it kind of felt like you might be starting to understand a little more that happened. You felt another hand on my cheek, pulling my face towards him

“ let me hear that pretty voice of yours your brother told me you were into art let’s talk although if you don’t want to I’m sure I’ll be able to hear your voice in due time”

#yandere x darling #yandere imagines #yandere x y/n #yandere #yande.re #yandere x reader #yancore #yandex #mafia au #port mafia #jail #alphabet mafia #mafia definitive edition

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qulpynai · 5 months

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hear me out on fem radiostatic BUT in Catholic Boarding School For Girls

just academic christian school rivals

Alastor is an annoying prick who lives in boarding school because of her mother's work. but she goes home by every chance like holidays

Vox got mommy (and daddy) issues. she's the kind of person who gets attached to teachers or caregivers if they pay her a little affection. Alastor notices it and bullies her about it. One time, she made Vox cry and apologized because caregivers made her do it (she doesn't feel sorry at all. okay, only a little bit, but mostly not at all)

this is a boarding school and on some holidays / vacations Alastor's mom comes and takes her away (like other parents) and Vox is one of those girls who stays at the boarding school during all the holidays and goes back to her place only on summer holidays

about the new year. everyone gathers and talks about how they plan to spend time at home and Alastor walks around Vox talking about how she and her mother usually celebrate and what is probably a hundred times more fun than at Vox

both are sitting outside the school with suitcases and waiting for them to be picked up (vox collects things every time, even if he knows that no one will come. she wants to be with the girls in an atmosphere of festive expectation) and they are arguing about whether Vox's parents will come

everyone has already left besides them. usually, Alastor leaves earlier than everyone else, but this time her mom is late because of work

they mess around the outside stairs and Alastor complains and says all sorts of things, "well, I'll sit and wait for a few hours like you, only the difference is that I'll get picked up". meanwhile, she is confident that some stereotypical limousine will arrive for Vox

they are sitting, waiting, and Alastor's mom arrivrs and AT THE SAME TIME the Vox's caregiver comes up and tells her that her parents will not be able to come because of work

she just stands there on the verge of tears but suppressing her disappointment. alastor just... suprised, she expected that Vox's parents would at very least will pick her up for this particular holiday, and Vox seemed so sure

but there's only her mother and none of Vox's one

#radiostatic #fem radiostatic #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel alastor #fem alastor #fem vox #au #I'm not catholic though

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matttgirlies · 4 months

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Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - none

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 16

Matt was not one for moderation. Whether it was motorcycles, slot cars, horses, amusement parks, roller skating, sex, or even eating the same dinner day after day, if he enjoyed it, he’d overindulge.

One evening I gave him a little racetrack with remote-control cars. A few weeks later he had an entire room added onto the house with a professional game track. There he played night after night until he had his fill and then he never went back to the room until much later, when the annex was converted into a trophy room filled with his gold records and awards.

As Matt’s fascination with occult and metaphysical phenomena intensified, Larry introduced him to the Self-Realization Fellowship Center on Mount Washington, where he met Daya Mata, the head of the center. She was an attractive woman who looked remarkably like Mary Lou Sturniolo, and he was captivated by her serenity and spiritual presence. She epitomized everything he was striving to be.

He made several trips to Mount Washington, high in the Hollywood Hills, for sessions with Daya Mata in the hope of attaining kriya, which is the highest form of meditation in the self-realization fellowship.

As relaxed and peaceful as he was upon leaving the center’s hushed grounds, one thing he couldn’t pass up was a good fight. We were on our way home from Mount Washington one afternoon when our limousine passed a service station where two attendants were staging a fight.

“Pull over,” Matt ordered the driver. “Someone’s in trouble.”

He jumped out of the car, Jerry and Sonny following him. Going up to one of the men, he said, “Hey, you want to give somebody trouble, give it to me.”

“Hey man,” the guy answered, scarcely able to believe this was Matt. “I don’t have any problem with you. I’m not arguing with you.”

“I’ll show you something, if you want to get into an argument,” Matt said. He shot out a karate kick, and to his surprise—and everyone else’s—he knocked a pack of cigarettes out of the guy’s pocket. Among our group, Matt wasn’t known for his precision in karate.

Long after the service station fracas, we joked about it, saying, “Man, the Lord had to be on M’s side that day. That guy doesn’t know how lucky he was.”

Of course Matt had acted as if he could do this any time he felt like it. After executing that kick he’d walked away with a cocky smile, warning the guy to stay out of trouble or there’d be more where that had come from.

When we got home, the way Matt told it you’d think he’d just wiped out half a battalion. We all supported his fantasy.

He was eagerly looking forward to one particular film, Harum Scarum, seeing it as a chance to create a genuinely interesting character. He identified his role with Rudolph Valentino’s in The Sheik. At last, he thought, a part he could sink his teeth into. He saw a physical resemblance between himself and Valentino, especially in profile.

During preproduction, he came home darkened with makeup, dressed in white harem pants and a white turban. He looked extremely handsome, much more so than Valentino, I thought. Tilting his head down, with a piercing gaze and flared nostrils, he asked rhetorically, “Frightening, isn’t it, how much I look like him? How does this get to ya?” He took me in his arms Valentino-style and dipped me over à la the famous poster of the Sheik.

Night after night he kept his makeup and the turban on all through dinner and up until bedtime.

Although he was excited about the film when he first started shooting, as each day went by, his morale plummeted. Harum Scarum’s plot was a joke, the character he played, a fool, and the songs he sang, disasters. The film turned out to be yet another disappointment, an embarrassing one at that.

Still committed to the picture but demeaned by its mediocrity, he sought escape on his motorbikes—eleven Triumphs and a Harley—a Triumph for each assistant and a Harley for the boss. Decked out in leather from head to toe and feeling as tough as a pack of Hell’s Angels on a rampage, we roared through the gates of Bel Air, revving our engines at all hours of the night.

Weekends we took trips through the Santa Monica Mountains, stopping off for beer or cola along the way. It was fast, fun, and wild. I liked it so much I wanted my own bike. Despite his concern for my safety, Matt reluctantly bought me a Honda Dream 350.

While he was at the studio I sometimes rode alone, fleeing Bel Air, Beverly Hills, Hollywood, MGM, and all my worries.

During this period when he was still seeking “a higher state of consciousness,” we experimented with mind-expanding drugs. We tried marijuana a few times and neither of us especially liked it. We felt tired and groggy and we’d become ravenously hungry. After a few raids on the refrigerator—and carrying the resulting extra poundage—we decided to stay away from the stuff.

Although he abhorred street drugs he was curious enough to try LSD once. When he initiated our experiment, he made sure Sonny West was on hand at all times to supervise. The night we tried it Steven, Jerry, Larry, Matt, and I took seats around the conference table in Matt’s office upstairs at Graceland.

Matt and I took half a tab. At first, nothing happened. Then we started staring at each other and laughing—our faces were becoming distorted.

I became engrossed in Matt’s multicolored shirt. It started to grow, getting larger and larger until I thought he was going to burst. It was captivating, but I did not like the feeling. I thought: This isn’t real, be careful, you’re losing it. I tried to hang on to sanity.

We all gathered around the large aquarium outside the master bedroom, fascinated by the tropical fish. Funny—there were only two or three, but suddenly I saw an ocean of brightly colored fish. I strolled off and found myself in Matt’s huge walk-in closet, purring like a kitten.

It was early morning when Matt and I went downstairs and walked outside. Dew came down, creating rainbows in the mist, glistening on the trees and the lawn. We studied the leaves, trying to count each dewdrop. The veins in the grass became visible, breathing slowly, rhythmically. We went from tree to tree, observing nature in detail.

It was an extraordinary experience. However, realizing it was too dangerous a drug to fool around with, we never tried LSD again.

By 1966, Matt’s long search for answers to the mystery of life involved us all in the strange games he loved to devise.

In the backyard of our Bel Air home we found him staring up at “planets moving across the sky” for long periods in the darkness of the early-morning hours. He was convinced, and nearly had us convinced, that there were energy waves so powerful they caused the stars to glide through the universe. For hours we all gazed up in wonderment, questioning each other about what we were seeing, afraid to ask ourselves anything but “Could it be possible?”

His imagination peaked later on when we were all standing in the yard, looking over at the Bel Air Country Club, which was being watered by a fanlike automatic sprinkler system.

“Do you see them?” said Matt, looking intently at the course.

“See what?” I asked, ready to hear anything.

“The angels, out there.”

“Angels?” I asked, looking down at the sprinklers. I wanted to believe him, we all did and we went along with it.

As if in a trance, he continued staring at the water for a few minutes. Then he began moving toward them. “I have to go,” he said. “You stay here. They’re trying to tell me something.” He wandered off toward the golf course in pursuit of his vision. Sonny followed, insuring Matt’s safety, and the rest of us were left dumbfounded.

Other times he’d have us stare for hours at the off-white, nubby-textured ceilings, trying to make out delicately lined faces that he said he was causing to appear.

More likely it was just a game he’d made up out of boredom and depression because he was experiencing such a low point in his career. He took sleeping pills to escape, and while fighting off their effect, he created his “images”—his mystical exercises.

The happiest I ever saw him was when he developed a passion for horses. It all began when I said I wished I had my own horse. I’d loved them since childhood, and Graceland had a beautiful old stable in back, where James used to store old furniture. It was equipped with a tack room, hayloft, and several stalls.

About two weeks later, I was in my dressing room when Matt, who had been out for a few hours, returned and knocked on my door. “Sattnin, I want you to come downstairs for a minute, got something I want to show you.”

He led me down the stairway, his eyes shining. Then he guided me out the back door, his hands over my eyes. When he took them away I saw the most beautiful sight I’d ever laid eyes on—a black quarterhorse with one white stocking.

“His name must be Domino,” I said, petting the spirited four-year-old. “Whose is he?”

“He’s yours.” Matt was grinning. “I saw this kid riding him, asked if he wanted to sell. I could just picture you on him.”

“You mean he’s really mine?” I yelled, jumping up and down, throwing my arms around Matt. I wanted to ride Domino immediately and I mounted him.

“Now, wait a minute,” Matt cautioned. “Don’t go off gettin’ yourself hurt.”

He watched me with a concerned look as I rode out through the pasture and then up to the window of Grandma’s room.

“Dodger! Dodger!” I shouted. “Look what I got, my own horse! Isn’t he beautiful? Matt just bought him for me!”

“Good Lord,” Dodger cried. “Get off that thing, y/n. You’re gonna get yourself killed. I’m gonna whop that young’un for gettin’ you that. You got no business ridin’ that creature.”

“It’s okay, Dodger, I can handle him,” I called out, riding off happily.

He was wild and spirited. When I rode in the late afternoons, I was in my own world. It was a wonderful release. Often Matt would watch me from his upstairs window. I’d call out to him, “Come down and ride with me.

Matt didn’t ride very well at that time. About the only experience he’d had was in a few of his films, where he didn’t feel totally at ease. In fact, he was somewhat intimidated by large animals; nonetheless, he accepted my invitation and tried riding Domino.

He loved it, declaring, “I want a horse of my own, a golden palomino.”

Jerry Schilling found Rising Sun at a nearby stable. He was the handsomest palomino imaginable—big and powerful. He’d been trained for shows, and I’ve never seen an animal that demanded and thrived on as much attention as Rising Sun. There was no doubt that this was the horse for Matt.

He remained skeptical and had Jerry test Sun out. “Hey, it’s beautiful, man,” Matt said.

“A great-looking horse. Jerry, you get on it and ride.” Jerry had little, if any, riding experience and was horrified at the thought. Nonetheless, he gamely mounted Sun, looking as misplaced as Noël Coward on a Clydesdale.

Sun took off like a bullet with Jerry barely holding on, every bit of pride in his boots. The magnificent animal seemed to be studying Matt as much as Matt was studying him. He raced back, heading straight to where Matt was standing. “Hold ’em back,” Matt yelled. “I am, M, I am,” shouted Jerry. Matt was won over.

Now we all developed horse fever. We rode late afternoons and well into the evenings. But this wasn’t enough for Matt. As with anything he enjoyed, he wanted everyone else to join the fun. Thus began our quest for horses for the group, including their wives. We bought horses for Billy and Joe Smith, Nate Doe, Jerry and Sandy Schilling, Steven, Charlie, Red, Sonny, Richard—everyone. We bought the finest saddles, blankets, halters, bits, reins, feeding buckets. Anything that had to do with a horse, we bought.

Every afternoon we’d all mount up and ride, in full view of the two hundred or so local fans lined up along the fences. In western riding gear—chaps included—Matt would turn it into a show. He’d race down the long slope in front of Graceland and then strut back and forth before the fans, demonstrating how well he could ride. He’d have all-out races with the guys as the fans cheered them on.

They were in for even more of a spectacle when Matt bought his prize black Tennessee Walker, nicknamed Bear, which he rode attired in full show regalia. He and Bear put on a fancy high-stepping show that—if made available to paying customers—would probably have matched his Vegas take.

His other hobbies—go-carts and model cars—were only machines. This was the first hobby that involved a living creature. The horses responded to his love, and it was touching to witness his attachment to them.

It was a close time for all of us, we had something in common. However, after. Matt had delighted in lavishing horses on all of us, Graceland wasn’t quite big enough to handle the herds. We didn’t know it yet, but we were about to become ranchers.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - sweet chapter since the last few have been sad🎀

#matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturn #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

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stuffymcstuffsworld · 7 months

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☆Idol, Idol☆

Murmur was making room on his desk for more akudol merchandise. Humming happily as he added the new additions to his collection.

"Geez, don't you have enough of that shit already?" Eito asked while lighting a cigarette. "Absolutely not! Star-Chan just came out with a new poster that I need to buy and have them autograph!"

Furcus looks up from one of her many books. "Aren't you running out of desk space?" "Who needs a desk? This is a shrine for my precious Star-Chan!"

"Aren't all akudol's basically the same? I don't understand why you need to be so obsessed with this one in particular." March pokes at one of the figurines which Murmur promptly slaps his hand away.

"Star-Chan is different! They've been performing since I went to school here. And they always remember me. And they call me their number one fan! And they've personally given me front row tickets before!"

"Oh, Devi, their feeding your obsession." "What does your spouse think about all this shit?" Murmur gasps offended.

"For your information, we both like akudols, and they don't mind my collectibles. They even managed to get me a ticket for their concert today!"

Murmur buzzed with excitement. Happy to see his favorite akudol, but sad his partner always seemed to be busy for those concerts. He had hoped bond with them over this akudol too.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Fixing your hair and makeup as you got ready for your concert tonight, you smiled at your reflection. "You mean even after all these years, your husband still doesn't know you're Star-Chan?" Your manager asked.

You giggled and fixed your outfit. "Nope! Isn't that adorable? He's so excited when he sees either side of me. I love it!"

"Are you sure you want to retire? You still have several years left in your career." "I'm getting older. Akudols is a younger demons game. Besides , I can still perform. But I want to perform as myself and not Star-Chan."

You test your mic. Your manager sighs and leans against the wall. "I guess I can't force you to continue. But are you sure you want to announce it tonight?"

"Yep!" You chirp as you slipped on your heels. You could hear the roar of the crowd. "You know what they say, 'it's now or never' if I don't do it tonight I never will."

The peppy beat starts, and you strut onto the stage. A bounce in your step as you hear the roar of the crowd. You see Murmur in the front row cheering. You give a little wave and start the song.

☆I can't help it if I make a scene, stepping out of my hot pink limousine. Turning heads, and I'm stopping traffic. When I pose they scream, and when I joke they laugh.☆

You see the neon glowsticks and banners waving frantically around. You brush your hair out of your face. Leaning towards the edge of the stage where your fans can almost touch you.

☆I've got a pair of eyes that they're getting lost in. They're hypnotized by my way of walking.☆

You laugh and back away from eager hands swaying your hips playfully. You wave your finger in a scolding manner. You flaunt your dazzling charisma, ensuring you have the crowds' undivided attention.

☆I've got them dazzled like a stage magician. When I point, they look, and when I talk, they listen.☆

You stop in the middle of the stage, looking out at the crowd. So many had shown up. So many cheering your name.

It's been a great journey to reach where you were today. You couldn't have done this without your fans. How wonderful it was to have them.

☆Well, everybody needs a friend, and I've got you, and you, and you. So many I can't even name them. Can you blame me? I'm too famous!☆

You smirk confidently as you place your hand over your heart. You spread your wings and take flight. Spinning and twirling around the room.

Your fans become more excited reaching up for you. But you only reach out for one. Your husband. You adore his shocked face as you drag him on stage.

☆Haven't you noticed that I'm a star? I'm coming into view as the world is turning. Haven't you noticed I made it this far?☆

You face him and let your magic disguise drop. His jaw hits the floor. You laugh and kiss his cheek. You adored his reactions.

☆Now everyone can see me burning. Now everyone can see me burning. Now everyone can see me burn~ing.☆

The stage lights shut off. The curtains close. None of that matters, though. They only thing that matters is what you'll husband will say.

"I... i... can't believe it." You bite your lip worried. It turns out you didn't need to worry. "I'M MARRIED TO STAR-CHAN!!!! THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!!!"

You gasp startled as he picks you up. You both end up laughing as he spins you around. "Do you realize what this means?" He asked.

You shake your head amused. "You can sign all my new Star-chan merch!!!!" You can't help but laugh hysterically as he sets you down and pulls off his backpack shoving newly bought items into your hands.

#mairimashita! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #reader #murmur #steven universe #songfic

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muzaktomyears · 1 year

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Article quoting Kenneth Womack with bits from the upcoming Living the Beatles' Legend: The Untold Story of Mal Evans on the 1964 Australia and New Zealand tour:

One of Mal's diary entries detailed his most 'serious and frightening memory' where he came back to his New Zealand hotel room to find 'all this blood'.

'There's the story of a woman who attempted to commit suicide in [Mal's] hotel room because she couldn't get to the Beatles,' Mr Womack told Daily Mail Australia.

'It's a horrible story,' Mr Womack said.

'Yeah, she tried to talk her way into the Beatles suite.'

He said Mal had come back to his room after having dinner on his night off when the band were staying in New Zealand.

'He came back to their suite of rooms, and this woman had tried to get to the Beatles, but she only got as far as Mal's empty room,' Mr Womack said.

'And he came back to a wall of police officers, and he thought, "What is going on here", and all this blood, and apparently this woman had tried to kill herself there.'

He said Mal was terrified police would point the finger at him.

Mal was unable to identify the 20-year-old woman and said she was taken to hospital afterwards.

But the horror didn't stop there as Mal recalled another harrowing moment a young girl jumped off a platform and landed on the Beatles' limousine.

'There was a 13-year-old girl in Christchurch who hurled herself at the Beatles ... Mal could not believe that she didn't die,' Mr Womack said.

The Beatles themselves had a violent confrontation with fans while they were trying to get back to a hotel in New Zealand.

'They had a really rough time in Dunedin,' the author said.

'It was the first time Paul's face was scratched and John had a large clump of hair yanked from his head.

'There was a lot of blood from that one... It was a good chunk of his hair.'

But over-eager fans were not the only ones the Beatles had to deal with as a vigilante group had also sprung up 'who really got under Mal's skin'.

Members of the Anti-Trash Society followed the group around protesting against the group and even managed to egg the Beatles as they were passing through Brisbane.

'What particular axe [this group] had to grind I never did find out - being too annoyed and having to take egg stains off the boys' suits,' Mal said in a diary extract.

'Because you know, that was part of his job. He had many jobs, but part of it was to to keep the gear clean. Of course, eggs didn't do much for electric guitars either,' Mr Womack said.

He said the Beatles experienced in Australia the biggest crowds they would ever see, with the 'sheer enormity' of the number of people making it near impossible for the road manager to do his job.

On June 12 more than 300,000 people lined the Anzac Highway and King William Street in Adelaide to welcome the band, while massive Melbourne crowds swamped the streets to see the group at the Southern Cross Hotel a week later.

'And you know, they never had 100,000 people in the United States. or certainly not in Europe or England,' the author said.

'And there could be thousands of people trying to see them and not just girls, celebrities of every kind, local politicians. Everybody wanted to try to throw some weight around.

'So there was just a constant pressure of people trying to get in.'

He said it was an 'absolute wonder' no one was hurt or trampled to death during the Beatles tour of Australia.

#D:#truly insane #the beatles #mal evans

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littleoddwriter · 27 days

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Cooper Abbott (Trap, 2024) as a Firefighter | Mini-Analysis

Hi there and welcome back to me analysing the character Cooper Abbott (portrayed by Josh Hartnett) in the movie Trap (written, produced and directed by M. Night Shyamalan)! This one is a mini-analysis and interpretation of a particular aspect of his character, based on one short scene and things we've been told and given glimpses of during the movie: Cooper working as a firefighter. It's also mostly speculation after because I like to think further, of course. I'd be happy to know what others think about this aspect of him, so if this were to spark a conversation, that'd be great! :') <3 And for anyone, who might be interested, here is the more in-depth character analysis of Cooper that I wrote.

As we get to know Cooper Abbott in the beginning of the movie, one particular detail we're told about him is that he's a firefighter.

He tells Jamie, the vendor of the merch stand at the Lady Raven concert, that he works in the fire department, which allows him to garner trust from Jamie, who now sees him as 'one of the good guys' that he can tell details about the concert's function as a trap for Cooper's serial killer persona "the Butcher". Toward the end of the movie, when Dr. Grant - the FBI profiler - explains her psychological profile of Cooper to Rachel, his wife, we catch a glimpse of a photo of Cooper and some of his colleagues at the fire station advertising the firemen calendar. While Cooper talks to Lady Raven in her limousine, he also tells her that the houses he keeps his victims in, and also plans in, are vacant due to fire code violations, suggesting that he uses the resources he's given as a firefighter to help with his murders, like knowing which houses will be empty for longer periods of time. And during Cooper and Rachel's confrontation afterwards, she specifically mentions that the smell of cleaning fluid on him furthered her suspicions of his serial killing, because it's not the kind he would use at the station, but rather what she associates with hospitals.

Those are the things we are told and shown about Cooper when it comes to his work as a firefighter. But there is one scene about halfway through the movie, where we actually witness him working as a first aider.

In an attempt to avoid being seen by Dr. Grant when Cooper is backstage at the concert, he helps a teenage girl, who was about to collapse on the stairs behind the stage. He catches her when she's starting to fall over, lifts her up and carries her, and then asks a staff member where he should put her. Inside the medical tent, he sits her down on a chair and soothingly talks to her, while treating her for her possible low blood sugar and dehydration. He tells her that he'll get her some juice, while putting a cooling pack on the back of her neck, and that she'll feel a lot better within the next half hour. Even one of the medical staff members in the tent was impressed with his work, more or less jokingly asking to keep him because of how good he is with the patients.

This scene shows how natural his work is to him. Cooper is incredibly skilled and quick, just as he is when he's thinking of ways to cause distractions and find a way out of the venue for himself. He's focused and has a great way of making the other person feel safe and like they're in good hands with him with the way he's speaking in a low, soothing voice, and stays on a figurative, and even literal, eye level with them when he does. In short, Cooper seems to be in his element when he's helping the teenager. It also shows very clearly that he's been doing this for many years because of how natural his movements and words are for him.

Having been shown how he would be on the job, essentially, also raises the question why he chose to be a firefighter in the first place.

Personally, I think that he became a firefighter because it's a job that is thrilling and never the same, but with a certain degree of control he has over everything that happens; even if some situations can be rather unpredictable. He still decides the course of action (depending on his position within the department) and, to an extent, what happens to the people he's helping. This job allows him to be close to injury and death without being the initial cause. Whether or not he abuses his power to play around with what humans could potentially survive or not is up to debate. I think it's safe to say, though, that it taught him a lot of useful things for his future murders, while giving him a way to have several safe houses without anybody knowing, and without having to spend any money on them and therefore leaving no traces of his presence. It might have also allowed him to gain access to tools he uses, or at least know where to get them, what he can use, and how, without raising suspicions. This is especially evident when Cooper tells Lady Raven about the lethal effects of carbon monoxide on a person in a small and closed space, stating that "you need to know about these sorts of things as a firefighter", as he explains to her that he'll use it to easily kill Spencer, his current victim, if she refuses to help him out of the venue or signals the FBI. If his only reason to be a firefighter had been power, control, and being close to injury/death and danger, he could have just become a police officer, which could have even allowed him to manipulate what the police knows about his murders. But since he's a firefighter, there are more ways to interpret and speculate why he chose that profession.

On that note, I also want to add that another possible reason for his decision to be a fireman could be his upbringing and the abuse he experienced at the hand of his mother. This could go two ways; although they don't negate one another. One being that he wanted to actually help people out of situations where they are in danger and feel helpless because he never had a helping hand when he needed it most in his youth. Therefore, he would be using it as a kind of coping mechanism for his trauma. The other being that he uses this job to counteract "the monster", as his dark side has been dubbed by his mother and later himself. It is possible that he initially tried to be better and do something useful - something good - to prove his mother, and by extension himself, wrong about his being a monster. Both are potential explanations for his choice that can be true at the same time.

So far, those have been my thoughts about Cooper being a firefighter and why that's the chosen profession for him. Of course, there's also the simple reason that it's one of the best covers for him because people wouldn't immediately suspect a fireman to be a serial killer. But since Cooper has most definitely been a firefighter for much longer than he's been a murderer (presumably, at least), I also think that it's reasonable to consider different explanations for this choice.

#cooper abbott #cooper adams #trap 2024 #these kinds of things are on my mind 24/7 since watching Trap for the first time :) only analyses :)#i can't wait to buy the movie so i can also take screenshots of sth i really wanna talk about but can't because-#-it'll only work with photo evidence so to speak because it's about specific facial expressions of his #oh Germany please release Trap digitally ASAP pleasepleaseplease #character analysis #jesse.talks #jesse.analyses

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