#quelles aides

[entrepreneurs-en-devenir]

Les aides à la création d’entreprise

Aujourd’hui je vais vous parler d’un sujet, pas nécessairement passionnant, mais profondément utile, les aides à la création d’entreprise. Et oui, quand on pense à monter une entreprise, la première chose qu’on fait est souvent de paniquer. Ensuite viennent les avis des uns et des autres, les infos et contre infos. Puis les fantasmes sur les aides à la création d’entreprise. Alors, je vais…

[beatsforbrothels]

Pink Siifu & Ahwlee - Brandy, Aaliyah (ft. Quelle Chris, Denmark Vessey, Jimetta Rose, V. C. R, MoRuf & Kamilah)

[nebulaafterdark]

The Succession

Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest, Queen Y/N is forced to rule alongside Prince Regent Aemond, in an attempt to keep her children safe and eventually seat her mother, Rhaenyra, on the throne. While attending her husband, on what appears to be his deathbed, she begins to unravel the dark truth of his near passing.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

“Behold, the traitor dragon, Meleys. Slain by King Aegon.”

Cole might’ve bellowed anything before the mention of Y/N’s husband and she would not have heard it. Breaching the castle doors, out onto the streets, where the smallfolk stare in wonder. The Queen has scarcely been seen in the days following her husband’s accession, leaving many to wonder if she still lives.

Here she stands, in the flesh, walking about them like a commoner. “Where is Aegon?” She finds Ser Criston, keeping pace beside his horse.

“You mustn’t be about, your grace. It is not safe.”

“Where is my husband?”

Ser Gwayne looks back toward his fallen nephew, now carried by men.

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, falling in line with the oversized box one might mistake for a casket. She can’t see much of anything through the slats.

“You must return to the castle, my Queen.” Cole circles back for her. “His Grace will need you at his side.”

“He’s alive?” Y/N breathes.

“When last I checked.”

She nods, remaining beside her husband as he is carted into the castle, up the stairs to his chambers. The maesters await him, peeling away armor and bits of charred flesh with it, to reveal the extent of his injuries.

“Is my son going to die?” Alicent asks.

“He is badly burned.” The maester informs the Queen dowager.

“Men survive burns.” Y/N says, holding a hand to her belly, attempting to quell the churning.

“He has many broken bones.”

“Bones heal.”

The grand maester sighs, “that is our hope, your grace.”

What lies beneath his breastplate is naught but more red, angry skin, or lack there of. Alicent comes round to Y/N, a rare occasion, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Mayhaps it is best you step away.”

“I will stay,” Y/N shakes her head, “if anything happens… I must stay.” Hold his hand as he goes, if it comes to it.

Alicent nods, withdrawing.

Aegon’s breathing is something awful. Men survive burns. Bones heal.

An eternity passes in that room, on bated breath. Eventually the maesters begin clearing out, leaving the King to mutter, incoherently.

“Your grace.” The grand maester turns to Y/N. “It is done.”

“Thank you, Grand Maester. For all you have done, I- I owe you a debt.”

The man takes her hand, “we can only do so much to aid in the king’s healing, I believe it is you he needs. Be his strength.”

Y/N nods, “of course.” She makes herself comfortable upon the mattress beside him as the doors close, giving them a moment alone.

Aegon’s mumblings grow louder, though still impossible to make sense of.

“Shhh,” Y/N hushes him, brushing hair from his face. “There is nothing to fear. You need only…get better for me. I will tend the council shortly, but I shall return.”

He quiets then, as though her gentle reassurance is all he wanted.

“I will not abandon you. Not now, not ever. Rest easy, my love. You are safe now.” She presses a kiss to his forehead, before taking the stairs down to join the small council.

Those sitting around the table are already in deep discussion, gaping at the Queen’s entrance, standing to greet her.

“So kind of you to wait for me, my lords.” Y/N smiles, taking her ball from the center.

“We thought you might be with his grace, the king.” The hand explains. “He will be expecting you when he wakes.”

“I am not sure he will ever wake.” The grand maester cuts in. “His fate lies with the gods now.”

“Give it time.” Y/N sniffs, “it has been mere hours since his return.”

“If Aegon could wake, he would have done so for you.” Alicent decides. “A king cannot rule in his sleep, we must appoint a regent to serve in his absence.”

“I am awake.” Y/N reminds them.

“My Queen,” Tyland Lannister interjects, “if I may be so bold. Your lord husband has been wounded in battle, he will need your tender hand if we hope him to make any sort of recovery.”

“That is very thoughtful of you, Lord Tyland.” Y/N replies, in a measured tone. Should she lose her head before the council, there will be no coming back from it. “Still, I am willing and able to rule.”

“In the event of his grace’s untimely death, we must be prepared to proceed with the succession.”

“Understandably, and we do not lack heirs. My husband and I have four children.” Y/N shifts in her chair. “Assuming, as you have, that the men of the realm will never accept a woman on the throne, we then pass the crown to our first born son.” To charm the snakes, you must behave as a snake.

The council looks to each other. “Prince Laenor is but two years of age, our next ruling king, by law; though too young to presently serve.”

“I will advise him, I am his mother.”

Alicent rises from her seat, “might I humbly suggest myself? I have already done so during my late husband’s long illness-”

“Which was fine then?” Y/N arches a brow, “a wife to rule in her husband’s absence.”

Alicent lowers her gaze. “This is different.”

“Because I am your enemy’s daughter and named heir,” Y/N huffs. “Rules for thee, not for me. Isn’t that right?”

“Mind yourself.”

“Or what?” Y/N lifts a shoulder, “you will usurp my husband, as you did my mother?”

“Viserys changed his mind.” Alicent says, with finality. “I am sorry for what’s happened, but with his dying breath, he wished for Aegon to be king. I pray you do not hear a similar whisper from your husband anytime soon.”

“I love my husband,” Y/N seethes, “let that be known.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

“Whatever the members of this council intend to do now will be spoken plainly, in my presence.” Y/N demands, staring down at her wedding ring.

“I believe it is in our best interest to appoint Prince Aemond as Regent, until our King has been restored.” Ser Criston announces, “as hand, I know the king’s greatest concern is the safety and well being of his wife and children. We must honor that, in these unprecedented times.”

Y/N swallows, “very well.”

“My Queen.” Aemond reaches past her for the council ball, abandoned by her husband.

————————————————————————

Y/N goes through the motions, putting their children to bed. All is well, my darlings. Father needs only rest. When they have each found sleep, she returns to Aegon. Speaking to him the same way she always has, as though he can hear.

“The men of the council are restless in your absence. They circle like vultures now,” Y/N chokes out, touching the unmarred skin of his face. “And I am alone in this….I have never been alone.”

If she knew no better, she could swear his fingers twitch against hers. Mayhaps she is gripping them too tightly. She releases his hand, much to Aegon’s dismay, grumbling his discontent.

“Hush now, I am here and you are here. The rest will sort,” Y/N reminds him.

She watches him then, the heaving rise and fall of his chest, wrapped in bandages. Men survive burns. Bones heal.

In time, Alicent joins her at Aegon’s side. “Has there been any change?”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head.

“You are kind to be here, he loves nothing in the world as he loves you. I am sure your presence alone is a comfort to him.”

“That is my hope,” Y/N admits.

“I will leave you to it.” Alicent offers a hint of a smile, making for the door.

“Mummy.”

Y/N hears it, his mother does not. “Alicent,” she calls her back.

Alicent flicks away tears before turning round, “what is it?”

“He’s asking for you.”

“F-for me?”

Y/N nods, giving his hand a squeeze.

Alicent returns to his bedside, passing a hand over the side of his face. “I’m here.”

He draws in a rattling breath, “protect her.” Aegon stumbles over the words. “Please, Mummy.”

Y/N inhales sharply, hushing him.

Alicent locks eyes with her daughter by law. I pray you do not hear a similar whisper from your husband anytime soon. “I will do this, for you, Aegon. You needn’t worry.”

Aegon says nothing else, succumbing to sleep once more.

Alicent excuses herself, with a nod.

Y/N muffles the sound of her cries in the hand which isn’t holding his. She’s only half awake by the time she hears footfall and whispering at the end of her husband’s bed.

“Was it worth the price?” Helaena asks.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, my darling.” Aemond mutters, brushing his lips against her cheek.

Part 2

[haerni]

OH MY GOD, “who is he? ”

summary: feels like you’re fallin’ deeper & maybe you’re going crazy, right? does he want you or not? he’s so confusing!

ft. park sunghoon (based on ‘OMG’ by newjeans!)

content: fem! reader, tooth-rotting fluff, a lil bit of hurt comfort, sunghoon is that confusing guy, mutual pining, reader is a bit embarrassing i think? sunoo your support system! 1.8k words

— very very minimal proofread and editing bc ive only done this in one sitting (help me).

( 🍃 ) notes: this took me so long omfgsbks but here we are with my very first content on this blog, please be nice TT sunghoon might be ooc saur.. theres that! can u tell i love sunoo, i have to sneak him in. maybe the story will jump for awhile so sorry for that also.

you've probably liked PARK SUNGHOON for almost half of your life.

ever since he sat with you at the swing from the park you used to go to when you were kids and offering his own comfort when you were crying on that day, to this day forward when he offers his shoulder for you to cry on.

he never questions the reasons behind your cries, he never pushes and all he does is sit there and offer you whispers of solace that you take to heart.

because your best friend wouldn't want the worst for you.

because all he does is care for you.

and maybe—just maybe—you hate him a little for it, for doing things that make your heart flutter, for simply just touching your hair and pulling you closer hoping that it will quell the sadness that consumes you. or when he would walk with you home after his practice despite being tired and run down to the bones, he would never miss a day. or when he would call you such sweet things like you are together when you aren't.

or when one time he heard through jay how someone was making passes on you and disgusting comments about you, he comes home with a bruised lip and wounded knuckles. he refused to let you see him, not until you forced your way to his room with the first aid kit his mother let you borrow, because he also wouldn't let her treat him.

or when you can't even pretend to be okay in the sea of bodies in a party and he notices right away. he drags you by your hand and drags you out of the party without a care for anyone. he only tells you that he hates the party and would rather eat out in a convenience store nearby.

he holds your hand tightly, you knew that night you loved park sunghoon more than you could ever imagine.

a decade into your friendship, you fell in love with your best friend, park sunghoon.

you did your best to hide it, to keep these emotions at bay and lock away into the very bottom of your heart. you swallow the bubbling feeling in your throat whenever he's close. you did your very best to preserve the relationship the both of you built together. even if all you wanted was just ruin it and become something more.

loving park sunghoon was easy, it was easy as the breeze that touched your hair, it was easy as falling into a routine of living and looking forward to days when he's with you. the prospect of loving sunghoon comes naturally and you don't know how to stop it. it just grows more everyday and suddenly you find yourself in garden of flowers blossoming in your heart, so much that's its starting to flow out little by little and you're slipping, you're heart is becoming unguarded, the walls you've spent all your life building is chipping away slowly.

it's becoming suffocating, it's hard to breathe around him.

the passing touches, the stolen glances and brief silence has been occurring more and more.

it's only a matter of time, before someone catches on. unfortunately, that time is right now.

"what's with you and sunghoon, lately?" your friend, sunoo asks, "did you guys have a fight?"

a second passes before you answer him, "we did not. why do you ask?"

sunoo sits closer to you and puts his face on his palm, "you have been avoiding him."

you stopped, "no, i'm not."

"it's lunch and you're sitting here with me in the library, working on an assignment that's not due until next week, when you usually never miss eating when he comes by our room to eat with you." he pointed out.

too specific. were you that predictable? and when you don't answer sunoo realizes something. when his eyes widen too much for your comfort that's when you interject from whatever train of thought he had.

"or maybe—"

"i don't know what you are talking about, sunoo."

"you're avoiding him.."

"i already told you, i'm not—!"

"sure, keep telling yourself that." sunoo snorts at that, "i know you like him and not how a best friend should."

you can't breathe again, you were absolutely done for. because sunoo was right, he got the answer right and you couldn't find it in yourself to quip back at him. you can't find it in yourself to deny and brush it off, because it's simply not real, it's not what your heart is telling you. maybe, that was your last straw.

maybe that was all it needed for you to let out your heart just for once and face the reality.

you don't want sunghoon as a best friend.

the realization hits harder when someone utters it out, because you have lived all your life hiding and suddenly, it pours out like rain after a long unending drought.

now here you are. in the porch of your house under the moonlight with you encased in sunghoon's arms, because you were stupid enough to go out and try to forget about him, to go see other people and hope that you can lose all these feelings you have for him. it didn't, maybe it never will. a boy, somehow he's the same height and stature as sunghoon it was enough for you to agree for a dinner out.

it was stupid to begin with. you didn't even know this guy's name (you can't even bother to remember). because while you sat there and tried to engage with him, your mind drifted far on how he does not have the same moles as sunghoon, he does not make you laugh like sunghoon does, maybe he would've took you out to that ramen place you always go to after a long day instead of this fancy restaurant that you don't even know. quite sure enough that guy only talked about himself, you didn't listen.

"so are we going?" he gives you an all-knowing smile and as you try to turn him down a voice comes in.

"she's not going with you." you look behind, and there he stands one hand in his pocket wearing a white button-up shirt that you haven't seen before, a cold gaze accompanying it and his hair done all too perfectly—like he was on a date.

"hey! who do you think you are?" sunghoon ignores him as he offers his hand to you. tilting his head in question. you did not hesitate to grab it. it's almost a curse for him to know when you need him the most.

you can feel the heat rising up in your body as he intertwines both of your hands and gives it a squeeze.

he brings you home, like how he promised your dad when you were sixteen.

you bite your lips in hopes of suppressing all the emotions running down on you. but you can't really do that in front of sunghoon, can you?

you broke down.

and sunghoon was there—it was enough. it was enough for everything to pour out.

"i'm tired, hoon." his arms tighten around you, burying his face to your hair, almost as if he's kissing it in comfort.

you're tired? is it because of that guy? should he beat him up? you wouldn't like it anyway, so he erase the thought. park sunghoon has never hated anyone more than that jerk right now. he curses that stupid guy who made you like this.

"i hate you park sunghoon."

"you don't mean that."

you don't.

"i really really hate you." you were probably the worst to utter such words to him. to your best friend, to sunghoon out of all people. but you can't stop. "you're so stupid, stupid."

it takes him back, he didn't expect for you to be mad at him. he's silent for a moment as he continues to hold you like you're going to disappear.

"how am i stupid, baby?" there he goes again with those stupid nicknames.

you refuse to look at him, burying your face to his nape. and when you don't answer he talks for you.

"do you hate me that much for you not to look at me?" you really hate park sunghoon.

he sighs at the lack of your response. he shakes his head before he turns his face closer to your ear, "what am i gonna do, baby? you hate me, but i like you so much."

what? what the fuck?

that makes you widen your eyes processing what he just said as you sit up straight and facing him. and it makes him laugh a little, he probably shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. not when you're this adorably looking at him like you can't believe it.

"don't joke about things like that park sunghoon!"

wow, using his government name? "you don't believe me?" you don't answer. "why do you think i came to that awful restaurant wearing this shirt?" you knew it was new, you've never seen him wear it.

"because you want to fit it?" you answer.

"that too," he laughs, "and because you didn't eat lunch with me, you didn't walk home with me. i heard from sunoo, that you were out with someone and you didn't dress up because of me. you were on a date and it wasn't me. you were avoiding me, baby."

he looks at you and it hurts because both of you are a fucking idiot. all this time, sunghoon liked you.

park sunghoon likes you.

"how long?" and you can't help it, you have to know.

he thinks for a second, "hm.. since when you were on that swing? i thought you were pretty." he smiles so easily.

oh my god.

you buried your face once more, not really knowing what to do, because for the longest time you thought you were the only one feeling this way.

but sunghoon understands, he continues to talk, "jay thinks i'm obsessed with you. he's not wrong, you know? you don't have to say anything right now, i know you're having a har—"

you kissed him. park sunghoon is really an idiot. how can you not like him? how can anyone not even like him? he's so stupid. sunghoon's eyes widen a bit, but melts into your touch as quickly.

god, was this really happening? please don't ever wake him up if this is a dream.

you pulled away for a breather and he reached for another one causing you to block his lips with your hand.

feeling the blood in your cheeks, flustered as sunghoon kisses your palm instead. his hand coming up to yours to remove it.

"can i kiss you again?" you were going to die, "please?" you're sure of it.

"no!"

sunghoon laughs at that. you can't feel it, but his cheeks are really hurting now from smiling. maybe one day you'll let him kiss you more, but for now this is enough.

he has loved you almost all of his life.

𖹭 likes and reblogs are highly appreciated! i hope he is not too out of character :')

[ma1dita]

love me dry

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.5k

summary: (post-TLT) The one where he meets you at his mother’s house, though both of you didn’t expect the other to be there. A glimpse into May Castellan’s perfect day (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: sorry for the hiatus! been on the study grind and didn’t even notice, but i’ve been working on this for a bit! macbeth references (comment if you catch them/or ask and i’ll yap) and slight suggestive stuff under the cut—but anyways let’s just say the prophecy by taylor swift came out at the right time.

(posted 4/19/24, semi-edited)

—

The drive to Westport has become almost an afterthought in these past few years— in the way you unconsciously reach for your favorite hoodie on the way out the door or tuck in your chair before you leave a table, almost automatic but ingrained with a touch of care.

With letters to May Castellan occupying your passenger seat instead of the boy who wrote them, you’d make the drive multiple times but stop short just before the property line. It took months of parking at the bottom of the hill and just watching the sun set on the little house, so clearly being able to imagine a smaller version of him running around and wreaking havoc. 

Little Luke, with bandaged knees and feet that move as fast as his motor mouth, amber eyes glinting like windchimes in the summer breeze. His mom must’ve watched him play by himself through the bay window before calling him home when the clouds covered the horizon, wispy tendrils stretching over the rain gutter like how lovers hold hands. It must’ve reminded her a lot of his father, leaving nothing but the open air in his wake. Still, all of this was familiar to you too—despite having never stepped foot in the white house.

But knowing Luke meant knowing his home like it was a part of you.

The old hatchback’s engine gently rumbled against the quiet of the property each time you visited, and May would wait for you to come near— waiting for you to be ready to walk into a mausoleum of the boy you both once knew. You were familiar to her too, even as a blurry figure hunched over the steering wheel. She’s seen your face in the small glimpses between the shattering earth of her reality and the hazy foresight she lets herself succumb to remember what her son looks like. In every vision of him since he’s left, you’ve been there; and something about that quells the pain and anguish that it brings to her body when she sees it. But May Castellan is ever an observant woman, gift of prophecy aside. A mother always knows.

It also turns out that she makes excellent conversation over a plate of slightly singed chocolate chip cookies.

—

Luke Castellan is years older than the version of him that last sat at this kitchen table. He doesn’t know if he’s any wiser for it—wondering if he’s made a mistake in coming back here after all this time as he watches his mom hustle around the kitchen that’s suspiciously sparkling clean. A silver spoon clinks against the glass pitcher that May stirs mixed berry Kool-Aid in, his favorite, he remembers, and it makes him squint against the light that filters through the gauzy curtains of the windowpane above the sink. Luke could’ve sworn that there used to be badly patched rips in the fabric, but he attributes it to the dark corner of his memory he still hides away like a secret. Sitting there and taking it all in, he wonders what it would’ve been like to actually grow up here—to stay, for once. 

But that’s something he doesn’t have the privilege of knowing. When his mom turns to hand him a glass with her shaking hands, wrinkles and laugh lines are mapped across the expanse of her face. He’ll never know how they got there. The wooden chair creaks under him, groaning under the weight that he carries and Luke once again feels uncomfortable in a place he once called home. 

“Knew you’d come back. A mother always knows,” May mutters, voice disembodied like she’s floating just out of reach. Her hands clasped over his, rubbing her thumbs over the veins as if she’s checking his pulse (or the possibility of him being an apparition) and the crack in her smile mirrors his. But this isn’t the home he remembers—his frontal lobe was underdeveloped back then and the only plan it could form was the one to get him the hell out of Westport, there’s something different in the details. Tiny things, like the patio swing chain reattached to its post, a mended table leg, and ceramic tiles on the countertop unbroken and smooth. This is a home and a mother he once longed for as a kid, along with the feeling of comfort and safety you can only attribute to a place like this.

Calculating eyes scan the perimeter of the kitchen, but no one knows he’s made the trip to Westport, not even his own crew. Surely nothing could mess this up for him, not here. This was his last step before his quest for redemption eats away at his physical body, and then it will all be out of his hands. 

There’s not much left for me here, he thinks— there’s not much of me left here, either.

Then Luke hears you before he sees you—the sound of you humming under your breath mixed with the jingle of keys turning in the front door. With bags of groceries leaving marks on your arms and a soft smile he hasn’t seen you wear in ages, for once you look lighter again. For a moment, the thought crosses his mind that this must be what you look like when he’s not around. Nonetheless, he breathes easier when you’re near. Of course, you’re here, and the irony grips him by the neck almost as if to make it known why his home feels like home again.

“Yeah hon, I’ll have to call you back,” you laugh into your headphones before tapping them with one free finger to end the call. In a split second, your eyes meet. Staggering back at the sight of him sitting at the table and the absolute grin on May’s face, you decide to continue into the space ahead and start putting the groceries away like nothing is out of sorts. 

“I see you have a visitor, Miss May. Is he staying long?”

Luke sips at his glass, juice extra tart just how he likes it. His lips pucker at the taste it leaves in his mouth and when he opens his mouth there’s a hint of blue. You try not to look too long.

“For the night,” he answers, even if you weren’t talking to him, but it makes May so vibrant with the notion of him not running again that she instantly hops to her feet and rushes to make the bed in his old room. “I won’t be in your way,” he swallows. You gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame, but move around his chair without touching him—further proving that Luke is, in fact, an obstacle you must overcome. He’s a stranger in his own home and you’ve found yourself at ease in it. You wonder if any of that will make a difference in the long run.

“She’s…”

“More peaceful. I’ve been practicing with my dad, so I do what I can to ease her fits but I’m not exactly equipped to lift a curse from Hades,” you mutter through a bitten lip. Luke stares at you but it feels nostalgic, like someone on the outside looking in. Well, shit. He’s been leading demigods to their deaths every summer and you’ve been trying to cure his mentally ill mother in the time you don’t spend trying to stop him.

“I don’t think I even remember the last time she made sense while talking to me,” he laughs hollowly. You purse your lips and shrug, “I visit her every two weeks. She still has her triggers, and she gets confused but she’s not in pain. Your letters helped.”

“Is that why you came here then?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” you joke feebly. It falls flat and yet he still smiles, even when you say, “They weren’t for me.”

“They were about you. All of them were.”

You know that too. May makes you read them to her before bedtime as you stroke her hair and send her off to Hypnos. You’ve relived your relationship with Luke a million little times, and he’s written about you and all of your yesterdays like it was the only glimpse of Elysium he’d ever reach. In those letters, you get to remember the good parts of being in love—laughing in the empty amphitheater, holding hands under the dining table, sneaking kisses in the strawberry fields. 

You used to understand each other so well: every dream, every feeling. But there is nothing you understand about the man sitting across from you now. The both of you sit at the kitchen table and there is nothing more to say.

Luke doesn’t have to stay. While you were at the supermarket, he spent an hour trying to explain to his mother that he needed her blessing to swim in the River Styx. Through nuances and veiled simplicity in the words he weaved to convince her, there wasn’t much opposition in her half-empty, half-prophetic mind. May always knew that Luke loved to swim when she took him to the beach, and that was that.

There was nothing more to say.

—

He knows it’s too good to be true when moments later May’s screams carry through the halls of the little house, down the stairway you’re currently clambering up to reach her. By the time his boots reach the second landing, he finds the two women he loves most in a huddle against the linen closet, his mother’s glowing green eyes and empty groans rattling him to the bone. If he were any smaller, he’d be shaking. Even now he doesn’t know what to do— feet frozen as he watches you brush her curls away from her face and lull her to solace.

“Can’t find Luke’s sheets—he needs the Toy Story ones…” May mutters as she rocks on her heels, “My boy needs to be home… He’s meant to be home!” Her fingernails are cutting into your wrists and then she silences with a wave of your hand.

“He’s home, Miss May. He’s right there,” you whisper. When your eyes look at Luke, you watch him crumble—the cracks in his fortitude tumbling like fallen rocks at the sight of the two of you and then you see him. The boy you met at 14 who was angry at the world for making him run away from his mother and the hands of fate until it crept up to snuff him out for the sake of a prophecy foretold by deities who will never understand what it’s like to be human. But there are no second chances, and there is nowhere left to run. “He’s here for you. I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”

“I see it, the two of you together. The worst will be over soon, and then it’ll all make sense,” she says breathily, licking her lips and straightening herself like nothing happened. Even after you send her off to prepare a basket for the beach, Luke doesn’t move when his mother pats his arm and walks around his body and towards the stairs. Neither of you speak until your fingers touch his jaw lightly, and Luke doesn’t know if you’re trying to help him or inspect him. He tilts down to look at you anyway.

“She thinks we’re still together.”

He blinks. Somehow that’s the most shocking thing he’s heard today. Fate is most definitely cruel and fucked up because he never expected it to be like this—once upon a time he hoped he could take you home to meet his mother when everything was said and done; no shackles from Titans or pressure from the gods.

It was supposed to be different.

“The letters probably didn’t help as much as you thought they would then,” he mumbles, calloused hands guiding your hands over to his swiftly beating heart. You scoff, “Neither does bringing up my boyfriend. She thinks it’s you.” He’d believe anyone who’d say they watched you yank his heart out of his chest with that statement, everything bloody in your hands. It’s still yours, even if you don’t want it.

“Kit?”

You shake your head and shrug, “That was forever ago. But he treats me well.”

Luke wants to ask more but by the tension in your shoulders, he knows not to push. He’s not entitled to know anything more than what you give him. It’s not his place anymore. So his brow furrows at your next suggestion.

“Just pretend, Luke. For the day, so your mom doesn’t get agitated. I’m not asking for much here.”

It’s a terrible, terrible idea—even you know that. But you both have always been good pretenders. Liars, a voice corrects in the back of your mind. You reason that it’s for May and insist upon that fact, even if the heartbroken girl you left at Camp Half-Blood is raging at you from deep inside the recesses of your mind that you hide her in. What’s one day with him compared to the many you’ve gone without? You don’t need to know the rest of why he’s here, or what more he’s going to do— and you don’t ask. 

Not knowing has always hurt less.

—

You’ve forgotten how good Luke is at playing the part of a good boyfriend. He offers to drive to the beach, carries the picnic basket and blanket for you all to sit on, and listens intently when May asks about your college classes. There’s no discomfort in the way he holds your hand as you walk in the sand or dusts your feet off before laying them across his lap. It’s easy to laugh at his bad jokes, it’s easy to act like the boyfriend you describe is anything like him (even if he’s the complete opposite), and it’s too damn easy to fall into the familiar rhythm that is you and Luke. The three of you lay down as the spring breeze covers you from the rest of reality, hiding away from the truth of a broken woman and two ex-lovers. By late afternoon, you find yourself enjoying it, and it’s cruel how the guilt isn’t rolling off you in waves, instead longing for him to follow you anywhere. 

He meets you by the shoreline with both of you waist-deep in the water. May’s collecting seashells but she turns to look at you two every so often like she’s framing this memory in her fragile mind. Without saying it out loud, the both of you hope it will hold. 

“She always talks about you, you know? Even without trying,” you mutter as saltwater pours from your fingers to the valleys made by the veins in his forearms. It’s like initiating touch without the consequences of actually doing it, and he immerses himself in the feeling as it spills over him, feet rocking against the tide. 

“I do too. Can’t help it.”

When the sea ripples once more pushing you against the wall of his body, you end up holding on, and he doesn’t let go. You both smell like salt and sunshine, pressed together and nothing has made more sense. The silence goes on for a beat too long—he whispers, “You still talk about me? Your boyfriend must hate that.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk about you? For anyone to get to know me, they have to know you.”

Your shirt is stuck to your skin in the surf and Luke’s hands brush over the waistline of your underwear, daring to reacquaint himself with your touch and spur a reaction from you. You may be the best actress he’s ever known but anything is better than watching you be complacent with the false niceties of the day.

“There isn’t much worth knowing.”

“I’d never say that, Luke,” jaw tensing, you let out a breath when his hands encircle your hips, hidden in plain sight in the deep of the ocean. He chuckles and the sound tickles your brain to remind you it's the type of laugh he spits out when he’s hiding his anger, “There’s a lot we’re both not saying.” Your name slips past his lips, sneaking past your defenses and hitting you head-on like a bullet.

“Why?”

Why are you doing this? Why are you helping his mother, why aren’t you actively fighting and turning him in, why are you letting him hold you if he’s only going to leave again—there are too many questions and only one clear answer.

“Because it’s out of our hands, isn’t it, Luke? You love your mother but you wouldn’t have come here unless it’s too late. Annie told me you went to see her in San Francisco.”

He was never here to make amends or save face. There was no version of him that was going to ask you to run away with him because he knows you deserve more than always running from fate. He’d do it all over again as long as you got this— the life you’re living with your college degree, your boyfriend, and your happy family— and Luke has no place in that.

A dry laugh bubbles from his throat, sticking like seafoam when he says, “You hate San Francisco.” 

You wouldn’t have come, anyway. 

—

By the time you get home for dinner, your skin is sensitive and tingly from the heat of the sun. May’s tracing circles into the back of your hand as she leads you up the patio steps. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that makes you sway against the doorway.

“Too much time having fun,” she mumbles, patting your cheek, “Take a cold shower dear. Join us when you’re ready?” Luke’s eyes follow you all the way up the stairs and then again, he’s left to his own devices.

Most of the said shower was spent thinking about what your friends would say about you for playing house with the enemy. The guilt felt like ice along your spine, paralyzing you for wanting to be selfish, to choose what makes you happy even if it fucks the rest of the world. But looking in the mirror afterward was scarier—you recognized the girl that stared back at you as someone you thought you’d never see again. A version you left behind years ago, with her head held high and so sure of herself with your Luke by your side. 

Surely, there’s no harm in indulging in this vice for the rest of the night. Not when you haven’t felt this relaxed in years.

Dinner is being served by the time you make your way back downstairs. It’s a simple dish you taught Luke how to make back at camp when you raided the kitchens at midnight. Nothing special, reminding you of your own home—but the fact that he remembered makes your smile widen as you take a seat and promise to wash the dishes. Luke chuckles the type that makes his eyes crinkle in mirth once he watches you dig into your meal, knees brushing under the table like old times. 

Everything feels easier after that.

“Today was the best day,” his mother mutters as you tuck the covers under her chin. May kisses both of your cheeks before she shuts her eyes and you gently fold the letter she chose tonight back into her nightstand for safekeeping. This time, you read her the story of your first kiss with Luke sitting at the foot of her bed in the dim light of her room. It’s less scary here than he remembers, but maybe it’s because this time there’s no screaming and him running to hide in the closet. Your voice is much more pleasant than those suppressed memories, immersing you all in a more pleasant one— the both of you in the amphitheater kissing on the stage with his hands in your belt loops. Luke could recite every word on that page if it meant he could go back in time, not with Backbiter but with you, just to live through that moment again. I think I’m falling in love with her, is how the letter ended but by then he already knew. Writing it down to tell his mother always made it real. 

This, you, right here—everything is real.

He’s silent even as he watches you smoke through the cracked window of his childhood bedroom, and you’re surprised when he steals a puff. His hands are shaking under the moonlight and suddenly it’s clear that he’s scared. Everyone feels fear, but in all the years that you’ve known him, Luke Castellan has never let you see it.

“Those things will kill you one day,” you mumble, watching him lean against the windowpane. It’s what he used to always tell you so that you’d quit, but old habits die screaming. It’s another vice you refuse to let go of.

“Wanted to try something new before I…” his voice drops off. 

Lose myself. 

Lose you. 

Luke coughs as the smoke enters his lungs, a momentary rush hitting him brought by the nicotine. Your hands go to cup his jaw as you set your forehead against his, a silent plea for him to just be honest if there’s truly nothing left to lose.

“I’m out of time, Trouble. It’s out of my hands.”

Shuddering at the feeling of him tracing every ridge of your spine, you think the way he says your nickname sounds like the way he used to say I love you. It’s raining outside now, the harsh pitter-patter of wet drops drowning out the sound of your voice, “What can I do? Is there anything left for me to do?” When his head shakes, your noses brush, and your breaths intermingle, almost magnetic. Perhaps the rain is getting in from the open window and you feel it hitting your cheek until you see the shine of his eyes.

“You think I did this because of you. I know you do, but you need to know I did all of this for you, trouble. I choose you and me. Every time,” Luke gasps, intertwining his fingers with yours, the both of you pushing and pulling in this embrace like the moon with the tide.

“Luke…” 

You’re pressing yourself against him, face hidden in his shirt as your brain catches up to your heart, hasty breaths and every atom of your being screaming to be held together by him and then you’re on him, through tears and clenched fists tumbling towards the tiny twin bed. The only way he likens himself to his father is his yearning to be a true traveler, but what he knows best out of anything in this entire world is you. He knew this body once too— every birthmark, scar, and dimple. Who else has had the privilege to navigate the ridges of your spine, to know the pressure of your kiss? A tattoo peeks out to say hello at your hip bone. There are new stories and new marks, there are parts of you unknown to him now. Luke thinks that must be what hurts most about each time he leaves you. 

But then gods, why does this feel so good?

Warm palms caress your waist, nudging your shirt up in the hopes that this will be enough compensation for all his misdoings—the tears you’ve cried, the anger you’ve felt, the things you had to do and will have to do because of him. Luke is someone who’s gotten comfortable with manipulating time, but time has manipulated him and all of his plans for the both of you. Sleepy setback bedroom eyes meet his own that glow in the gentle light of the lamp on the nightstand. Maybe if you pretend again his childhood bedroom can turn into the star-speckled darkness of cabin 12. You can just lay down and tuck underneath his arms waiting for him to fall asleep. But he stays up this time, making you hiss at the feeling of his lips against your neck.

 “We can’t… Angelface,” you say breathily, still leaning into the trail he marks across the valley of your collarbone, “We’re not together anymore.” 

A kiss is placed on your pulsepoint, knocking against the cord of your necklace.

“We shouldn’t… I have a boyfriend.”

Another kiss rests against the warmth of your forehead.

“We’re on opposite sides of a war… You’re my enemy.”

Finally, his lips meet yours, for a moment as if to test the waters.

“Not tonight,” he says, and there is no other option but to agree. There is a lifetime to make up for in a night, and fuck it—they’ll crucify you anyway. You were never meant to be a hero, that’s what he always wanted. You just wanted him. Your head hits the pillow and he looms over you until you’re pulling him in for more than what’s necessary to accept an apology.

There’s nothing left to lose.

—

Before your mind can wake up dreading the consequences of last night, your socked feet take you to the kitchen to clean up the mess you’ve both left behind. The old floorboards creak underfoot and there’s a method in the way you’re washing the dishes, hot water and soap starting to seep through your shirt sleeve but you choose not to notice. Scrubbing at the dirt and grime left behind on the porcelain until your fingers start to prune, a lump forms in your throat before you can stop it. Maybe if you scrub hard enough at the glass that Luke drank out of last night it can eventually be clean. But it’s taking you longer than you thought, jaw tensing and fingers turning white at how hard you’re holding on. May appears behind you, guiding your hands away from the scalding water, and though you resist— the glass drops into the sink and shatters with a loud crack.

“Damn spot wouldn’t get out,” you sniff, turning away to look out the window and think of anything but him, but he’s everywhere even when he’s not here, so much so that it suffocates you. Guilt lines every shaking breath you take until lavender eyes meet amber at the sensation of her clasping your red and raw palms with a dishtowel. 

You see him in her too.

“His fate is greater than the cards he’s been dealt with. You know that.” 

It’s the clearest and most sensible May’s spoken in days. Perhaps when it comes to Luke, she’ll always know better. Eyes darting elsewhere to fight the tears that brim at your lash line, you look down at your swollen hands, palm up towards the heavens almost imploring, “Why couldn’t it be me?” 

The question’s direction is unclear and you don’t expect to get an answer, turning away to grab some ice from the freezer and she remains standing there—staring at the windowsill at a compass that’s now found its home next to the faded picture of a man who’s left more times than there are reasons to stay. Just like his father, she thinks, a small smile quirking at the side of her lip where a scar would meet her son’s. Clicking it open delicately like how she used to hold his hand, there’s a photo of you and Luke resting against the cover ripped away from a memory frozen in time.

“It is you,” May says quietly, though you’ve already left the room.

A mother always knows, after all.

—

“Aphrodite,” I pleaded to the moon-drenched night sky. “Tell me; if love is meant to heal, then why does it destroy those who choose it?” From somewhere beyond the clouds, I heard the Goddess laugh. And I knew. -Nikita Gill

[pickingupmymercedes]

I didn't get scared. I'm always scared - Lewis Hamilton

request: hiiiii ok just an idea. maybe angsty one where lewis injured himself fighting someone to defend/protect reader?

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: Lewis thinking he's superman, mentions of possible accidents

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Angsty incoming. Anon, I cut the request because it gave away the plot, but it's there, thank you for sending it btw ❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The metallic tang of blood filled the air, acrid and sharp. You stared at Lewis' hands, once smooth and strong, now marred by angry red welts and split knuckles. The throbbing thrum of the club was a distant echo in your ears, replaced by the pounding of your own heart, a furious counterpoint to the ragged gasps escaping Lewis' lips.

"Why did you do that?" You spat the words, a bitter cocktail of anger and terror swirling in your gut.

He flinched, the sharp intake of breath making him hiss through his teeth. "Had to" he rasped, wincing as he tried to flex one of his mangled fingers.

"Had to?" You slammed a first aid kit onto the coffee table, the clatter making him flinch again. The smug satisfaction that briefly flickered across his face only fueled your rage.

"He wouldn't leave you alone," Lewis defended himself, his voice tight. "You wouldn't have liked it."

You threw your hands up in the air, disbelief twisting your voice. "I wouldn't like it if you ended up in the hospital because of some drunken idiot!"

He remained stubbornly silent, focusing on the sting of alcohol as you dabbed at the wounds with antiseptic wipes. Each touch was punctuated by your frustrated sighs, making the silence stretch tighter, a taut rope threatening to snap.

"What were you thinking, Lewis?" you finally said, your voice quiet but loaded with venom. "I don’t need you to act like some kind of knight."

A muscle in his jaw clenched. "I was protecting you."

"By playing hero?" You scoffed. "What happens when you can't? When you get seriously hurt?”

He finally met your gaze, the storm brewing in your eyes mirrored in his own. "That’s not a situation I want to consider."

The flippancy of his statement was the final straw. You slammed the wipes down on the table, making him flinch once more. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring his angry form.

He sighed, a hint of frustration leaving his voice. "Look, I get it. You got scared."

The pitying tone did nothing to soothe your anger. You snatched up the first aid kit, shoving it back into the drawer with a slam. Your body trembled with a mix of emotions you couldn't name, couldn't control.

"I didn’t get scared, I’m always scared" you mumbled to yourself, the words a hollow echo in your mind as you stormed out, the apartment door slamming shut behind you with a deafening thud. Tears streamed down your face as you stumbled down the hallway, needing space, needing anything to escape the suffocating anger and the unacknowledged fear that gnawed at you.

The rhythmic thump of the city at night was a needed counterpoint to the frantic drumming of your heart. You found yourself wandering around Kensington, the cool night air doing little to quell the firestorm raging within you. Lewis' bruised hand, his cocky declaration of protecting you, flashed in your mind again and again.

The anger, that had felt so raw earlier, had begun to morph into something far more complex - fear, hurt, and a strange helplessness.

The truth, the terrifying one, was that you cared more for him than you'd ever intended to. But admitting that was a terrifying prospect.

He was an enigmatic F1 champion, the world at his fingertips, and he deserved someone strong, someone who could handle the risks that came with his life.

You weren't sure you fit that mold; you weren’t even sure you wanted to. Maybe you had fallen for the wrong guy, the one who thrived on danger, the one leaving a trail of worry and fear in his wake.

But you loved him, and until now that had felt enough.

Exhausted and emotionally drained, you found yourself back in front of your apartment building. The lights in your living room were dark, the silence inside a stark contrast to the cacophony within you.

Pushing open the door, you tiptoed inside. The air hung heavy, thick with unspoken tension. You caught sight of a rumpled blanket on the couch, a half-empty glass of water beside it. But no sign of Lewis.

You longed to talk, to scream at him, to drown him in the conflicting emotions churning within you. But your feet seemed glued to the spot, the energy drained from a night spent battling your own emotions.

You collapsed onto the sofa, the silence wrapping itself around you like a suffocating cloak, the smell of him clinging to the fabric of the blanket he had left behind.

The morning crawled in, a sluggish beast carrying the weight of the previous night. You don’t remember falling asleep but you woke with a raw throat and heavy eyelids, the events of the club a throbbing ache in your body and chest.

There, in the kitchen stool sat Lewis. His eyes, usually sharp with focus, looked dimmed, shadowed by fatigue as he stared into nothing. The sight of his bruised hands, still sporting bandages, sent a fresh pang of anger through you.

"Lewis" you started; your voice rough from sleep.

He turned towards you, a flicker of something resembling hope flitting across his face. "Hey" he said, his voice gruff. "You’re awake"

"Yeah," you replied, crossing your arms defensively sitting up straight. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken tension.

"Look…" he began, but you cut him off.

"Don't," you said, your voice tired. "Don't try to explain it away. You nearly got yourself seriously hurt."

He sighed, a deep rumble that reverberated through you. "I did what I thought I had to do."

"And what about me?" you sincerely asked, the words tumbling out, fueled by a night of pent-up emotions. "What about how I felt seeing you like that? Do you even care?"

Lewis didn't flinch. He simply held your gaze, his brown eyes reflecting a vulnerability that took your breath away. "That's exactly why I care" he said, his voice low. "Because seeing the fear in your eyes..." he trailed off, his jaw clenching. "It scares the hell out of me"

A confused silence followed. "I told you, Lewis," you finally said, your voice thick with emotion. "I don't need a knight in shining armor. I can handle myself."

"But, that's not the point, is it?!" he countered, his voice firm yet gentle. "You’re not really scared of needing physical protection. It's about..." He paused, seeming to wrestle with his words.

The raw honesty in his voice cracked the dam holding back your own torrent of emotions. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“The danger. It's a constant threat hanging over my head. Every time you get in that car. What happens when the unthinkable happens? How do I deal with that?" you cried, your voice raw with a mixture of anger and fear. “Do you even understand what it’s like for me? To love someone who lives every day like it might be their last?”

Lewis sat back, his face softening as he listened, truly listened. “I know” he said quietly “I know it’s hard. And I understand that the way I live my life… it’s a lot to ask” his eyes filled with a quiet understanding. He stopped just before you, his gaze holding yours.

“And where does that leave me?” You asked, voice trembling. “Always waiting, worrying if the next race will be the one where I lose you?”

"Look," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I can't promise you there won't be any danger. That's the nature of what I do. But what I can promise you is I will always be honest with you. We can talk about everything, the good, the bad, the terrifying."

He reached out, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. His touch soothing at your soul. "And if you ever, ever want to walk away, I'll understand. But please." he pleaded, his voice husky "Don't shut me out. Let's at least try and figure this out."

You saw the fear reflected in his eyes, the fear of losing you. And you realized, with a jolt that stole your breath, that this wasn't just about danger, about Lewis taking risks. It was about your own vulnerabilities, your own fear of letting yourself care about someone who lived on the edge, someone who didn’t exactly offer you the type of stability you had always thought you needed.

But Lewis was someone who gave you the kind of love you couldn’t see yourself without anymore.

"There has to be a line. A point where you consider the consequences, not just for yourself, but for the people who care about you." you began, your voice still husky.

He nodded, his thumb gently tracing circles on your palm. " We draw that line together, okay?"

You took a deep breath, finally acknowledging the emotions swirling within you. "Okay," you whispered, the word barely audible. "But this doesn't mean I'm going to be okay with every reckless decision you make."

A relieved smile softened Lewis’ feature. "I know" he said, his voice sincere. " We'll communicate, even when it's hard."

Hesitantly, you reached out, your fingers brushing against the bandage on his hand. The warmth of his skin sent a familiar spark through you. A fragile hope warmed your chest, battling against the ever-present fear. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to navigate this crazy world Lewis lived in.

"So, what do we do now?" you asked, a hint of uncertainty in your voice. Lewis' smile widened, a genuine warmth radiating from him. "How about pancakes?"

You smiled nestling in his arms "Pancakes sound perfect," you agreed, the tension finally starting to ease.

"One more thing” he suddenly prompted, reaching for your face so he was looking at you “Yeah?" you nodded, eyes gleaming.

"No more bottling things up. Neither of us." He held your gaze for a moment, a silent promise passing between you. "Promise" you vowed; your voice sincere as he looked at you hopeful, his lips curling into the smile that had the power to make you forget about pretty much anything.

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[brain-rot-central]

Up In Smoke

A/N: Basically he smokes weed and has a really good orgasm. That's the whole fic. Very self-indulgent, but whatever. Hope you all enjoy!

Rating: light E Word count: 3.5k Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Fem!Tav Warnings: 18+, dubcon for being under the influence, drug use, alcohol mention, breeding kink, praise kink, male masturbation, mutual pining, trauma mention, intimacy issues

Summary: The gang finally reaches Baldur's Gate. Astarion isn't handling it so well, knowing he's so close to Cazador again. Tav makes an innocent suggestion that he go down to the shops and find something that can help relieve some of his pent up anxiety.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leans over to further inspect the small clear jar within his hands. Inside, a dried cluster of pungent flowers resides. Their faint smell lingers about the small tavern suite. He shakes the jar slightly, following how each bud bounces between the glass.

They've finally made it to Baldur's Gate, and gods what a relief. Not to say he didn't enjoy getting his hands messy, but there was never quite enough he could do to dig out the dirt caked within his nails. He dreamed of soaking in a hot bath for weeks.

Yet, being back in Baldur's Gate also means something more sinister.

It means he’s closer to confronting him.

His old master.

Cazador.

He panics the night before, screaming whenever he'd slip into trance. Horrid memories play behind his eyes. He feels paralyzed within them – the feeling of a hand closing around his neck, a dagger slicing into his back, shackles around his arms and legs, unable to move within the confines of the coffin he lay in for a year.

Tav wakes him eventually, holding him close within their warm embrace. She lulls him back to sleep until he slips into a more peaceful trance. When they awake the next morning, Tav proposes he go down to the shops and look for a sleep aid, or something that could potentially help quell the overwhelming sense of anticipation building within him.

“I only wish for you to be at peace,” she suggests. “You deserve it. Especially now.”

So, he does exactly that.

Perusing the various carts and shops, Astarion inevitably finds an apothecary. He's been to this one before; many, many years ago. He doesn't quite remember the shopkeeper, but feels as if it's the same woman, just now older. 

She's nice enough, giving a warm greeting as he enters the store. The smell of patchouli incense fills his nostrils and almost instantaneously Astarion feels some of the tension melt off his shoulders. 

He explains, in very vague terms, what it is he's experiencing to the shopkeeper. She holds out a glass jar filled with herbs. When he raises a questioning eyebrow, she clarifies, “This is known to help calm even the most fussy of ogres.” She smiles, nudging the jar closer to him. “Go on, take it. You won't regret it.”

With a quick nod of his head, Astarion pays for the herbs and dips out of the shop, stashing the small jar within a pocket of his armor. He reconvenes with Tav and the others; they're to address some sort of problem with a wizard prodigy at Sorcerous Sundries. He sighs audibly as Gale rambles on about the various tomes and wealths of knowledge the store holds. Gale rarely ever lets up when this sort of mood takes him. He briefly wishes he had a scroll of Silence to cast over the wizard.

With the pompous brat slain, the crew returns to the Elfsong Tavern to share a hot meal. Astarion nurses a glass of wine while the others share various plates of grilled meats, vegetables, and fish. Lae’zel offers him the drippings of her steak; he politely declines, though the smell causes his stomach to rumble. He simply chases the sensation away with more wine.

They return to their shared suite within the tavern. The party makes a joint decision that Astarion and Tav share the private room. They aren't the only two having relations, but they are the more… rambunctious couple. Both retire to the bedroom, Tav drawing a bath for herself while Astarion rests on the edge of the bed, as he is now, studying the small glass jar. 

He dares a quick whiff of the herbs, bringing the jar to his face. His face screws up tight, wincing at the offensive odor. “Smells like a godsdamned skunk,” he scoffs. He stares into the jar again.

Fool’s Tongue. 

He’s partaken before at the behest of a client. It was an important brokerage between Cazador and some far-off noble. There wasn’t much choice in the matter for Astarion. But yet, this encounter was a touch better than the others. To this day, Astarion is unsure if it was due to the drug or the man himself. He recalls the comforting embrace of the nobleman with slight fondness. At least the man tried. Not many others did.

Astarion reaches into the small satchel on his hip and pulls out a wooden pipe. He lifted it from Halsin earlier in the evening at dinner. The wood elf becomes soft once drink is involved, making him all the more easy to target. He’ll return it by morning, Astarion promises himself. He may even leave the druid a small token of appreciation for letting him borrow it, should this all work out.

Placing the pipe down onto the comforter, Astarion begins to unlatch his cloak. He lays the jar of herbs down next to the pipe and stands, letting his cape fall to the floor. He works on his armor next, until he’s down to his underthings. Bending down, he begins rummaging through his pack on the floor for his camp clothing. He slips them on, leaving his shirt untucked, and sits back down on the bed.

Astarion picks up the pipe and lays it between pressed-together thighs. It acts as a makeshift support, allowing him to open the glass jar of herbs and retrieve a single nugget. Closing the jar, he places it back down onto the bed, and begins breaking the herbs into smaller pieces to fill Halsin's pipe.

Raising the pipe to his lips, Astarion summons a small flame to the tip of his finger. He stares down the length of the pipe, mustering the resolve to continue. He hears Tav’s voice in his head, as well as that of the old shopkeeper. With a sigh, he brings his finger to the herb, pulling gently on the pipe until it begins to burn.

Smoke fills his lungs a bit too quickly, and he rips the pipe from his mouth. He coughs loudly and a bit dramatically, before finally taking a gasping breath in.

“Astarion!” Tav calls from the washroom. He can hear the sound of water sloshing around in a tub. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, darling!” he calls back. “Not to worry,” he adds in a mumble under his breath, mostly to himself. He surveys the contents of the pipe, bringing the mouthpiece to his lips once more. Again he summons a small flame to the herb, inhaling more shallowly this time as to not scorch the back of his throat.

He holds in the hit, leaning back onto the bed. Outstretching his arms he lets the pipe rest gently on the bed as he blows out the smoke. He coughs softly – better than the first time.

A few moments pass without so much as a sound. Astarion begins to wonder if perhaps the herbs are stale. It isn't until he rolls over that he notices the first sign.

The bed is soft. Inviting. Astarion is acutely aware of how the pillow top envelopes his form. He lays flat on his back again, sighing. His eyes slip closed. An unusual warmth rushes over him, tickling his skin. It feels like he's laying in the sun and suddenly he's transported back to the forest. To the morning after.

He remembers waking up to the morning sunlight bathing his skin. He wakes up slowly, slipping back into his leathers. Tav still sleeps; he moves as swiftly as possible to not wake her. She was beautiful, even then. Naive, yes. He didn't have the best of intentions. But, she was beautiful. And infuriatingly pragmatic.

Another sensation begins to light. Astarion doesn't recognize the feeling right away. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, a surge of heat rushing to his face. He swears his chest thumps with the beating of his undead heart. He stares into the lines of the ceiling, tracing the patterns of wood lining the wall. His eyes fall upon a knot; they slip closed again.

Tav straddles his lap while he lays out on the ground. Astarion’s hands hold her thighs, guiding her hips as she rocks back and forth over him. He travels up the expanse of her abdomen, passing over her navel and up to her swaying breasts. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in loose curls, his gaze continuing upward toward her face. Redded by the blush running across the bridge of her nose, her mouth hangs open in a silent gasp. She meets his gaze through heavy lids.

Astarion feels the flitter of a dormant ember ignite within his lower belly. His back arches off the bed as a gasp slips past his lips. This can’t be what he thinks it is… could it? No, certainly not. He’s surely lost the ability to feel this way without necessity. Without a performance. Without it being a bargaining chip of some kind.

A pulling behind his navel has his hips twitching in response and he feels warmth begin to pool between his legs. Gods, is he…

Aroused?

Is this truly unprovoked arousal that he feels? Astarion sees visions of Tav glistening after a bath; droplets of water sliding down tanned, freckled skin. He moans aloud and again his hips buck. His cock is beginning to stir, each rub against the confines of his leathers having him sliding his hands closer and closer to their waistband. He turns his head toward the direction of the washroom.

Astarion groans as his hand runs over the bulge in his pants and it dawns on him momentarily that it is, indeed his cock hardening at the thought of Tav naked. Her skin flushed from the warm water of the bath, hair wet, nipples pert, hips, thighs, cunt-

He's pulling his pants down quicker than he can manage, letting them pool around his ankles on the floor. He hisses as his fingertips brush the swollen length of his arousal, and he dares a quick glance between his legs. His cock has a reddish hue, similar to after he sups of Tav. It pulsates against his lower abdomen and he cautiously wraps a hand around his shaft.

It's not often he performs acts of pleasure upon himself. Usually his mind cages him off – scolds and berates him until he's too ashamed to continue. But with the influence of the Fool’s Tongue swimming within his consciousness, the voice is silent. The only thing Astarion feels is pleasure. Lust. Want. And openly; he openly wants to pleasure himself. And by the Gods, does it feel good.

He pulls up his shirt with the opposite hand to expose more of his abdomen and takes a few experimental jerks of his length. They're soft and slow; unhurried movements as he bathes in the pleasure rushing over his body. His eyes slip closed as he gives himself over to the sensation, hips bucking up each time his thumb passes his frenulum. Behind his closed lids he sees Tav again, kneeling between his legs, ready to take him within her inviting mouth. He moans wantonly as he focuses for a moment on his tip, trying to replicate the feeling of her suckling the head of him.

The door to the washroom opens, jolting Astarion from his thoughts. He makes no effort to cover himself, but instead waits patiently on the bed for Tav to discover the scene awaiting her. She exits the bathroom, running a towel through her hair, seemingly unaware of what has been occurring during her absence.

“I was thinking maybe we could mingle a bit with the others before calling it a night,” Tav suggests. She stands before the room's mirror, running a hand through her dampened locks. “How does that sound, Astar-” The rest of her sentence dies back in her throat as she observes him laying on the bed. “Oh,” is all she manages; a soft, strangled sound rising up from her chest.

He pants as he looks her over; she's wearing a simple, short beige dress. No brassiere, so her breasts fill the top of the dress naturally. It cinches at the waist with two drawstrings, while the rest flares out. The hem of the dress comes to right above her mid thighs, and Astarion swallows the sudden uptake in saliva pooling within his mouth. His cock twitches in his palm. “Y-you suggested I go to the shops,” he tries to explain. “Find something to help ease my trepidation.”

“I guess it was a success.” Tav replies, stepping closer. “I don't think I've ever seen you like this.”

Astarion catches a true blush rising to her cheeks as she studies him. As she stands before him, the scent of her arousal dances below his nose, and he groans. “It was, very,” he answers. “That d-dress is… nice,” he adds.

Tav smiles, stepping before him. “Is it?” she asks in a sultry tone. She grabs the hem of the dress and begins slowly pulling it up her thighs. “What about it do you like?”

Visions of her riding his lap flood his mind's eye. Astarion tosses his head back as he envisions taking her from behind, against the wall, on the floor – animalistic mating rituals between them both; rough, hard, fast. He can't help but suck in a sharp breath as he opens his eyes again to meet Tav’s gaze. He tries to answer her but no sound comes out.

With a smirk, she climbs onto the bed over him, hovering just above his cock. “What about the dress do you like, Astarion?” Tav reiterates. She's sure to leave her hips as far away from his hand as possible; she's aware of his intimacy issues, how delicate this situation is. She leans over him to place chaste kisses over his forehead. She smiles against his skin as he resumes tugging at himself with soft jerks of his hand.

“The convenience,” Astarion replies in a whisper. His desire is mounting, threatening to burn out of control unless release finds him soon. Tav laughs, and briefly drops her hips over the hand pumping his cock. They both moan as his knuckles brush between her slick, sending Astarion's mind reeling. “You're… you're n-not wearing-”

Tav nips gently at the pale elf’s ears, reveling in the instinctive bucking of his hips into her core. “No, I'm not,” she teases. She feels Astarion shudder beneath her and she licks the shell of his ear, moving quickly down to kiss the underside of his jaw. Tav brushes her center over his fingers again, this time deliberately passing over the tip of him.

He swallows thickly as a gasp escapes his parted lips. As hot as the thought of Tav riding his cock makes him, the shackles of his subconscious are threatening to yank his chain. “I can't, not all the way,” he pleads. Ghastly hands are threatening to enclose around the column of his throat. “Just this, please.”

Tav pulls away from him momentarily, her brow knit in concern. She studies his eyes – ruby red gems hooded over in lust. She nods, placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Just this, then,” she says reassuringly.

Astarion sighs in relief and continues stroking himself in earnest, knuckles brushing now and again against her sex. He groans as her arousal mingles with his, slickening the palm of his hand to create a luscious glide. “Gods, how I wish I could,” he groans out.

“Could what?” Tav teases. Her breasts are pushing against his chest as it heaves with labored breath. She returns attention back to his ears, licking along its shell to nip gently at the tip.

Astarion's eyes roll to the back of his head as his body convulses in pleasure. “T-take you,” he admits through a shuddered breath. He twists his hand over the head of his cock in a specific rhythm, pulling a guttural groan from the back of his throat. “I think about it often.”

“Do you?” Tav raises a hand to cup the back of his head. She leans over, bringing her mouth close to his ear. “So do I,” she whispers. “It's not fair, you know. Having experienced you prior. Only to be cut off and denied any more.”

“You're one to talk,” he replies. He stares up at Tav, his mouth hanging agape. “D-do you think it's any easier for me? To want so carnally, only to have to deny myself?” He slides a hand up her thigh to hold her waist, guiding her down onto his core. They both sigh at the sensation as he takes the same hand and now threads it through her hair, pushing their foreheads together. “To see how the others look at you, knowing I cannot yet claim you for myself. It's… maddening,” he breathes against her lips.

Tav sighs. “Yet, here I am… in your lap. And not theirs.” She captures his lips in a chaste kiss, though Astarion surges forward. She slackens her jaw to allow him better access; like a man starved he explores the warm cavern of her mouth, tongue intertwining with hers.

He breaks the kiss with a pull of her bottom lip. “I promise that one day I will,” he speaks against her lips. Astarion pumps himself faster, feeling the coil behind his navel wind tighter. “And when I do, you’re not to leave my bed for days.”

Tav pulls her head back, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Days?” she reiterates, feigning innocence. “Do you wish to mate me, Astarion?” 

His back suddenly arches off the bed, a gasp slipping past his lips. His knuckles brush against her sex again. “Yes,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Fully, properly, lavishly.” He's babbling now. Logic escaping him, replaced by a tempting carpet of depraved carnal lust that threatens to unravel at the seams.

Tav kisses him gently again. “Should I tell you a little secret?” she asks. She doesn't wait for a response before continuing. Sliding her face again to Astarion’s ear, she says quietly, “What if I were to tell you that you already have me?”

He blinks up at her in bewilderment. “H-how would that be?” he stammers. “I've barely done anything. I can hardly touch you without-”

“Because it's you,” Tav explains. “It's you I think of when I'm alone.” She shakes her head. “No one else.”

Astarion rushes forward again, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. “...The Gods truly made you just to ruin me,” he says, pulling away with a huff. He closes his eyes as he twists his wrist over the swollen tip of his length again, a soft sigh falling from his lips.

“Are you close?” She speaks softly to him, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his cheek. “Would telling you how good you are to me help?”

The coil winds tighter in his lower belly at her praise. He hums, cock twitching in his palm, pre-fluid now gathering at his tip. “A-almost,” Astarion stammers again. “M-my ears, touch them again, please.”

With a giggle, Tav dips her head into the crook of his neck, kissing along his skin leading up to his ear. She rubs at his other with her opposite hand, lavishing delicate attention to each of their tips. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are when you reach your peak, Astarion?” she pants into his ear. “The way your mouth hangs open in a silent gasp, how your eyes roll to the back of your head.” She watches him throw his head back, his hand picking up speed as he strokes himself. Tav dips her head again to his neck, nipping gently at the exposed column of skin.

“I'm going… if you keep, a-ah,” Astarion insists, breathing ragged. His chest is heaving, the influence of the Fool’s Tongue and overwhelming lust threatening to consume him. He's on the edge, right at the precipice, almost there, just a touch more-

Tav drops her hips over him again and he seizes, hips bucking wilding up to meet her. She latches onto his neck and sucks, hard enough that he knows a mark will be present by morning. Suddenly Astarion is falling over the cliff, mouth dropping open in a drawn out groan. His vision blanks, thick ropes of his release paint his lower belly as he jerks himself through the last of his orgasm.

She kisses the tip of his nose as she climbs off, picking her towel up from off the floor. Astarion lay on the bed panting, the room still spinning around him. As he comes to, he opens his eyes to meet Tav, who holds out the towel to him. “Did that feel good?” she asks, curiously.

He nods before replying, “Quite. I've used Fool’s Tongue before, but it was nothing like this.”

“Hmm,” she hums as he takes the towel from her. “Perhaps I should join you, next time?”

He huffs a quick laugh as he wipes the release of his belly, giving Tav a genuine smile. “That would certainly be something.”

[milswrites]

The Trials of Aphrodite Part Two

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Series summary: Hopelessly in love with Elain, Azriel enlists your help in order to win her over. The only problem? You have been in love with Azriel for as long as you have known him.

Chapter summary: You find out exactly how difficult playing wingwoman for Azriel is going to be.

Warnings: Lil angsty (pining and unrequited love)

Your mother had once told you that to love was to hurt. That once you gave your heart to another, their burdens were yours to share. That true love was to share in each other's loads no matter how heavy the weight may be.

It was that true love, that all-consuming desire to see Azriel smile, free from the weight of his burdens, that had led you to say yes to his proposal. It had been your unrequited love for your best friend that had cursed you with the misfortune of sacrificing your heart if only to allow his to beat for another.

Love could be cruel and unforgiving. Your aching heart and troubled thoughts were evidence enough of that.

Yet love could also be beautiful. This can be seen in the way it can persist in even the darkest of times. At how even when you are alone, the feeling never fails to fade. To love is to never forget someone, to never allow them to suffer in silence.

To love was to live. It was just unfortunate that for you, it felt as though you had only started living after you had met Azriel.

Love was a feeling to be reciprocated and despite the fact Azriel didn't feel the heart-stopping way you did about him, there was no denying that the male loved you in other ways.

In the way he had sought comfort from you last night, choosing to share his troubles with you as he valued your company and opinions. Even now, as you greeted the male the next morning, Azriel showed his love for you by wrapping you in a bone-crushing embrace. His tense wings, easing at your familiar touch.

Yet while Azriel's love for you gifted him comfort and security, it was your love for him which only brought you pain. Your tender heart aching at the recognizable scent of night-chilled mist and cedar as it flooded your senses, pained that the scent you find so comforting belongs to a male you couldn’t have.

And whilst your dearest friend excitedly rambled on about the object of his affections as the two of you walked through the bustling streets of Velaris, his words of adoration begging to be heard.

It was only when you began to close your eyes and dream that Azriel's heartfelt words were directed towards you, that you had to shake yourself from your lovesick stupor. Reminding yourself of the reason you had joined him on this stroll, of the person the two of you had met to talk about. Grateful of the cooling breeze which aided in focusing your thoughts and quelling your rising distress.

Azriel had often said that he needn't resort to poetry in order to win over women, yet the way he spoke about Elain was lyrical. Every word of praise and compliments was recited as though it had been a piece of sacred literature written by the gods.

The worst part about it? It only pulled you deeper still into the tempestuous ocean that was loving Azriel. If you were a helpless victim to his thoughtful prose, drowning in the words of his affections, you had no doubt that Elain would be just as hopelessly trapped in his gravitational field as you were.

Azriel was magnetic, you had always known that the male's love for his friends was enough to topple mountains. But the way he described his longing for Elain was earth-shattering. It was the type of love that every little girl dreamed of one day having, the same love you still chased after.

You hung onto every word he said, allowing the force of his emotions to consume you in your entirety. Only being drawn from your hypnotic state upon registering his final worrying sentence which caused you to stop in your tracks due to your shock.

"Wait. . .wait. What do you mean Rhysand said no?" you panicked, hoping you had misheard your friend.

"Well, he kind of said that I weren't to see Elain anymore" Azriel said casually as though not to scare you anymore than he already had. His worried eyes meeting your own, the male afraid that you were about to back out of your promise to help him out of fear of upsetting your High Lord.

"And you were going to tell me this when?" you hissed at Azriel who’s face now wore a mask of guilt, his shadows skittering at the intensity of your words, "You were just going to let me go behind his back, against his will and help you get together with someone he's said you're not even allowed to be around?"

"He's just worried about how Lucien will react that's all" Azriel reasoned, begging eyes telling you to let this go. Asking you not to give back the heavy burden you had opted to share with him.

"Oh cauldron boil me!" you exclaimed, obviously having accepted this task knowing Lucien would be a factor, yet your love for Azriel had blinded you from seeing the consequences that would come with this pairing, "Az, this could mean a blood duel. I won't - I can't see you get hurt, get killed."

"You truly think that is a fight I could not win?" he asked in hurt, voice cracking at the assumption that you may not believe in his capabilities.

You sigh as you tried to ignore the pestering voice inside of you which told you to trust in your friend, in the man you loved. A spark of hope igniting in Azriel's eyes as he noted your swaying opinions.

"I love her" he announced, saying the words aloud for the first time, speaking them into reality, "I love her so much it hurts. From when I first wake in the morning to when I go to sleep at night my thoughts are only of Elain. I have never been more certain that she was made for me, that she is intended to be mine. Lucien wouldn't call for a blood duel if he saw she felt the same, he’d let it go. But please I need your help, I need you. Surely you can understand that every day without Elain by my side is agony, that my heart will know no peace until she is mine."

Tears stung in your eyes at his confession, a painful lump beginning to form in your throat as you swallowed the words you so longed to scream at him. Because you did understand, more than anyone. Because just as much as Azriel believed Elain was his person, you believed he was yours.

"No blood duels" you ordered, once more falling victim to the love you held for Azriel, "And no upsetting Rhysand, if he tells you to stop perusing her once more that's it. You have to let her go."

"I can't let her go" Azriel solemnly stated as you swallowed down the lump in your throat harshly, heart pounding at the realization that you knew that feeling all too well, "Which is why your help would mean everything to me. I may always find a way to mess things up but you never do. You always know exactly what to say and do. You never fail to make me feel seen, feel wanted. I trust you. I need my friend for this, I need you."

You weren't sure how he did it, how he managed to lace each and every word with the same poetic beauty of which he spoke about Elain. Yet he did, each syllable working to thaw the icy shield you had risen in retaliation to Azriel's confession.

Your walls melting, you release one last hopeless sigh as you begin to walk again, moving away from Azriel to continue on your stroll, "Come on we better get started, there's a lot of work to be done if we're going to pull this off."

And if only you knew how true those words would turn out to be.

Part three

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Taglist:

@a-cup-of-nightshade @yearninglustfully @illyrianbitch @ninaduchess @sarawritestories @annaaaaa08 @antiquecultist @madelyncullen @erencvlt @chaytea06 @dxjaaaa @saltedcoffeescotch @spark1epuffba11s @thestartitaness @amysangel @historygeekqueen @thelov3lybookworm @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @willowpains @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @dreamlandreader @sidthedollface2 @leeknows-wife @riorgail @eve175 @evergreenlark @anuttellaa @daily-dose-of-sass @jesus-is-me @tothestarsandwhateverend

[ghoststyles]

Casanova

HIIIII 🤍 Here is a little piece I've been working on for a while! This is inspired by the song Casanova by Rayland Baxter. Harry is a manipulative little twat in this, so bare with me 🤍

7.5K words;

TW: SLIGHT mommy kink. He doesn't call her mommy but he calls her mama and Miss/Missy. P in V sex, oral sex, phone sex. FACETIME SEX <3 Slight mentions of suicide. EXTREME drug and alcohol abuse. Arrests, jail. the works.

ENJOY AND GIVE ME A BOOP IF YOU LIKE IT :D

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Money, all I ever want is money But I never wanna work for the money So I borrow the money from a woman

Harry Styles knew who he was from a young age. A charmer. A flirt. He uses his wits and his good looks to manipulate the people around him until they have no choice but to give in, conning them and infiltrating their lives for his own gain.

His days are simple; He sleeps until 11, combs his hair into a perfect swirl of chocolate curls, brushes his perfectly white and straight teeth, spritzes his neck with his ridiculously priced Tom Ford cologne, climbs into his Porsche Cayenne to hit the gym, and grab an $18 smoothie for the ride home. From there, he lets the day unfold how it pleases, until it’s time to go to the club with his friends. Here and there, he’ll meet up with his dealer and his bookie to spice it up. 

Rinse. Reuse. Repeat. 

As a child, Harry was dirt poor. He’d never let anyone know that, however. His perfectly curated image blossomed the minute he got to college, leaving any ounce of mediocrity behind. His friends were none the wiser, assuming Harry was there blowing his trust fund like the rest of them, when really, he was a charity case.

Every day, he’d walk to the corner store for cigarettes for his dad and cans of tuna fish, stealing a small item to try and feel something. The owner, Mr. Abbott, knew Harry stole from him, but never said a word. He’d return to their one bedroom apartment, flicking the light on, only to find the electric bill hadn’t been paid. 

His parents are not addicts or criminals, by any means. If they were, he’d at least have a touching back story. Neither of them have the drive or the desire to succeed like he does. They lived their simple lives, worked paycheck to paycheck to support him and his siblings and never worked for more. 

On the day he left for college, he vowed to himself to never let anyone see him as the poor, pathetic boy he was. He’ll put his own silver spoon in his mouth, if he must. 

So, as he sits high and mighty on his throne after doing a few lines off a pretty girl’s tits in the VIP section of his favorite club, The Viper, surrounded by his fellow socialite friends, he thinks of one person.

You.

Harry isn’t unemployed, per se, but, he doesn’t exactly have a job, either. Two years ago, at the ripe age of 21, he graduated magna cum laude from university, with top marks in all of his classes. But, he knew he didn’t want to work a traditional job. He wanted to travel, he wanted to live lavishly, and he wanted to party.

That’s where you come in. The gorgeous, alluring and kind-hearted woman that feeds the beast that is his lifestyle. He wouldn’t change it for the fucking world.

Swiping aimlessly one day on the dating apps, he stopped his scroll abruptly to study your profile. You’re perfectly curated - the collection of photos reflecting your outgoing personality and beauty. 

38. Looking for some fun. Dog mom. CEO. Let me spoil you <3

Seeking a male ages 21-28.

His eyebrow quirks. A sugar mommy? Is that a thing?

He swipes right, hoping deep down you match. This could be it. This could be his way in. The funds from his financial aid are quickly dwindling, and he’d be sooner caught dead than with a part-time job. 

He dawdles around his apartment for a few hours, pacing the room to see if you matched with him. The possibility of this arrangement is scratching an itch he’s been desperate to quell. 

He readies himself to meet his friends at the club, placing cologne on his neck and wrists. For good measure, he adjusts himself in his trousers to get a little blood flowing down there. 

As he plucks his keys from the door, he hears the familiar ping from the dating site ring out from his laptop. Stopping in his tracks, he pivots to stand at his desk. He swallows thickly before entering his passcode.

Congratulations, Casanova94, you matched with BabyHoneyxo

A dazed smile makes its way to his lips, his dimple popping significantly. This is going to be good.

Can you believe I never met her? Can you believe she never met me, too? But she calls me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

Now, almost two years later, you and Harry have still never met in person. But, that’s by your request. You want a companion. A call boy. Someone who will always answer the phone when you need it. And ever since you inherited your family’s wealth and company, you want someone to spoil.

It started off slow; texts asking about one another’s day, learning about hobbies and interests. Then, the wire deposits came in. Harry wasn’t sure if he had hearts in his eyes or dollar signs. You don’t tell him how to spend the money, but you definitely drop hints.

“Get yourself a new outfit, baby. Then send me a picture,” you smiled lazily on FaceTime one night. “Maybe you can find something to match the Porsche.”

Harry chuckles boyishly, “You’re too good to me. I just went shopping last week!” 

He has you eating out of the palm of his hand. 

“I know, I know. I just want my baby boy to be happy. Can you pull yourself out for me, baby? Wanna see you,” you purr, making yourself comfortable on your king sized bed in your quiet penthouse. You’re winding down for bed, even though your lover is just getting ready for the night. 

“Mhm,” Harry responds, voice an octave higher and desperate sounding. He slides himself out, letting his cock harden slowly in his hands. “My friends will be here soon, Missy.”

“That’s okay, bubba. We’ll be quick. Mmm, look how big and gorgeous you are,” your sultry tone sends shivers up his spine. He adjusts the camera so you’re looking at his abdomen from below his thick cock. 

“My perfect boy,” you moan out as you touch your clit for the first time this evening. “Always so good for me.”

“Yes, Missy. Wanna be good for you. Can I touch myself harder now?”

“Yeah, baby, go ahead. Squeeze that big cock. Tell me when you’re close.”

At this point, you’re furiously rubbing your clit, and gently teasing a finger inside. His breaths are becoming more labored as he pumps his cock at a faster pace. You pause just before your climax, sending your heart rate to a thunderous pace you can hear the ringing in your ears. 

You look over at your phone propped up next to you to find your little love sweating and fisting himself hurriedly. The whimpers coming from the other end make the hairs on your arms stand up. After a beat, you continue the assault on your clit, starting off slow in order to reach that peak again. 

“I-I’m close, Missy. Please let me cum. I f-feel so good,” at the tail end of his begging, he moans deeply. 

“Uh-uh. Who always cums first, baby?”

“You, Mama. You cum first,” he pants, his eyes making panicked contact with yours. 

“That’s right. Good boy. I’m so close baby,” you squeak out as you stick two fingers in your cunt. You cry out, at your release, gently tweaking your nipple with your other hand.

Harry isn’t far behind, taking one last swipe over his tip, using his other hand to cup his balls. He cums all over his fist, small specks of white littering his belly. He whimpers again, barely able to open his eyes. 

“Let me see, baby,” you whisper, waiting for him to show you his load. He pans the camera silently, the haze already leaving his head. But he’d never tell you that. 

“Thank you, Missy. I feel so good.”

“Mmm, bet you do, baby. Now go clean up and have fun with your friends. I’ll talk you tomorrow. Behave!”

“Okay, I will. Goodnight.”

The minute Harry presses ‘end’, an ounce of remorse bubbles in his chest. Just an ounce. He rises from his bed to jump in the shower, ridding him of his guilt and shame. 

Sure, you’re gorgeous, and nice. But you’re not what’s getting him off. Or so he likes to tell himself. Throughout your sessions on FaceTime, Harry’s mind wanders to the girls he’s hooked up with the weekend before, and the countless drugs he’ll consume on a night out. That’s what gets his rocks off. 

You’re the means to his ends. The gateway to his wildest dreams. He’s going to hold onto you for as long as he can, even if he has to get off over the phone a few nights, or pretend to care about the philanthropy you’re supporting that week. 

Harry should be your only philanthropy, he thinks to himself. This is the easiest job he’s ever done. And it only makes it better that he can do whatever he wants, with no consequences.

As he gets out of the shower, his prick still swinging in the air, he picks up his phone to see a Venmo payment from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $2,000.00 - 😘

Without even hesitating, Harry, heart rate rising a bit, opens up a text field  - to his club promoter. He ignores the dozens of texts from family members over the last few weeks. He’ll make his yearly obligation call to his mother at some point.

Hey, Mike! Can we upgrade to V.I.P tonight? I can put $2K down now.

He’ll thank you later. Tonight, he’s the hero of his friend group. A slight nervousness prickles on his neck. Harry isn’t naive - he knows he should be smarter with his money - your money. But you haven’t given him any reason to believe the well will run dry any time soon. 

So far, despite your generosity, Harry still lives paycheck to paycheck. He blows his money on extravagant trips, nights out at the club, and plenty of booze and coke. It’s times he hopes to look back on one day and smile. He swears to you he’s saving the money and working towards investing and buying a house. 

Scout’s honor. 

I got a real bad feeling, I'ma let her down Got a hole in my pocket and I'm running around Spending all of her money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin' Back to the hole that I came from

Every night that he steps out of his apartment, he shakes the nagging feeling in his gut, the embodiment of the life he left behind. He calls his Uber Black to take him to the Viper, his little white baggy in the breast pocket of his Burberry overcoat. 

He nods to the driver when he opens his door and proceeds to pour a small line of the substance onto the screen of his phone, but not without seeing another text from you.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Enjoy the night, sweet boy! Be safe xo

Harry smiles to himself at your contact in his phone. You all but had a fit when you found out he’d never seen The Graduate. Once he saw it, his world changed.

Swiping away your message, he plugs up his nostril, inhaling sharply as he moves his face over the surface of the screen. He grunts lightly, throwing his head back and shaking it out. That should hold him over until they’re in their secluded area of the club. 

The car pulls up to the club around 11:45, the house music already bumping. The line looks brutal. He scans it to see if he spots any 10s waiting that can keep him company later. Miles, Marquise and Jade are already inside at their table.

The bouncers greet Harry, bumping his fist and patting him on the back. He can feel the eyes of the nobodies in line glaring at him enviously. When you spend the average person’s salary in one night at the club, you eagerly reap the benefits. 

As he’s escorted through the crowd by the five-foot-nothing hostess, his senses are on high alert. He can hear his heart beating over the music and can feel the bass shaking the floors. He smiles tightly at the girl as she leads him to his table and scurries back into the crowd. 

Marquise and Miles, his best friends from undergrad stand to greet him, as Jade greets him from the lap of her catch of the day, a burly, bearded dude already glowing from sweat and the 8-ball they’re about to dig into. 

Taking his first swig of the Don Julio his regular bottle service girl, Tasia, pours into his mouth, he cracks a wicked smile, convincing himself there’s no where else he’d rather be.

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

~

“So,” you start quietly on your daily FaceTime coffee date. You’re perched in your home library’s windowsill. “I was thinking of flying you in for my 40th. It’s going to be pretty chill. I’ll probably hire a chef and have a dinner at my place. Maybe 15-20 people.”

Harry is cocooned in a blanket on his bed, his iced coffee you had DoorDashed to his apartment slowly melting on his bedside table. His eyes had slowly drifted shut as he listened to you talk about everything and nothing. That’s how these things went — you talk and he listens. You’re after his companionship, after all.

At your words, his eyes shoot open, causing him to try and sit up gently so he can hear you better, not believing what you’re saying. Inhaling, he hesitates before he starts to reply. 

“Uh, um,” he bites his lip and looks at himself in the corner of the screen, trying to gauge if he looks as shocked as he sounds. “W-when are you thinking? I have a couple trips coming up and plans with my friends.”

He decides to play it cool. You have to know this is a huge development in this arrangement, right?

“Well, my birthday is the 27th, obviously.”

He scoffs, “I knew that part, Miss. When is the party?”

“Watch the ‘tude, baby. I was hoping for that Saturday, maybe. But I’d be willing to work around what you have coming up.”

He’s lying through his teeth. He doesn’t have major travel plans until the summer, when his friend group will jet off to Greece. He’s been saving up your pennies to charter a private plane.

“Don’t agree to it now, but please think about it. I love spending time with you and I’d love to finally meet you. We can tell my family that you’re part of one of my philanthropy groups. I’m your largest donor, after all,” you stick your tongue out at him.

“Okay, let me get myself together for the day, and I can see what’s going on,” Harry grits out, trying not to let you down. 

“Okay, baby. Have a good day. Let me know if you get up to anything fun,” you say with a mild hurt in your tone. The least he can do is make an effort to finally meet you.

“Will do. Bye, Miss,” He says quietly, swiftly hanging up the call and chucking the phone towards his pillows. 

“Fuck!” 

Hm, Casanova You know that I'm a casanova Throw my pennies in the well Waking up in jail 'Cause I never paid attention Do you remember all the good times? Do you remember all the bad times too? She reminds me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

~

You didn’t let him off the hook that easily. Every day that passes as your birthday party looms, you mention flights, or activities you can do once he arrives. Harry laughs them off, distracting you by touching himself or telling a story from his gatherings with friends. 

It’s not until you’re barking orders at him over the phone, 1 week before your party, denying his orgasm that he finally relents. 

“Miss, please, I-I need to cum,” he whimpers as he has a ghostly touch over his angry, red cock. “P-please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, hm? I want my pretty baby at my birthday party. Wanna show you off and whisper filthy things in your ear and feel that pretty cock under the table. Agree to fly out to me and I’ll let you cum, baby.”

“Miss,” he croaks out, his stomach in shambles trying to stop himself from coming for the third time. “Okay, okay, Mama, I’ll go. I-I’ll come for your birthday! Please let me cum.”

You all but squeal in delight, instructing him to finally let go. Talking him through it, he keens from your praises for following the rules. A nervous heat travels up his neck, realizing what he agreed to in his post-nut clarity. 

“Good boy. Take a picture before you clean up, okay? I’ll talk to you in the morning and I’ll have my assistant send over your travel information.”

He nods, unable to make eye contact. You’re oblivious and overjoyed, thinking he’s just too fucked out to look at you. 

“G’night, Missy,” he chokes out. 

“Goodnight, sweet boy,” you hum before hanging up.

Harry snaps a photo of his messy left fist and cum-covered stomach before cleaning himself up and returning to bed. He eagerly picks up his phone to check his dating apps for his matches. He’d been talking to a new girl, Madelyn, for the past week, so excitement bubbles in his stomach. 

She’s meeting him and his regular group at the Viper tonight, so he’s excited to show off to her. Maybe she’ll even be down for a romp in the back seat of his Porsche.

His phone pings, signaling another deposit from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $5,000 - Can’t wait to see you 😘

He smiles, his right thumb picking at the skin of his ring finger. The guilt he feels from abusing your kindness starts to eat at him. But he didn’t get this far by being nice to people. You can’t possibly have feelings for him, right? You haven’t even met, for god’s sake. He shivers, shaking the feeling so he can focus on the night ahead. 

Pushing you far, far in the back of his mind. 

~

It’s now the night before your 40th birthday party, and you’re buzzing with excitement. Your penthouse is decorated in pink and floral frill - almost like your Great Aunt Gertrude exploded - but it’s chic and will be a hit amongst your New York City socialite friends. Your party planner floats around the room, puttering with the florals, candles and gem stones scattered around. 

You anxiously check the time, counting down the hours until Harry boards his flight from LA. He’s jumping on a red eye, so you’ll greet him with coffee and donuts when he lands. A pang of nervousness hits you as you remember how distant he was this week, saying he was busy with friends or doing god knows what an unemployed 23 year old does in Los Angeles.

Monday, 3:31 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry, missy. I’ve been at Miles’ art showing all day.

Wednesday, 11:27 AM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry! At the gym with Do Not Disturb on. Hey, can you send me some cash? Last min car maintenance 😢

Friday, 5:58 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Hi missy. My friends want to go to the opening of the new Carbone out here. Think your friends can get us a table? It’ll be 9 of us. 

Hope your dad’s chemo appointment went okay.

You can’t be mad at the little monster you’ve let him become. You are always an after thought as his only priority is making sure the cash cow is alive and well. He extends effort just enough to make the butterflies in your stomach reappear when he does give you the attention you crave. 

Inhaling deeply, you ascend up the grand staircase in your Upper East Side brownstone and begin your pampering routine, sending photos to Harry of the hydrating eye patches on and curlers in your hair, blowing kisses and sticking out your tongue. 

Typically, Harry answers relatively quickly to your silly messages, but, tonight, he’s gone radio silent. Maybe he’s trying to conserve his phone battery for the flight? 

You open your medicine cabinet to examine your fast-acting anti-anxiety pills, hoping you can will away this uneasy feeling. Padding over to your bed, you pop your pills before tucking into your silk sheets. Before putting your phone on the charger, you send Harry one last message.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Safe flight, baby ♥️ I’ll be tracking you, but tell me which terminal when you land. Can’t wait to see you 😚

Flicking out the light, you close your eyes with the hopes of finally meeting your lover in just twelve hours.

~

I got a real bad feeling I'ma lose my cool Everywhere that I go, everything that I do Stop me using the money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin'

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

Ping!

Harry, Delta airlines can’t wait to welcome you aboard Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35

Ping!

You may now board Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35. Welcome aboard, Harry.

Harry’s leg is bouncing uncontrollably as he watches the busy bodies move around him. Despite his social butterfly nature, his social anxiety rears its ugly head every once in a while. Or, it could be tonight’s concoction of pills.

He places his phone on Do Not Disturb, just as he gets a text from you. Closing his eyes in defeat, he comes face to face with the awful, shameful and downright despicable choice he’s made.

He’s not going to New York.

Instead, he’s standing booth side at a club next to John Summit, his favorite DJ, as he passes around a bottle of 1942. The pills he’s on are plastering a wide smile on his face as the throng of bodies around him jump around, despite the absolute panic and guilt he feels in his veins. 

He’s wondering when you’ll realize he’s not coming. The lack of texts? The empty escalator to the pick-up area well after the flight has landed? He can picture your cherub cheeks reddening with embarrassment, fighting back hot tears.

To distract himself, he leans down to capture the blonde girl to his left in a kiss, despite not even making eye contact with her prior. When she peers up at him, her pupils are just as dilated as his as they sway back and forth.

He kisses her once more, just as Marquise offers him another baggie.

~

The panic sets in about 30 minutes after his flight landed. Surely that’s enough time to grab his bag and meet you here, right?

Your eyes urgently scan over every person that walks by probably sending them into fight or flight as a deranged woman looks them over in search for her boy. 

You look down at your phone, the background a photo of your dog, completely clear of any notifications. With vigor, you throw out the box of donuts and his iced black Americano. Swallowing your pride, you skulk back to the parking lot to cry in the safety of your car. 

You feel like a loser. A pathetic middle-aged woman who got fooled by a man half her age. The mental gymnastics that takes place as you drive home with white knuckles on the steering wheel should have you committed. 

Your dating life wasn’t easy. It started in high school, where you were invisible to the boys, always deemed not good enough to date. Extending through college, you were still nearly invisible, working over time to find just one guy to have any interest in you and take your virginity. Just to get it over with. 

As the dating scene expanded in your 20s, you still struck out with men your age. It wasn’t until your late 30s when your hopes and dreams of a family came crashing down on you that you’d made that godforsaken dating profile. 

You still remember how your heart skipped a beat when you saw Harry’s photo for the first time. His boyish charm was palpable, followed by his incredibly witty prompt answers. He was your solution. If you couldn’t earn someone’s love, you could at least buy it. 

The lump in your throat is preventing you from calling him and leaving the fiery voicemail you so want to do. You assume he’ll ignore any calls from you anyway.

Pulling into your private garage, you let out your frustrations by wailing and smacking the steering wheel of your Bentley. To prying eyes, the cops should be called. You allow yourself to flip for 5 minutes before putting on a brave face and going inside to begin getting ready for your birthday party, ringing in another year of heartbreak and disappointment. 

~

3 glasses of a 1982 Cabernet Sauvignon. That’s how much alcohol it took to have you crying in front of your friends and family. 

You couldn’t tell them what was really wrong, of course. They have no idea about your and Harry’s arrangement. They’d call you an idiot if they knew how much money you’ve sent him.

Everyone is shooting you sympathetic looks as you cry on your best friend’s shoulder. For all they know, you’re stressed with work and your dad’s cancer diagnosis. It’s a lot of pressure on a single woman. 

Rubbing your back, Candice whispers all the affirmations she’s been telling you since college. It’s incredibly annoying to get advice from someone whose life is perfect. 

You quietly thank her, clearing your throat of the lump that’s formed. Looking around the room, you make a break for it, grabbing your phone as you lock yourself in the guest bathroom.

Tears blurring your vision, you dial his number for the first time all day. It rings and rings, finally sending you to voicemail, as you’d suspected.

You’re silent for a beat after the beep. 

“I-I don’t even have words for how I’m feeling right now. I was so fucking excited to see you…feel you….kiss you. And instead I’m locked in a bathroom at my own birthday party, calling you like a fucking loser,” you start, snot threatening to drip down your face. 

“I give, and I give and I give, and yet you still let me look like a fucking idiot in front of my friends and family. You couldn’t do one fucking thing for me? You…You didn’t even have to put any effort. I paid for a car service, paid for a first-class seat, bought you a wardrobe…”

“I just hope whatever the fuck you’re doing right now is worth it. I don’t ask questions about what you do with my money, since I’m the one who started this. B-but I thought you were a decent person. I feel so fucking stupid right now,” you are talking to yourself at this point. You shakily inhale and stare at the ceiling. 

“We’re done. I’m done with your bullshit. I’m not gonna let some ungrateful brat take advantage of me anymore. Have a nice life, Harry. Hope you have to move back to bumblefuck and lose all the friends you’ve been lying to this whole time,” you end off the message with pure venom leaking through your words.

You press end, feeling slightly better that you’d used his deepest darkest secret as ammunition. The mirror in front of you shows a shocking picture; running mascara, watery, red eyes, and disheveled hair.

Patting some toilet paper under your eyes, you clean up the best you can before returning back to the party. If you were strong, you’d block his number. But you can’t help but wonder what his response could be.

~

He deserves it. It’s 4:40 AM and he just mustered the courage to listen to your message. His under eyes feel heavy as he listens to your words, hitting him where it hurts. His hands are shaking as he lowers the phone to his lap, drowning out the sound of your sad, heartbreaking voice. 

5 years ago, he was a decent person. Now, he looks in the mirror and sees his slightly gaunt face and tired eyes staring back at him. He even notices a few gray hairs every once in a while. 

His lifestyle takes a toll on him — He’s well aware of that. But for now, he has no reason to stop. Harry lightly smacks his head back on the seat of the Uber back to his apartment. Cracking the window, he lets the sounds of the early morning deter him from vomiting.

The car arrives at his apartment — a guest house in Hidden Hills, the only place he can afford with the zip code he desires so badly. He never brings anyone to his place, too paranoid of his secrets getting out. Vision doubling, he struggles to stick his key in the lock. He knees the door has he twists the knob, sending him tumbling flat on his face. 

Smacking his head on the tile floor, he recoils, lifting his hand to feel droplets of blood on his nose and bottom lip. The metallic taste is leaking into his mouth, sending him into a spiral. His front door is still wide open, allowing him to see the sun peaking over the hills in the distance. 

He crawls over to the threshold, slamming the door shut with his foot. He lays back down on the cool floor, exhausted from his efforts. His breathing evened out, lulling him into a comatose state before succumbing to the darkness.

But before he passes out, all he can picture is your gorgeous, disappointed face.

I'm back in the hole I got nowhere to go La la la la, la, la Spinning around In the cold dark hole deep down in the ground Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from

The thing about rock bottom is that you don’t realize you’ve hit it until you’re clawing your way back to the top.

In the days following your fallout, Harry’s experienced enough misfortunes to last a lifetime. It started off with his credit card declining on a $6 breakfast sandwich, only to come back hungry and sad to his car being repossessed in front of all the Hidden Hills housewives out and about. 

The panic rises in his chest, and it’s taking everything in him not to call you and beg for forgiveness. He’s come to realize how fucked up his actions towards you became. He misses the butterflies and longing he felt when you first started your arrangement. 

He stomps back inside, miserable and feeling like a loser. If it wasn’t for Marquise’s birthday party later, he’d be sure to go dive in the ocean in hopes of never resurfacing. 

His closet is taunting him — full of the clothes you’ve bought him. He can remember every single piece he tried on for you, and the praise you were so quick to give him. He never reciprocated when you’d show him new pieces and showing off your incredible body. But, you hadn’t called him out on it, so he continued on. 

The all black outfit he chose reflects his mental state. Filled with dread and remorse, he pulls out his kitchen drawer to peruse the substances he has left. His stash is dwindling as fast as his bank account, so he has to be strategic until he figures out his next move. 

Grabbing the baggies, he situates them in the breast pocket of his jacket to conceal everything. They’re going to a new club tonight, so there’s no being saved by the bouncers if shit goes south. 

The party goes off without a hitch. Bottles pouring, dancers hanging from the ceiling, and an influx of out of town girls willing to do anyone and anything. Harry has nearly pushed you completely out of his mind, but he does something completely out of character.

~

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: I’m sorry.

You’re at a wine bar with your girlfriends in the Village, and the message you receive shakes you to your core. You haven’t heard from him in days. Not even after you repossessed the car and canceled his credit card tied to your account. You thought for sure that would smoke him out of his foxhole. But, he’s Harry. He’s selfish and too full of pride to ever come forward and apologize.

Your friends notice the faltered look on your face, but opt to ignore it as they bitch about their husbands and kids. Despite your fleeting dreams of having a family, most of the time you’re thankful you can’t relate to them. 

Turning off your phone, you throw it in your new Kelly bag — a little treat to get over the heartbreak — and return to the conversation.

~

He doesn’t even remember how it went down. 

The last clear memory he has is being escorted out of the club to go back to Marquise’s. The combination of coke and alcohol, plus this week’s tumultuous events had him on edge, so when the unfamiliar bouncer at this mediocre club grabbed him wrong, it sent Harry into a frenzy. 

To match his bloody nose and busted lip, his knuckles are now decorated with crusty amber smatterings of blood — his own, and the bouncer’s. His jaw and wrist were aching, still mouthing off like a rabid animal as the cop read him his Miranda rights. 

So now, he sits in a cold cell in the county jail awaiting his arraignment — a seemingly straight forward assault and battery charge, now amplified by the 40 grams of cocaine and Adderall in his coat pocket. The bastard cop smiled to himself when he patted him down. Harry will give him this one, the rinkydink small town cop who is used to giving out traffic violations. 

Tired, in dire need to piss, and on the verge of a mental breakdown, Harry’s head snaps up when the officer notifies him of his bail — a measly $75,000 — and lets him know he has one phone call. Balling his fists, he looks up at the ceiling.

“Fuck!”

The cop assists him in standing up. His wrists are chained together behind his back, after all. Releasing him from the confines, Harry rubs his wrists where the cheap metal chafed him.

“You have 5 minutes to make a call. Do you know the phone number or do you need me to access your cell phone?”

Harry scoffs. Who the fuck still memorizes phone numbers?

“Phone,” he replies, a clear edge in his voice. 

“Whose contact am I looking for? Mom, Dad?”

“Fuck’s sake. No, I need the number of,” Harry pauses suddenly as he remembers your name in his phone. 

“Mrs. Robinson,” he finishes quietly.

The cop raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, and reads the number aloud to him. It rings, and rings, diminishing any hope that you’ll answer. It’s in this moment Harry is at his rockbottom.

“Hello?”

~

“This is a collect call from the Department of Corrections for the City of Los Angeles. An individual is trying to contact you. Do you wish to answer?”

You gasp as the automated voice informs you of your worst nightmare.

“Hello?” you say quietly. It’s 8:15 AM, and you’re at the cafe on the corner for a latte and reading, trying not to disturb those around you. 

“M-missy?” His voice sounds broken. It sends a stabbing pain straight through your chest. 

“Harry, what happened? What did you do?”

“I-I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. N-not just with you. I know I fucked everything u-up,” he’s starting to sob, unable to catch his breath between words.

“B-but I got into a pretty bad fight last night, and I had some,” Harry pauses to look over his shoulder to make sure the officer isn’t listening. He wipes the tears in his eyes with his thumb. “I had some stuff on me, so now I’m in a lot more trouble. A-and I know I fucked everything up and I don’t deserve anything from you, but I don’t have enough money for bail.”

You sigh, not really even sure where to begin. Tears are threatening to spill over as you hear his clearly broken sobs. 

“How much do you need?”

At this point, Harry hung his head at your silence. He snaps his head back up when you agree to help him.

“It’s $75,000.”

“Jesus, Harry, what the fuck did you do?”

“I don’t even know, I barely have any memory of—”

“Five minutes, inmate!” the officer interrupts him.

Harry rolls his eyes and continues. 

“I’m not sure what happens next. B-but thank you, Y/N. I know I don’t deserve this in the slightest.”

You shiver at his use of your first name. Closing your eyes, “I know you don’t. Just tell me who I need to call.”

~

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter as you hear your incessant doorbell ring. It’s 6 in the morning, just a few days after you paid Harry’s bail. You’ve been laying low, unsure if you’ll even hear from him again. 

Your doorman, Paul, informs you of a visitor. A visitor? At this time? Unable to even comprehend what’s going on, you press the button to confirm opening the door, and wait. 

Your bunny slippered feet tap your coffee table anxiously. Is it your mom? Here to inform you of someone’s death? Or is it your best friend from college who couldn’t come to your party? Or is it —

You’re broken from your racing thoughts as a timid knock on the door echoes through the house. You shuffle hesitantly over to the door, unable to even bring yourself to look through the peephole. 

Closing your eyes while pulling open the door, the absolute wind is knocked out of you as you eye up your waiting guest. 

He’s tall, tanned and gorgeous as his photos. It’s unfair to look like this after stepping off what she assumes was a red eye flight. He looks exhausted. His lip and nose are busted, and he has a yellowing bruise on his left eye.

“W-what?” you flounder in disbelief.

His hands fold together at your reaction, unsure if he should hug you or keep a respectable distance. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself. He’ll play by your rules.

“What the fuck is going on?” 

You look adorable. The sleep barely wiped from your eyes. Slight bed head and disheveled silk pajamas. Harry is in disbelief that this is the woman he’s come to realize his feelings for.

“I know this is so fucked up,” he trails off. “Coming here. I don’t deserve even a minute of your time, but I needed to come here and tell you how fucking sorry I am. How deep into the superficial bullshit I got. I took advantage of you and your kindness and I lost myself in the process.”

You must look flabbergasted, because he inches closer, placing his hands gently on your arms. His touch is searing, but the first reminder that he’s actually standing in front of you and not an extremely lifelike apparition. 

“I-I,” you stumble.

“We don’t even have to talk right now. You can send me away, if you need. But I’m here, I’m here in New York and I want to change. I want to be better for you. These last few days— when I had absolutely nothing — made me realize something.”

His eyes are now earnest and starting to tear up. Your reflection is so clear in his tide pool green irises. 

“I had nothing, and it made me realizing you’re my everything.”

His profession had you clutching your metaphorical pearls. Your heart is racing, sending your central nervous system into a tizzy. You know he’s not lying, because he’s looking dead in your eyes waiting for your reply.

“H-Harry, I don’t even know what to say,” you stall. Your body knows what it wants to say.

“I know and like I said, if you need time, I underst—”

“If you’re here and you’re not bullshitting me; you really want to change. Then, you’ll fuck me like it.”

If Harry’s jaw could drop to the basement, it would. Instead of word vomiting, he lunges forward, guiding both of your bodies back to the hallway and placing a panty-dropping kiss on your lips. He doesn’t even have time to admire your beautiful home.

You break the kiss, grabbing his wrist to lead him to your room. The sheets are mussed, your clothes are all over, but you can’t even begin to fucking care. You all but dive back onto your bed, pulling your nightgown up to reveal your bare, perfect pussy. 

Harry drops to his knees, wrapping his hands around your thighs. The photos and the FaceTimes don’t do any justice to the sight in front of him. You’re complete and utter perfection. 

He waits for your approval before leaning forward to lick from back to front. Your back arches slightly, throwing your ankles over his shoulder. His fingertips dig into your skin deliciously, so you grab onto your blankets for dear life. 

“Give it to me, Missy. I’ve been waiting two years for this perfect cunt. What the fuck was I waiting for?”

You laugh, not expecting his sense of humor at this moment. For the last few months, it’s been like talking to a robot. It was an exchange of goods and services. But here, in front of you, is a man. A man who’s willing to change his ways for you. The man you’ve waited all your life for. 

“Always here for you. It’s yours,” you purr, placing your hands on top of his. 

He growls, vigorously licking into you. He removes his right hand to insert his two middle fingers into your center. This has you howling, unable to even remember the last time a man did this for you. 

“Baby, baby. I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum for you, finally,” you whine, focusing on the immeasurable pleasure stemming from your legs. 

“Mhm, I can feel you, Mama. Let go for me,” he begs, making direct eye contact with you. 

It’s the moment you lock eyes that you’re letting go. All the stars are aligning and symphonies are playing in your head.

“Ah, ah! There, Harry!”

Harry keens at hearing his name roll off your tongue. He slides up your body to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. You grab at his under shirt, insinuating that you want it off.

He peels it off and cheekily pulls your tit out of your nightie. He winks before connecting his lips to your nipple, rolling his tongue around the bud and sucking gently. 

“Please, want you inside me. Gimme my big cock, baby.” 

“It’s yours, Mama. All of me.”

Harry slides his briefs down his legs, revealing the main event. His dick swings slightly before hitting him in the stomach. You moan, unable to wait even another minute for him.

“Please,” you cry out, scratching down his chest. 

He lines himself up, moaning in ecstasy as he pushes in. Your mouth falls open, a silent whine escaping. 

“So big, baby. I should’ve flown out to you the minute you sent me a dick pic. Like a fucking middle schooler.”

Now Harry is laughing. He’s in disbelief that he would ever treat you the way he did. The clarity from the last few days is damning.

His pumps are getting faster and longer, bottoming out every other thrust. He looks down to where you’re connected, your pussy lips wrapped around him deliciously, a slight white substance leaking out of you. He leans down to kiss you, wanting this connection he’s subconsciously wanted since he met you. 

“Want you to cum with me, Missy. Cum with me. Want to show you I mean it. I mean everything I said.”

You gently put your hand on his cheek, to which he immediately nuzzles in at the touch. 

“I know you mean it, baby. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

He nods, leaning down to kiss you again, his thrusts slowing but still ramming you to the hilt.

“You close?”

“Yes, baby boy. Cum with me, I’m cumming now.”

Harry’s cock twitches as he bumps your walls before releasing long and deep into you. You push your noses together, lips ghosting over one another’s. 

Harry is finally home. 

“You’re gonna fucking pay for this, little brat.”

He flashes a shit eating grin, kissing you again.

“I expect nothing less.”

And I don't ever Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

[astrologysaysno]

I have a random thought to pitch to you all the idea of Airplane SQH acting as SJ's lawyer in PIDW.

(Confession: I have not read SVSSS, so I have no real clue on how the trials happened, but just hear me out)

Shen Jiu stands on trial at Huan Hua Palace, charged with the grievous crime of the murder of Qiu Haitang's family, the death of Liu Qingge, and the mistreatment of Luo Binghe.

For the sake of propriety, SJ is assigned someone to defend him in the trial as his defence. The people clamour, Qiu Haitang and Liu Mingyan especially, arguing that he does not deserve someone to aid his defense, but Yue Qingyuan does not relent.

He assigns Shang Qinghua as the lead, a compromise to quell the rabble of protesters.

Shang Qinghua presents as clumsy, disorganised, and tongue tied. A barely qualified Peak Lord who looks as if an ant on his shoulder would give him enough of a scare to induce cardiac arrest. They believe Shen Jiu is guaranteed to be found guilty on all accounts when YQY picks him.

But Yue Qingyuan knows his shidi and knows just how capable he is. He has witnessed him weave through social dilemmas and negotiate with merchants, each time coming out on top with diplomats willing to do anything and traders selling even at a loss. He has made this sect richer and more influential than he has ever had in years.

So Yue Qingyuan is confident that Shang Qinghua can pull this off.

The day of the trial comes, and like the sound of the first horn at the front lines, it commences.

Shang Qinghua and the prosecutors spend hours on each and every charge, with Qinghua breaking down each argument and exposing the cracks to them.

He pulls out witnesses that Shen Jiu thought he would never see.

Former slaves of the Qiu family who attest to the horrific crimes of what Qiu Jianluo did, of the abuse Shen Jiu was put under, even forcing the sect leader himself to explain their history and air everything out.

He prods at Liu Mingyan's accusations, revealing the hearsay and conjecture of her story. His accusations of lecherous acts are dismantled as he brings the head of the Warm Red Pavillion and other workers to testify in favour of him.

With Luo Binghe, it is Shang Qinghua's most difficult test yet. How can one justify the hate that was perpetuated by Shen Jiu, the endless suffering caused by him to Luo Binghe?

He cannot, what he can do is create a sense of empathy towards Shen Jiu, building an argument of constant sequential trauma which had molded him to become this jaded, cynical individual caught in the cycle of abuse.

He appeals to the remains of Luo Binghe's humanity for mercy, and to the crowd of Luo Binghe's instability caused by Xin Mo. Weaving both together the case of Luo Binghe being too manic and unstable to properly pass judgement, that what Luo Binghe really wanted was justification for all the hurt brought down upon him.

Shen Jiu is still given punishment for his mistreatment of Luo Binghe, but the air feels as if it has shifted, changed into something he doesn't know what to do.

[forevergoldgame]

Forever Gold's demo will release on June 26th, 2024 on itch. It's been quite the development road to reach this point. We're excited to show you the first look of Vestur!

Forever Gold is a dark fantasy, text-heavy roleplaying game being developed in the Twine engine by Broncoburro and LSDolphin.

Take a looksie below. : ) (The game is free and playable in browser, on both desktop and mobile.)

(A disclaimer: Forever Gold is a game for mature audiences. It does not feature adult content, but the subject matter can get serious in a way not appropriate for all ages.)

“Even among the finest breeding, aberrations of nature can occur. A prized goat births a kid with two heads. A pedigreed cat bears a one-eyed kitten. An archduke begets a son with the haretouch."

You are Duke Quintrell Barghur: a cursed black meur wielder, misanthrope, and an all-around painfully awkward man. When a mysterious affiliation called the "Brothers of the Barehand" starts stirring up political unrest, you are summoned from your lowly job of mine inspector to join the Prince Convoy. With the rest of your companions, you must travel the Tri-Kingdom of Vestur, quelling unrest and managing the complexities of public and court life... all while navigating the pitfalls of being, well, you.

Halfway between visual novel and interactive fiction, Forever Gold is incorporates artwork and writing with role-playing game mechanics such as skill systems, dice rolls, and lasting narrative decisions.

In the demo, you've been summoned to Diadem Castle by Prince Oscar Andimeur for unknown reasons. The demo spans one major quest from the first chapter of the game.

Play in either human or wolven mode - a visual reskin depending on your personal preferences.

You've a variety of companions on the Convoy who can accompany you. They may aid in quests, help surpass skill checks, or...

...drive each other crazy and be of no help at all.

A lot of artwork is sprinkled throughout the game - every character has several portraits, and in addition, illustrations are sprinkled throughout.

There are several systems to help you navigate the world of Vestur - from a map system, to the party camp, to the inventory and the codex... we can't name them all as this post is long enough, but here's some screenshots!

...And I think that's a good enough introduction! Thank you for reading. This game is a labor of love by two hobby devs - we've spent many a weekend coding, writing, and drawing for Chapter 1. We hope you'll give the demo a play on the 26th!

You can follow the game's progress and see all our extracurricular artwork by following this blog or checking out the website. : ) Additionally, we welcome questions (and sometimes draw answers for them, too).

[littlefireball]

Well you haven't made a Seongjoong x Y/N smut before 😅 1. How about Y/n is their young teacher and Seongjoong are their students (Y/N is that one teacher that everyone thirsts over) Seonghwa is the quiet kid and Hongjoong is his outgoing bestfriend. 2. Seongjoong is in an omegaverse setting at idols and Y/n is their choreographer for a Matz song. (She's a regular choreographer) 3. Seongjoong is at the bar and they ask if y/n if she's open minded

This is my first time requesting for a smut on tumblr or anywhere. I rlly hope this makes it. No pressure take ur time ik books take time to write and i love ur header thingies

thank you for your request! this article is the 3rd one and i add some settings on it

ᴍᴀᴛᴢ|ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ᴘᴇᴛ (ᴍ)

ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴛʜʀᴇᴇꜱᴏᴍᴇ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ|ʙʀᴇᴀꜱᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ|ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴘʟᴀʏ (??)|ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ|ᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ|ɪᴍᴘʀɪꜱᴏɴ|

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.2ᴋ

Vampire series: San

© Pinterest

They were hungry. They needed something sweet, something delicious to satisfy their perverted desire.

Yet, it was hard. The noxious scent of most humans repulsed them; their blood, far from fresh, bordered on disgusting. Even animal blood, once a palatable substitute, now left Seonghwa and Hongjoong weary. The prospect of hunting human prey, unvisited for months, drove them to the brink of madness.

"I gotta be crazy," remarked Hongjoong, the taste of his drink doing little to quell the emptiness within him. No measure of alcohol could divert his attention from the relentless hunger and thirst.

"We are left with no choice," Seonghwa's lament was tinged with resignation. "Perhaps you should choose that woman, if you can stomach it."

Inclining his head in the direction indicated by Seonghwa, Hongjoong locked eyes with a sexy woman. "Seriously?" he scoffed incredulously. Her blood, he discovered upon smelling it, was anything but enticing. "She appears quite taken with you. Her gaze remains fixed upon you."

"Get off." Hongjoong averted his gaze, eschewing further eye contact. "She's coming." Hongjoong stared at Seonghwa, who emitted a chuckle. "Hey, boy." The woman propped herself against the bar counter, making an overt display of her alluring figure. "Care to join me for a drink?" "Nope, never, thanks.."

"Oh, come on~ It's gonna be so much fun~" With a firm grip on Hongjoong's arm, the woman insisted. "I've said! Just let me go or I'll─" Seonghwa promptly intervened, preventing any potential loss of control by silencing Hongjoong with his hand. "Sorry, he's drunk." Seonghwa offered an apologetic smile, and the woman retreated in a huff.

"What are you doing?! I could have killed her." "Calm down, Hongjoong. Do you wish to be exposed?" "Tsk…No matter how many hunters emerge, I can kill them all." Indeed, there were hunters within the city skilled in tracking down vampires. They must be careful not to overuse their powers lest they be discovered.

"I am not ready to meet my demise just yet." Seonghwa remarked, taking a sip of his beverage. "Shall we leave? This place has grown boring." "Indeed." As they set down their wine glasses, a seductive aroma wafted through the air, enveloping them like a scorching wave.

"Hey, Y/N~You finally~here~" "Wh─why are you drinking that much?!" You came to the aid of your friend, the sexy woman, as she stumbled. "I'm not~drunk~"she slurred. You couldn't help but roll your eyes. Today marked the fourth time this week that you had been called to help her.

"Goodness, just go back and don't drink anymore." "No!I have to drink with those two handsome guys~" Turning your head in the direction she indicated, you were met with Seonghwa and Hongjoong's intense gaze. Oh your friend was right, they were the most handsome men you have ever seen.

'Oh shit…did she do something bad to them? Fuck!' You sighed, wishing you could just leave your friend and escape. However, there was no choice but to settle her on the couch and offer them an apology.

"Hmm, hello?" The more you gazed on them, the closer they came to the brink of losing control. Your blood was incredibly alluring, and the delightful flavor enticed them to sink their teeth into your neck. However, they tried their best to resist the temptation. "I am her friend and have come to apologize if she has done anything to upset you…"

"Oh yes, she did something that angered us." Hongjoong said, putting his hands in his trouser pockets, feigning dissatisfaction. "Well, she sexually harassed us."

'What the fuck…' You murmured under your breath. "Um…what can I do to make it up to you? I know just saying sorry is─""Actually, we wanted to just forget about it, but if you want to make it up to us, we are open to that," Seonghwa added.

"I am Seonghwa and he is Hongjoong." You nodded.

"What's your name, lady?"

"Y/N." "Good."

"So, what do you want me to do?" You asked, feeling nervous.

"Let me ask you a question first, Y/N." Seonghwa approached you to meet your gaze at eye level. "Are you open minded?"

—------

You found yourself in a kneeling position on the luxurious sofa, with a silk blindfold covering your eyes. This room was the furthest from the bustling bar, where the distant music and muffled breathing only serve to heighten your sense of unease, causing your heart to quicken its pace.

"Raise up your hand, honey,"Seonghwa's command was followed by a firm grab on the hem of your T-shirt, prompting you to comply with his request to undress. As he couldn't help but express his admiration for your beauty, you whined at shyness.

"Who do you want in the back?" Hongjoong's whispered question against your neck was followed by a trail of kisses. "It doesn't matter…" As you naturally tilted your head to allow him to give you a wet kiss, the excitement grew. "Good, babe. I would be at the front." Hongjoong positioned you against Seonghwa's naked chest after he moved to your back, the sudden touch of skin sending a shiver down your spine.

"Honey, do you know what blood play is?" "Blood play?" "Yah, some kind of knife play. It's a little bit painful but you will love it." Seonghwa whispered softly against your temple, his warm breath caressing your skin. "Just like so." His fingers glided down to your forearm, delicately grazing it with his sharp nail, causing a small trickle of blood to emerge.

You couldn't help but let out a sharp intake of breath at the sensation, the mixture of pain and pleasure sending shivers down your spine. It was as if you thrived on the intensity of conflicting emotions washing over you in that moment.

"It's blood…" His left hand brushed your arm, wiping off the red blood on the surface, leaving shallow blood marks. Their eyes were flashing red light, tinged with hunger and thirst.

"Get ready?" Hongjoong asked as his hand sneaked to your panties. "Yes, please." Seonghwa lifted your ass up to literally rip off your panties, guiding his cock towards your soaked hole. "Take a seat, babe." With a firm grab on your shoulder and waist, you followed his lead to sink down on his arched cock.

"Oh fuck…" "It's big, isn't it?" You wrapped around Hongjoong's shoulder as a support and started to bounce slowly. Adjusting his size was harder than your imagination, you could feel every vein of his cock each time you sank down. "Our baby is doing well," Hongjoong's words made your head spin in pleasure, and you moved faster.

"Gosh, you're amazing." Seonghwa pushed forward to make his tip meet your soft flesh, making your body bounce up and down from his movement. "Hwa…" "Don't forget about me, babe." Hongjoong cupped your face and pressed his lips against yours. He appeared to lavish all of his affection into the kiss, caressing and nibbling on your lips. He drew you nearer, prolonging the intense and romantic kiss, drawing out the sweetness from your mouth, gently teasing your tongue.

Yet, everything changed when this lovemaking became intense.

Without a warning, Seonghwa sank his teeth into your neck, causing crimson liquid to trickle down, prompting you to bite down on your lip in a valiant effort to withstand the agony. Your fists clenched tightly, imprinting deep crescent shapes into your palms.

"Shit…hwa…" "Relax." Seonghwa attempted to divert your attention by fucking you harder. His movement was no mercy. He positioned you to lean forward to allow him to pump into you with a new angle. His hardened tip collided with your soft flesh crazily, producing a loud skin slapping sound and making you moan without care.

"Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!" The bright red blood flows down your shoulders to your chest, a sight both terrifying and mesmerizing. "Let me taste you." Hongjoong shifted his attention to your bosom, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance he craved. He immersed himself in your curves, indulging in nibbles and kisses that produced lewd saliva noises.

The symphony of moans and screams intertwined as the excruciating sensation of the bite became increasingly unbearable. A foreboding sense of dread envelops your heart, as if you were the coveted feast they had been anticipating for so long. The concept of blood play was merely a facade for their insatiable hunger.

You had to leave, but how?

"I…I'm gonna cum,hwa." "But I'm not yet, what should we do then?" You wanted to escape but they grabbed you tightly. How could you fight back these two men?

"Babe, there is something you have never tried. You'll like it." "No, please." "There is no way to go back."

Hongjoong delicately lifted your bra, his lips caressing your breasts as his tongue danced around your nipples, leaving a glistening trail of desire. With a hunger that knew no bounds, he claimed your lips in a passionate kiss, his touch igniting a fire within you. His hands explored the softness of your thighs, each caress sending shivers down your spine and quickening your pulse.

"Please, no more." You whispered between the kisses but were ignored as if they were totally lost in this love making.

"I heard…the sound of blood flowing…" He parted from your lips and trailed down, searching for something he desired for so long. Suddenly, with a fierce intensity, he tore open your chest, causing you to cry out in agony as your life force drained away.

"SHIT!!"

Hongjoong eagerly drank from your blood, and crimson liquid droplets trickled from the corner of his mouth, sliding down his throat as he continuously swallowed. Seonghwa let out a deep growl as he saw how Hongjoong sucked your delicious blood.

"Damn!" Seonghwa indulged in sinking his teeth into your neck, leaving behind a trail of deep, passionate bites and kisses, adorning your skin with an array of purple marks. "It hurts, please stop!" Your desperate pleas fell on deaf ears. No amount of tears will bring you salvation.

"So sweet! It's the taste of this blood! The blood I've been looking for!" Hongjoong found himself drawn closer to you, his gaze locked on the tantalizing blood pulsing in your veins. The crimson liquid flowed freely from the wound, leaving a mark on both your skin and his lips.

"Gotta mark you and you would be our own pet." "What…?" Hongjoong pushed you back, making you and Seonghwa lay back to the sofa. Guiding his cock to rub against your clit, he thrusted in your cunt without a second thought.

"Fuck!!" You arched your back as the new sensation became almost overwhelming. Their manhoods were divided by the thin wall of your lower body, allowing them to sense each other's movements with every powerful thrust. "This is truly remarkable," Hongjoong murmured as he skillfully moved his hips, ensuring that he reached the most sensitive parts of your body, bringing you to the peak of pleasure.

Hongjoong fucked you at an inhuman pace as if he never tired. On the other hand, Seonghwa maintained a rhythmic thrust, feeling how your tight ass sucked him in. The warmth of your walls drove Hongjoong crazy. He could feel the heat concentrated at the tip, hitting your sweet spot, and a numbing sensation made him moan softly.

You tried to push him away but you couldn't. The rapid depletion of blood was swifter than anticipated, leading to a gradual decrease in body temperature, a foggy state of consciousness, akin to a delicate mist, and a weightiness settling upon your eyelids. Your limbs grew increasingly weak, and you could only slump onto Seonghwa, like a puppet manipulated by them.

"Need to cum, now." Hongjoong huffed, panting heavily as his thrust became slippery. "Me too." Seonghwa chimed in. And you moaned weakly as you were almost unconscious.

What you could remember before the darkness enveloped you was the warm liquid soaked your cunt and hole, and there was something hot on your nape.

It hurts.

—----

You awaken from your slumber, feeling disoriented. "What is happening…?" Struggling to sit up, you realized your limbs are restrained by metal cuffs. "This can't be real…"

"Are you awake?" A chilling voice echoed nearby, making you tremble. "Don't be afraid, dear. Everything is fine." As footsteps drew nearer, a slender figure emerged. Seonghwa's eyes gleam red, fixated on you like a predator eyeing its prey.

"Release me." Fear grips you as you attempt to retreat, only to be met by the unyielding cold wall behind you. "No, my dear. You belong to us now." Another voice, belonging to Hongjoong, rang in your ears. "You are ours, and you shall not escape." Before you could protest, he knelt beside you and sunk his teeth into your neck, eliciting cries of agony.

"Easy, Hongjoong. Be careful not to kill her." Seonghwa took your hand and bit your waist with a great force. "Dear, you're so sweet. I really like you." As he licked your wounds, a mix of numbness and pain overwhelmed you, stealing away your consciousness. Helpless, you could only gaze blankly at the ceiling as they had their way with you.

"So good, such a lovely pet."

[solitary-traveler]

Ascent to Oblivion part 1 - airborne embrace

The heart imposes how one should act. How they should feel. So how can a puppet constructed without a heart exhibit such distinct qualities?

Notes: This one is very self-indulgent. I swear I wish there was an option to catch him during this scene—

Warning: reader is not traveler btw, slight angst?

A heart is regarded as a mirror that reflects someone’s soul. A sovereign ruler that ordains decrees that the body is meant to follow. 

The heart imposes how one should act. How they should feel.

So how can a puppet constructed without a heart exhibit such distinct qualities?

He doesn't have a soul, nor a heart for that matter. Yet Scaramouche doesn’t fail to display the epitome of humanity. The emotions he claims are cursed act as a substitute; an artificial heart that ushers him in the direction of the deepest desires that he sought after. It spreads within his body like a burning infection, leaving a bitter taste of rage and fury that will never be quelled. Come hell or high water, his resolve never wavers. His ambition to prove to everyone that he is destined for more perseveres. He sprints to his goal like a marathon. To conclude his journey and prove to his mother that he has always been worthy of the gnosis.

That was your understanding of the 6th Harbinger, the Balladeer.

You stand beside the Traveler, along with the Archon of Wisdom you had liberated earlier. You encounter the rising "god" of Sumeru—the existence of who you know as Scaramouche—as he presents himself as the Shouki no Kami, the Prodigal, Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom. A long drawn-out battle that persisted 168 loops before you and the Traveler snatch victory from the harbinger.

You were tired and on the verge of collapsing. Bruises and scars are scattered across every nook and cranny of your skin. Yet despite everything—every word, every truth, every lie—you can't bring yourself to hate him. 

You wanted to hate him.

But why couldn't you?

Was it because you felt pity? Because the solicitude of his sorrows softened the fortification encircling your heart? 

Or was it because sympathized with him? Maybe you too knew how it felt when the cruel jaws of life gnaw on the strings that control destiny, only to give birth to nothing but misery and hatred toward the world?

As you looked up, you saw the electro gnosis in Nahida's possession. The puppet yells, an anguished wail of cries as every word laced with desperation begs to have the gnosis back.

"No! Anything but the gnosis!"

"That's mine!"

It was strange. Watching someone like Scaramouche throw away their pride and dignity, just for one measly gnosis. A gnosis that shaped his entire identity. An item he's been promised when he was fabricated, a promise the Raiden Shogun never kept. 

Your heart throbs. Was this the one you were supposed to hate? A misguided child who grew up hating himself and everyone around him because of accidents he interpreted as his fault?

Scaramouche's slender arms extend to seize the gnosis, to grasp the adhesive that was holding up his fragmented individuality. One by one, the tubes embedded in him fracture. Pink liquid sloshed out like waves, smearing pigments on the platform. But he couldn't care less. He wanted the gnosis. He needed it. With a hushed click, your eyes widened.

He fell.

And you jumped.

Despite the burning sensation of the wounds you had accumulated from the puppet, you rise without hesitation as the overwhelming urge to catch him coursed through your veins. You create a whirlwind that propels you in his direction, with the aid of your anemo vision. Time itself decelerates as you can only hope to reach him. You were praying to any go out there that you haven't miscalculated.

One.

Your arms wrap around Scaramouche, cradling him closely to you. You caught him. Thank the archons you caught him. 

Two.

You were to land swiftly on the ground—but having exerted the last of your energy—your touchdown wasn't as smooth or graceful as you had hoped. Your feet slipped, causing you and the harbinger in your arms to skid towards the rubble of rocks. Even then, you squeezed him tightly, not wanting to let go.

Three.

A deafening crash resounds in the domain as you smash into the massive debris. But your clutch doesn't waver. You held the puppet in your arms, a testament of your newfound will to protect him. To keep him safe. You could no longer watch him be cheated out of everything good. He deserves some peace, a tranquility you were willing to give. In spite of your best efforts to remain awake and asses how Scaramouche was faring, your brain started to deprive you of your consciousness.

Four.

A hand clutches your clothes firmly, as you feel the cold porcelain pressed against your skin. Before you collapse into an unconscious state, you overhear a broken sob. A sound only those with a shattered soul can let out.

Taglist for part 2 is open btw!

[teyums]

waking up in the middle of the night to find Lo'ak humping you from behind in his sleep 😩🤤

omg yesss our boy is so needy for us, even when he’s sleeping ;) wc: 2,094

Sweet Dreams

pairing: adult!Lo’ak x fem na’vi reader

warnings: mdni 🔞 you’re responsible for the media you consume. includes language, lo’ak being a whiny mess for a bit, description of events, reader and lo’ak are of age. it’s smut, yk the rest.

You’re roused from a deep sleep, the feeling of a hard surface slowly rocking against your back effectively stirring you from your well encased slumber.

A low rumble sounds from behind, and you feel Lo’ak’s warm breath fan the back of your neck, the tips of your ears flicking innately at the gentle sensation. The indistinct, repetitive thumping of his tail against the cot causes your lids to peel open.

You rub at your tired eyes blearily, peering over your shoulder to the best of your ability due to your mate’s firm hold around your middle. Darkness shrouds the room, only the subtle illumination of the moon seeping through the small fissure between your tent’s flaps enough to allow your sight to adjust.

You’re drowsy and confused. His arms tightly trap your backside to his chest, and you can feel a puff of breath hitch on your skin when he tries to apply more pressure, clumsily grinding his clothed bulge against the swell of your ass.

“Lo’ak...” You murmur, gently rubbing at the toned muscle of his thigh. When you receive no response, you realize he’s still fast asleep.

It’s happened before, Lo’ak having a wet dream and unconsciously working to ease himself by rutting his length along the soft of your curves. He was so embarrassed the first time he found out he interrupted your sleep. Pink blanketing his features to match his shameful demeanor, he told you to instantly wake him up if it ever happened again.

And he knew it would, he couldn’t help that his body craved yours. He wanted you, at all times. Especially during the cool nights when you’re curled up so contently in his embrace, demanding of his arms around you and unconsciously rubbing your backside against him every time you shift your hips to get comfortable.

A string of quiet whimpers flood your ears as he hopelessly tries to add friction, and you find your bottom lip hooked under your teeth, softly gnawing at the flushed skin. Your loincloth is growing increasingly wet at the lewd thought of him wanting you, even while deep in his sleep and you groan at your failed efforts to quell your own irretrievable desire. Something tingling in the pit of your stomach as you listen to his breathing grow labored which each sporadic thrust.

Well you can’t leave him like this, right? It would be cruel, to not help him when he’s trying so hard to scratch his itch, but failing. He clearly can’t do it himself…

You arch your back slightly, gently pushing your ass back onto his stiff bulge and wriggling your hips to aid him a bit. He suddenly exhales a sharp breath through flared nostrils once you return the favor, a large palm pressing against your belly to hold you close. His possessive fingers splaying over the skin there while he steadily humps you in a deprived manner.

You’re quick to cover your mouth and stifle a moan, fearful your mewling will wake the man behind you. You tightly clench your thighs together in an attempt to soothe the deliciously painful ache of your walls spasming around nothing.

Your body is nearly writhing with want, and you’re dreading being left hot and unsatisfied once he’s gotten his fill. His wet lips part, brushing along your heated skin and you crane your neck, so desperate to feel the warmth of his tongue preparing your skin for the sting of his fangs when he marks you. Your chest rises and falls heavily as low, sleepy groans slip from his gaped mouth and waft to your attentive ears.

Fuck this.

You carefully reach behind you, sliding a tentative hand down his tensed abdomen and stopping at the hem of his loincloth. Hesitation courses through your mind before your lust has reassured you that you’re only doing him a favor. With that, the flimsy fabric is pulled down from his hips with a gentle tug. Allowing his hardened cock to spring free of its restraint, and you jump slightly when the thick of it smacks against your ass.

You hurriedly bring your hands to your own and impatiently fiddle with the thin strings, yanking it off from under your hips and discarding it somewhere in the room to be discovered later on.

Your conscience was telling you to do the right thing, to wake him up and tear him from the trance he probably had no idea he was in— but your body was saying otherwise. It felt as if his desperation was reflecting onto you, the heat of your arousal entrapping your thoughts and making you dizzy.

You longed to feel his throbbing, thick cock plunge between your wet folds. The mere image completely clouding your better judgement as you lifted your thigh so it was no longer resting atop your other, keeping your back to him.

He was quick to scoot his way closer after he felt the bed dip, his bare pelvis pressed flush against your backside as his nose nuzzled into the soft of your hair. His hand fumbles its way down his lower stomach, gripping the base of his dick and situating it to rest against the supple skin of your inner thigh. Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip when you feel the weight of it. You want nothing more than him to fill you up, to hold you down and fuck you senseless, but this will have to do.

Your pulse quickens, searing heat oozing with anticipation as his cock jumps excitedly once it grazes your naked pussy. He was terribly hard, a bead of precum dripping onto your skin to remind you that you were only helping soothe him.

He tucks himself in between your thighs and you hum in approval, bringing your legs to a close around him. A gasp is all you can muster, the instant sensation of pleasure almost enough to make you explode as he begins to move, and you start to wonder if this was the best idea after all. There was no way you were going to be able to keep quiet. Every feverish, slippery drag of your clit against his bulging cock made it jerk hungrily, leaving you wanting more.

A firm hand holds your hip, almost hard enough to bruise as he smoothly draws his lower half back and forth to make his length glide and sift between your dripping slit. His breathing is unsteady while he slowly fucks into your thighs from behind you, completely unaware of his filthy actions.

Your eyes pinch to a close and you pull your head away from him, breathy moans muffled by the cushion now pressed against your face. You reach a shaky hand down between your legs, using two fingers to spread your sticky folds apart, granting him better access and thanking yourself that you did.

Soft grunts evade him as he flicks his hips forward, plunging his cock through your thighs like a dog in heat. His movements rock the both of your bodies in sync, your mind reeling when both of his hands come up to languidly palm at your tender breasts. Using them as leverage to pull you back into him.

You clamp your thighs together, eyes practically racing to hide behind your skull as his precum glistened tip nudges and rolls over your swollen, attention seeking clit, the head of his dick just peeking out from between your plush skin.

“Baby…” His call for you is a sleepy, hushed whimper in your ear and you throw your hips back into his, the fat of your ass rippling from the harsh movement of his pelvis bucking into you. The plump folds of your wet cunt spreading around the girth of his cock to make room for him, hot slick collecting on his length as he lubes himself with your juices to make the whole act shamefully easy.

It was all too much.

His clammy skin slapping against yours as your hot arousal and his warm precum makes the both of you sticky, the intoxicating scent of sex coating the thickened air while he buries his flushed face into the crook of your neck and nearly drools. Calling out for you over, and over again as he lay deep in slumber, his voice strained as he repeatedly pleads in your ear.

Your hand starts to wander and you stretch the fingers that rest between your legs outwards as much as you can, allowing your digits to stroke the sensitive underside of his fat tip while he uses your body to get himself off. You screw your eyes shut, not being able to silence the loud, drawn out moan of his name that sneaks past your saliva coated lips.

Shit.

Suddenly his movements still, fatigued eyes peeling open to rest in a half-lidded state. You hold your breath to the best of your ability, chest heaving below the greedy hands that were previously ravishing your breasts. Your sensitive nipples brush against his rough hands and a quiet whimper slips past your pursed lips, ultimately betraying your efforts of staying silent.

He inhales deeply, sluggishly blinking to clear his vision. A wave of pleasure quickly washes back over him once he’s conscious of the situation, causing him to peer down at the mess between your plastered bodies.

“Baby? Did I wake you up again?” He croaks, his voice sounding groggy and slightly disoriented.

You swallow hard and stutter out a meek answer. “Mm—mhm…” Your body still craves his touch and you try not to moan while he stirs behind you, his hands thoughtlessly squeezing your breasts as he gains his bearings.

A deep sigh is heard, followed by a quiet mutter of profanities as he curses to himself under his breath. He nuzzles his face against the round of your shoulder, setting a featherlight kiss upon your skin that has you shuddering.

“I’m sorry, babygirl. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” His hand leaves your chest and you almost cry as all hope for an orgasm leaves you. Until his arm snakes back to the front of your body, much to your surprise.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” His voice is low when he asks. You open your mouth to speak, but your words lodge in your throat when you feel his curious fingers begin walking their way down towards your navel.

He teases you, trailing his caresses lower and lower. Your fleeting breaths entice him to continue, letting him know he’s only getting hotter as he nears where you really crave his fingers.

He’s touching you anywhere but where you want, and he knows it’s driving you absolutely insane by the way you fidget against him. Then he pauses, just before he reaches your pulsing clit, and just as he whispers in your ear. “You didn’t want me to stop, huh?”

He hits it right on the nail, and a wave of heat washes over your face as you’re overcome with embarrassment. “Lo’ak, I—“ You gasp quietly, body tensing when he drags his middle finger along your aching hole, rubbing a teasing, slow lap around your entrance to find the answer out for himself.

“Dirty girl,” He hums as your essence instantly soaks his finger, cupping your pussy in his hand. “You got all naked for me, didn’t you?” He coos, gently slapping your cunt and chuckling when you jump.

“Y-yes!” You spit out an answer without even thinking, panting your words as his touch sets a blaze to your core. Your brain turning to mush at the pause in build up of a climax you were so close to nearing.

“It’s okay. You just wanted to help me, didn’t you baby?” He’s rubbing slow circles onto your clit, leaving open mouthed kisses along your neck and reveling in the way your legs open to make room for his hand.

“Mmmn, f-fuck, yes…” You whine breathlessly, bringing your arm up and behind you to hold the back of his head, pressing his face closer to your skin and tucking your lip under your teeth.

He lines himself up at your hole without another word, a shiver prickling up your spine as he just barely prods his tip against your expectant, drenched opening. He leans forward, his warm breath tickling the curve of your ear and your eyes flutter in delight when he licks it. “Can I continue?” His tip is already pushing its way inside of you before you can answer. Like he couldn’t wait.

“Please! Please, continue…” You breathe out a little too eagerly, body melding into his as he swiftly sinks into your sopping heat.

Reblogs + Likes + Comments are much appreciated 💗

[alphabetatoes]

you'd make me pay? (jjk x reader)

aka the one where you joke w the men of jjk about paying to get affection (g. satoru + n. kento + k. choso + f. toji)

a.n.: reader is a comedienne n loves to mess w these men (the way the toji one actually happened to me 🙃)

c.w.: 18+, mdni

gojo

"C'mon- Wanna mark you up. Let everyone know you're mine." Satoru had spent practically the entire night trying to convince you to let him give you a hickey.

"Give me $10 and I'll think about it." The issue wasn't Gojo's insistence on marking you. It was his inability to adhere to subtlety. Yet he adored when he could see those red splotches of skin peaking out of your shirt collar.

Gojo stretches his body across your legs, his frame managing to span the entirety of the couch. "Toru, you're crushing me." You move the rogue white strands of hair out of his face.

"Please babe. Need you so bad." His bottom lip bulges as his whining continues.

You cave to his begging, giving him a light pat on the arm. "Fine, you big baby."

Gojo lifts himself from you and pulls you into his lap, a goofy smile strung across his face.. He takes a chaste kiss from your lips, reveling in his victory. You tilt your head to the side as he buries himself in the crook, nipping and sucking along your neck.

nanami

Sharing a bath was not only a way for the two of you to spend time with one another, but to also relax from the stress of the day. Kento had poured the two of you a glass of wine, and you lit a candle to aid in the tranquility.

You're sat on opposite sides of the tub, indulging in the warmth of the water. "C'mere. Want you to sit in my lap while I wash your hair." Kento's hands draw soothing circles on your ankles, gently tapping them to get your attention.

You sink further into the bubble bath, taking a sip of the wine. "I'm so comfy though." The idea of having to move your tired limbs on your own was a travesty. "I'll need at least $15 if you expect me to move on my own."

"How about I make you dinner and give you a massage after instead?"

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Nanami." You feign concentration as you mull over his proposal. "But you've got yourself a deal." You clink your wine glass into his, cheers-ing to the proposal.

Once you're seated on Kento's lap, his strong hands make idle work to wash your hair. You let a hand sink to his waist, stroking against his cock to help him relax as well.

choso

You were nestled into Choso's chest as the two of you watched a movie in the living room. One hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him. His other hand laid rest on the top of your leg, which you let rest draped over his.

"Can I kiss you?" Choso's breath tickles your ear as he whispers his request.

"For a dollar." You purse your lips, waiting for Choso to lean in.

He reaches for the wallet in his back pocket, pulling out a bill. "I only have a $20- y'know what? Just keep it." As he shoves the bill into your hand, you gently push it away.

"I was only kidding, baby." You try not to laugh too hard as you quell his nerves. The sincerity staining Choso's face has you melting. You give him a sweet smile, grabbing onto his cheeks to pepper him with kisses.

toji

Toji was out of town on a job, leaving you unfulfilled for about a week. To help sate that aching feeling, you'd planned to video chat

“Your tits look great in that top.” Toji eyes you up and down, flashing a coy wink when he meets your gaze. “Think they’d look even better without it, though.”

Feeling playful, you give him an ultimatum. “Give me $5 and I’ll do it.”

“You’d make me pay?” His smirk turns into a pout, frustrated by your proposition. Whether he'd admit it or not, Toji missed you just as much. Craving for any glimpse of the body he had longed for.

“Now it’s $20.”

“Cut me a break, doll. Don’t need you actin’ like a brat when you got me all worked up like this.”

Toji pans the phone down to his waist. The material of his sweatpants is tented up as his dick strains against it. You flip him off and flash him a quick look at your tits, not quite giving into his demands.

He’d owe you big time once he got home.