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hcneymooners · 2 months ago

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⋆ down and out, you got me beggin' for thread.

milf!landlord!ambessa x oblivious!f!reader. men & minors dni. synopsis: in your defense, you just thought she was being an attentive landlord. and then the dinner happened. cw: landlord!ambessa, milf!ambessa, oblivious!reader, age difference, older woman/younger woman, domination, dom/sub, dom!ambessa, sub!reader, ambessa puts you in your place i fear, sweet!reader, oral sex, cunnilingus (ambessa!receiving), bessa has a clit hood piercing whoops, face riding, vaginal fingering (r!receiving), overstimulation, strength kink, praise kink, rough body play, reader is large-chested, cfnf (clothed female, naked female), crawling, kneeling, hair pulling, dirty talk, flirting, seduction, ambessa clocking your shit, she ain't new to this but she's true to this & she's gonna wear you out. notes: i have nothing to say for myself.

in your defense, you just thought she was committed to being a really lovely landlord.

you’d been somewhat isolated from the rest of your neighbors in the condominium, having moved in late and missed all the arranged social activities. they regarded you as a strange little creature—thick hair in an unruly shock, a mouth so full it seemed perpetually pouting. work kept you coming home late most nights, shoes in hand as you climbed the wooden stairs quietly, mindful of the many elderly residents whose comfort you took care not to disturb.

you lived alone, a choice that often worried your family but one you adored. walking through your door to complete silence, greeted by the heavy coffee-and-baby-powder smoke of your newest candle, made it easier to disassociate from whatever unhappiness followed you in from the world outside.

you’d made no effort to distinguish yourself among the residents. even moving in had been a seamless affair—a blur of efficiency as six absurdly lanky movers wrestled your antique french pieces (all dark wood) through the narrow doorway, your winces punctuating every scrape against the walls.

the flat was small but sweetened undeniably by your touch. the floor plan alone had elicited a stifled gasp of horror from your father when you’d sent it to him during a call—confirmation, if you needed it, that you’d made the right choice. your bedroom, however, was the crown jewel.

it was your favorite indulgence, an unapologetic display of your heart & taste, and just a touch of impracticality. the mirrored wall behind the bed was its most divisive feature, reflecting the soft, amber glow of the lamps into endless repetitions of warmth. your father would have grimaced if he saw it, muttering something about "too much light bouncing around," but to you, it felt decadent.

the bed, wide and heavy, was dressed in pale linens with a subtle fringe that seemed to collect light like dew. it was the kind of bed that swallowed you whole, that made you linger in the mornings even when you couldn’t afford to. you’d agonized over the exact shade when choosing the bedding—anything too dark would have clashed with the mirrored nightstands, which were precariously balanced between timeless and ostentatious.

the carpeting was thick enough to mute every footstep, though the faded champagne hue had long since been out of fashion. still, you loved it, the way it dulled the room’s sharper edges. a chandelier hung overhead, small but undeniably glamorous, its crystals catching the light like a handful of stolen stars.

t wasn’t a large room by any means, but it didn’t need to be. it was yours, unmistakably so, and that was enough.

so, of course, it would be the first thing to fall prey to maintenance.

the first drip was forgivable. pipes groaned in older buildings, after all, and you were nothing if not patient. the second drip came faster, followed by the slow, insidious spread of water along the grout of your ensuite floor. you pressed your palm to your forehead, sighed, and stared at the mirror, still smudged from a half-hearted cleaning spree earlier in the week. the bathroom had charm—aged brass fixtures, a vintage vanity—but that charm was waning fast as the puddle grew.

it was past midnight, but you decided you had no choice. wrapping your robe tighter around your waist, you picked up your phone and dialed the number your landlord’s assistant—did they all have assistants?— had given you at move-in, cringing as it rang.

“do you know what time it is?” ambessa’s voice came through, low and sharp, cutting through your groggy apology before you could finish.

“yes, and i’m so sorry, ms. medarda,” you rushed out, cradling the phone against your ear as you stepped around the puddle. “it’s just—there’s a leak, and it’s spreading. i didn’t want to call maintenance without your permission, but honestly, i think the bathroom could use some updating while we’re at it—”

“where’s the leak?” she interrupted.

“in the ensuite. just off the bedroom.”

a pause, long enough to make you nervous. “i’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

you blinked. “oh, no, that’s not—”

the line clicked dead.

true to her word, ambessa arrived twenty minutes later, sharp knocks echoing through your quiet flat. you’d changed into your cotton pajamas by then—a soft rosy brown set with little embroidered daisies, complete with a matching sleep mask pushed up into your hair. billie holiday crooned softly from your record player as you opened the door, clutching your robe around you and smiling sheepishly.

ambessa was the kind of beautiful that made you forget yourself. she filled your doorway as if she belonged there, her broad shoulders wrapped in a perfectly tailored coat that hung just so, framing her with an air of command. the silver threading her tight, thick cornrows caught the dim light, lending her a sharpness that bordered on regal, and her eyes—dark, unyielding—pinned you in place without even trying.

you noticed the subtle tension in her jaw, the way her gloves creaked faintly as she pulled them off with deliberate care, and for a moment, you felt ridiculous in your thin pajamas and mask pushed askew on your forehead.

she was all clean lines and control, the kind of presence that demanded your full attention, and you were too overwhelmed to do anything but offer her a stammered “hello” as if she hadn’t just marched into your space and stolen all the air.

“thank you for coming, ms. medarda,” you said, stepping around her to close the door. “god, you must be freezing. would you like some tea? or something else that’s warm?”

ambessa’s eyes swept over you briefly—taking in the retro pajamas, the faint scent of your cucumber tea steeping on the stove—before she stepped inside, her boots clicking against the hardwood.

“let’s see the damage first. and just ambessa is fine.”

she was taller than you’d thought, filling the space of your small flat with an effortless command. you trailed behind her as she followed the faint sound of dripping into the ensuite.

“it’s outdated,” you offered nervously, watching her crouch to inspect the base of the sink. “i mean, charming, but maybe too charming? i wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with renovations, so i didn’t want to call anyone until i asked you first.”

ambessa straightened, the corners of her mouth tugging upward just slightly.

“that’s sweet of you. do what you'd like.”

you blinked at her. “oh. okay! that’s—so nice of you. i didn’t expect you to be so—” you caught yourself. “i mean, i really appreciate it.” she gave you a long look, something unreadable in her expression, before brushing past you back into the kitchen.

“you don’t have groceries,” she noted, her gaze falling on the empty fridge as you scrambled to tidy up.

“i have emergency pasta,” you said quickly, pulling out a box of whole-wheat spaghetti. “and cucumber tea. if you’re hungry, i can make something—it’s the least i can do.”

ambessa didn’t argue, though the arch of her brow suggested she wasn’t accustomed to being offered emergency pasta at one in the morning. you served her a steaming bowl and poured her tea into your favorite ceramic mug, rambling nervously about how you’d heard through maddie of 44b that her daughter was an artist.

she stayed just long enough to finish the tea, her presence heavy and warm in the quiet of your kitchen, before nodding once and heading out.

“call if it gets worse before the workers get here,” she said gruffly, her hand on the doorknob.

the next evening, you came home to several paper bags of groceries neatly stacked by your door, the scent of fresh pink peonies wafting up as you picked them up. you smiled, setting the flowers on the counter next to the dying ones your mum had sent last week.

this place is so lovely, you thought, unpacking the groceries. the tenants are so well taken care of.

your coworkers didn’t believe a word of it when you told them about ambessa the next day.

“she's sweet on you,” one of them said, shaking their head.

“no, she’s just attentive,” you insisted. “maternal, even. she told me all about her daughter!”

they exchanged knowing looks, and you laughed it off, already planning to send ambessa a thank-you card for the flowers.

❅

you’d gone overboard, but what else were you to do? gratitude came naturally to you, maybe too much so, but how else could you thank someone who had quietly made your life so much easier?

the cookies sat cooling on the counter, golden and soft with just the right crisp at the edges. their sweetness filled the air, blending with the candle you’d chosen—rich sandalwood and rose. it was warm and grounding, just like her. you couldn’t explain why it reminded you of ambessa, only that it did.

maybe it was the way the scent lingered, heavy and grounding. stronger than you. your toes curled as you imagined her voice rumbling low, praising your thoughtfulness.

the basket had become a small labor of love. you’d lined it with a cream linen napkin embroidered with tiny vines, each stitch as deliberate as your careful arrangement of the contents. the cookies rested in one corner, their warm scent still faintly clinging to the fabric, and the candle nestled beside them, a handwritten note tucked just so: “thank you for everything. your kindness means the world.”

you’d agonized over the wording for longer than you cared to admit, erasing, rewriting, and second-guessing every line before deciding it was small enough to be safe, heartfelt enough to feel honest.

your phone buzzed where it leaned precariously against a jar of flour, the screen alight with your sisters’ faces. their voices were lively and full of mischief, the kind that made you want to laugh and groan all at once.

“wait, wait, wait,” one of them said, holding up a dramatic hand to cut through the chatter. “groceries, flowers, a new faucet, and she expedited your laundry machine?”

“and called you sweet,” another chimed in, her eyebrows wiggling in mockery.

“and showed up herself in the middle of the night,” your mother added from the background, folding laundry with a knowing smile.

“again,” your father said dryly, his voice carrying a weight of exaggerated patience.

“it’s not like that,” you protested, though your cheeks flushed. you fiddled with the bow on the basket, unable to meet their eyes. “she’s just… thoughtful. i’m sure she does this for all her tenants.”

your eldest sister laughed, the sound of sharp disbelief that made you want to sink into the floor. “baby, she’s courting you.”

“she is not!” you exclaimed, though the wobble in your voice betrayed you.

“oh, please,” another sister cut in, leaning so close to the camera you could see the shimmer of her eyeshadow. “and you’re wearing that outfit to ‘just thank her’?”

you glanced down, your lips tugging between your teeth. the dress wasn’t exactly subtle. it was black with a scatter of delicate flowers, vintage couture that hugged your waist before flaring just slightly. the neckline dipped low, displaying your cleavage warmed by a healthy amount of body oil, and framed by playful ruffles and slim straps that skimmed your shoulders. it was bolder than you’d usually wear, but you’d told yourself it wasn’t intentional. not really.

your jewelry was simple: a thin gold chain, just enough to catch the light, and small hoops that didn’t overpower the dress. your hair was loose, soft, and shiny in a way you tried not to fuss over, though you’d tucked one side behind your ear so many times it had become a nervous habit.

“god help me,” your father muttered in the background, shaking his head with exaggerated weariness.

you stuck your tongue out at him before signing off, their teasing still echoing in your ears as you slipped out the door.

❅

the basket was warm in your hands, the evening air crisp against your skin as you made your way to ambessa’s flat.

when she opened the door, her expression softened in a way that sent your pulse skittering. she looked… comfortable in a v-neck sweater and soft sweatpants, yet undeniably commanding. her gaze flicked to the basket, then back to you, a smile tugging at her lips.

“i brought this to thank you,” you said, holding out the basket. “for the groceries and the flowers and everything. you’ve been so kind in taking care of me, and i didn’t want to let that go unnoticed.”

ambessa’s lips curved, just barely, and she stepped aside to let you in.

“you didn’t have to do that,” she said, her voice low and steady, but there was something in her tone—something soft beneath the steel. almost affectionate. “lord knows this has to be your eighth one.”

her flat was not what you expected.

it was spacious, sleek, and surprisingly modern, yet somehow still warm. the scent of cedar lingered in the air, layered with something citrusy and clean. dark leather furniture anchored the space, and bookshelves lined one wall. there were other hints of personality tucked in the corners: a golden tray brimming with jewelry, a small tray of perfumes that looked antique, and a faint scent of something savory wafting from the kitchen.

“you’ve been keeping them,” you said, surprised, your gaze landing on the basket you’d left earlier in the week.

“i like them,” she replied simply, pouring you a glass of wine. “you have good taste.”

you laughed softly, smoothing your hands over your dress.

“i found it at a farmers’ market. i miss going so much.”

“there’s one in the next town over,” she said, her tone so casual you almost missed the implication. “we could go this weekend.”

your lips parted in surprise, a laugh bubbling up. “it’s three hours away.”

“and?” she countered, one brow arching in amusement.

she motioned toward the dining table, where two plates were already set.

“i hope you’re hungry.”

❅

ambessa had made a hearty stew, rich and flavorful, served with warm bread that you couldn’t stop tearing into. you’d expected something simple and utilitarian, but the care she’d put into the meal surprised you. the food was rich and delicious, her hands moving with practiced ease as she served you.

“this is incredible,” you said, closing your eyes as you took another bite. “i don’t even want to know how long it took you to make this. it’s perfect.”

ambessa watched you, her gaze slightly hungry, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

“i’m glad you like it.”

you talked easily as you ate, though you couldn’t shake the way her attention lingered on you—penetrating but not unwelcome like she was studying you. the conversation drifted into quieter territory as the night went on. you’d almost forgotten what your family had said earlier—almost. but then, as the wine warmed your cheeks, the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“my family,” you said, voice light with embarrassment, “they were saying you were courting me. that you have designs to snatch me up.”

her gaze didn’t waver. “and if i do?”

your heart stumbled, and you choked. the air felt charged, the quiet hum of the flat suddenly deafening. you met her gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt.

“i was…” you swallowed hard, your voice softer now. “i was only joking.”

ambessa’s smile was slow, deliberate, and devastating.

“i don’t think you were. i mean you came here all dressed up for me,” she said, standing with a fluid grace that left you breathless. “tits practically begging for my mouth. so, joking? no. teasing? yes.”

when she crossed the space between you, there was no hesitation. her hand brushed your cheek, and she gripped your jaw tightly.

“all night,” she said lowly, “you’ve been moaning over your food. i wonder, do you make the same noises in bed?”

you flushed, skin warm and tingling.

“i—”

“and,” she cut you off, “do you eat the same way?”

she thumbed over your bottom lip, pinching it and then releasing it to watch the blood pool.

“you seem so hungry.”

your legs squeezed together beneath the table, your neck straining as you looked up at her. her eyes narrowed as she tilted your head back, idly bringing up her other hand to feel you swallow. seemingly satisfied she stepped back, freeing you as she moved back toward where she was sitting.

struggling to calm your breathing, you watched as she dragged the char back to where you sat and arranged it several inches away from you. casually, as if you weren’t dripping across from her, she lowered herself and spread her legs open. your gaze focused on the space between them, imagining yourself fitting perfectly within.

“[name],” she murmured. “look at me.”

you did.

“are you full?” you shook your head, hands clutching at your thighs. “mmm. would you like a taste, sweet girl?”

you shuddered and closed your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek to remain composed.

“yes. please.”

“come here.”

you rose, anxious to please, but she stopped you with a raised brow.

“no. crawl.”

you balked, warmth spreading down your neck and into your stomach. she shifted in irritation.

“i’m not going to ask you again.”

carefully, you lowered yourself to your hands and knees making sure to arch your back so that your ass rose behind you like some erotic phase of the moon. ambessa watched as you began to slink forward, two fingers coming together to further push down the band of her sweatpants. by the time you made it to her feet, she’d done away with them altogether.

her cunt sat pretty and fat, lips winking in arousal beneath the soft thicket of black and silver curls. it was veiled by a gorgeous triangle of deep purple lace, the fabric darkened further by her wetness. she was so beautiful, so delicious that your mouth began to water.

you shuffled forward, placing a hand on her calf to steady yourself as you nosed at her inner thigh. she smelled thick and musky here, her clit gleaming at you as if a pearl in an oyster. it was a little large, but you didn’t mind. you found it as perfect as the rest of her.

tucking your legs beneath you, you settled down and laid your head on one of her open legs. silently you asked permission, your eyes wide and pleading—a bit puppyish. she curled a hand underneath your chin and leaned forward, coaxing a kiss from your lips.

you mewled and clung to her, pressing into her hold as you returned the kiss. she laughed meanly into your mouth and pulled back, slouching so that you had more space to conduct your task. you leaned forward, eager, only to be stopped yet again.

“please,” you whispered and she made a noncommittal noise, giving you a considering look.

“just a moment, little one.”

you furrowed your brow as she leaned forward again, this time with lower. with a rough, hard tug she yanked your neckline down so that your tits spilled full and plush into her palm. with a satisfied groan, she groped them, thumbing at your nipples till they strained into the pads of her fingertips. then, she pulled back and reassumed her position.

“leave them out.”

you grew hotter at the command, nodding quickly. finally, she nodded and you let out a little moan of excitement. you should’ve gone slower and taken your time, but god you were starved.

almost immediately, you tugged the fabric of her panties aside and licked a wide stripe up her pussy. she tasted ripe, sweet then slightly bitter, like a grapefruit, and you moaned into her.

“oh, fuck,” ambessa sighed and you nuzzled further into her.

the flat echoed with the wet sounds of your consumption of her, your mouth suctioning around her pussy to apply pressure. to your surprise the hood of her clit was pierced, a small ruby nestled comfortably atop it.

after a moment, you abandoned your initial plan to move further down, tongue gliding between her fat folds where the slick current of her arousal glittered like a jewel. you pointed your tongue and wedged it deep inside her, lifting a hand to drift along her defined stomach.

“mmmhmm,” she said, voice thin as she canted her hips. “just like that. you’re doing so well, sweet girl.”

the praise lit you up from the inside out, and you lapped at her with renewed energy. her hips bucked harder and a strong hand came to root itself in your hair. in response, you lowered both hands to the floor to steady yourself as you allowed her to control your movements.

“such a good girl. so eager to eat this cunt. so eager to please me, hmm?”

“uh huh,” you answered, the words muffled by her sopping pussy.

the vibration made ambessa suck in a breath and she suddenly yanked you forward, rocking into your tongue slowly before speeding up. eventually, she was riding your face as you stuck out your tongue, your tits exposed and bouncing as you met her in eagerness.

you strained to sink further inside her, whimpering as her thighs closed harshly around your head. she could’ve snapped your neck, and you would only have seen it as benediction. an early arrival to paradise.

“oh shit,” she whispered. “fuck. yes. yes. yeaaah.”

both of her hands were on the side of your head as she bent backward, squealing sharply as she began to cum. the sound was high and girlish, and you wanted to hear it again and again. her pleasure broke over her like a rising dawn and you closed your eyes, sucking at her clit until her legs began to tremble with overstimulation. still, you didn’t stop. instead, you swallowed the honey that dribbled from the apex of her cunt and brought two of your fingers up to rub tight circles against yourself.

with a rough moan, ambessa dropped her thighs from your face and tugged you up and into her lap. she huffed in displeasure and struck your hand away from your cunt, slipping two of her thick fingers deep into the cavern of your slick heat.

“no one touches you here except for me. not even you.”

you let out a startled gasp, mouth dropping in a perfect ‘o’ as she stroked and fucked your spongy walls. you began to follow her movements, bouncing faster to chase the syrupy warmth rising into your chest. the world flickered and your eyes caught on hers as she observed the way your body contorted and flexed the more she pushed you.

“that’s it, sweet girl. work for it,” she said, her lips curving cruelly as you gripped her shoulders to better slam yourself down. “come here. let me taste.”

you kissed her, wet and messy, and she licked along your teeth; sucked the remnants of her cunt from inside you. you felt a flash of irrational anger at the action. you wanted her within you forever, staining your tongue.

ambessa slipped a third finger into you and you wailed, spine snapping straight as you felt the stretch spread through your hips. a fourth drifted lazily through your soaked folds, languishing till it was gleaming, but then it soon disappeared. carefully, she nudged you closer to her, tucking your face into her neck as she trailed her other hand down the crack of your ass.

before you could fully process what she meant to do, she inserted the wet tip of her finger into the tight ring of your asshole and pressed.

your orgasm pulsed through you. from where you lay against her neck, you bit down.

for a moment she allowed you to rest, turning her head to press a warm kiss to your temple. her fingers began to re-curl along your walls. then,

“again.”

it was a direction. you followed.

#ambessa x you #ambessa x reader #ambessa x y/n #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #ambessa league of legends #wlw smut #lesbian #sapphic #arcane fanfic #arcane smut #wlw #mine ; 🐎.

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frkyildiz · 2 years ago

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thecameronchronicles · 5 months ago

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Once A Year In Nassau

TW: Public sex. Hair pulling. Dirty talk. Raw sex.

SUMMARY: Tradition sparks a new need between you and Rafe. Something more permanent than your current arrangement.

Once A Year in Nassau

He pouts into his hand, thinking about everything else he could be doing right now other than sitting across from his father and Rose at yet another silent dinner where he is ignored. Sarah doesn't have to put up with it and Wheezie is at camp somewhere back home.

"Cameron!" A raspy introduction projects his eyes upwards as the first flicker of hope for excitement is reinstated through his veins. But it isn't for the man shaking hands with his father as they discuss the time apart. It is for the girl following him.

You.

You're appearance has changed; your hair a bit lighter and cut an inch or two shorter from last time, your skin still needing to be the same tan it was when you said your goodbyes last summer, but your smile to him was blinding and unwaivering.

"And look at Y/N, even more of a stunner every time I see you." Ward offers as Rose kisses your cheeks but your eyes stay on Rafe. It's long enough to see the anger behind his clenched jaw before you offer an awkward nod to appear unaffected. In truth, you are both bubbling inside for a moment alone and as you are invited to join their dinner, it seems it might never happen.

"Excuse me." You manage between your father and Ward's conversation, your eyes flicking up to Rafe as if to hint some silent invitation but you see him glaring at his drink. You sigh, knowing exactly the reason for the scowl but disappear for a reprieve anyhow.

The layout of the resort is luxurious with an open concept to all but that of the bathrooms. It is the only place where one could mutter and not be heard and it's what leads you there. You slip away behind the door and cool your heated skin at the thoughts of last summer.

On the beach, in Rafe's arms, as he playfully throws you into the water before diving behind you. Later beneath the stars as he makes you call to God as you grip the seamless sand beneath as it forfeits support between your fingers.

The summer before that in the supply closet on the second floor as he came off of an argument from his father.

Since the first kiss that initial summer, it had become a tradition of sorts to be lost in each other. Each goodbye more painful, each morning after feeling impossible to breathe. Now finding him still affected by the weight of the Cameron name, all you wished for was to have a summer you didn't have to make it only a memory with him.

"You're back." His voice forces your eyes to him within the hallway as you can't help but pull your neck to ache at just how he towers over you. Summer and time is always kind to him, only now the beautiful sadness behind his eyes has amplified to a permanent existence that pulls at your heart.

"You're so-" Sad? Handsome? Unforgettable? The adjective is lost on your tongue as he takes you against him. Stronger than last time, he pushes you against the wall between the assigned restrooms until you can feel how rigid he's become for you.

"You're the only thing that makes me feel right, Y/N." He pleads between kisses, the taste of his vices on the tip of his tongue lost to the heat of the same muscle wrapped around your own.

"Then let me..." You pull him into the bathroom and lock the door. Decorated in affluence, a couch conveniently lay in wait. You set him in the center and pull the skirt of your dress up high enough to get onto your knees.

"Oh fuck..." He groans as he watches you descend onto your knees for him. You finger his buckle until his button can be freed, releasing him to you as he flexes his hips so you can pull him out. The sight of him, already shiny with precum makes your mouth water.

"Yes..." He moans as you tease him. Long licks up his shaft before finally claiming him to the resistance of your throat. Breathing deeply, you commit him deeper until he's gripping the couch.

"Oh baby...just like that. You know just how to suck me, don't you?" You nod, your new manicure threatening ruination by how you are gripping his thigh.

"Anyone else get to know how this feels? It's a long time to go without, ya know..." His eyes are hard while his jaw is slack as your tempo only increases as if your enthusiasm proves your conviction to him.

"Only you." You moan before he wraps your hair in his fist.

"I don't like when you change things. I like remembering it like last time. Don't do it again." He pumps himself into your throat as you take him in stride. Hollowed cheeks, you bask in the understanding of being used for his pleasure. Knowing exactly what it is he needs, you moan around him and feel him buck with abandon.

"Such a good little mouth for me, aren't you?" You nod, looking up through faulty mascara you know he loves to see run and the tearful eyes as the reason.

"Get the fuck on me." He tears you up by your hair until you're on his lap.

"Nobody else?" He rubs your exposed ass made available by the cut of your panties.

"You sure about that?" He rips it without much effort to the limited fabric there.

"You didn't let anyone else touch you? Hmm?"

"Nobody. I swear, Rafe. Nobody else has touched me or kissed me since our first summer-" He interrupts you with a kiss as his fingers draw figure eights throughout your folds until you're mindless.

"Show me you're mine. Ride my hand until you drip down my rings." You feel the cold metal he references against your thigh before the length of his sturdy fingers enter.

"Oh-" He uses his second hand over your mouth.

"Nobody else gets to hear you either. Got it?" He leaves a new rule every interaction and this is no exception.

"Yes-"

"Good. Now show me before I take what I want and or leave you unsatisfied for another year." You grip the couch at his back and use his hand, two dedicated fingers curved at your g-spot, as you moan.

"That's my girl-" He huffs in a guttural groan, his head against your chest as he breathes in the scent identifiable to only you. His words are interrupted by the force of your lips demanding his attention. As you kiss, your tongues intertwine for taste and need, until you end up biting and sucking on it.

"I need you on my cock. Right fucking now." Whatever separates you is pulled away before he hoists you up and levels himself inside of you. You've felt him in enough familiarity to know it will stretch you, a feeling he echoes as he groans to the intimacy of it.

"I need this." He grips your ass before bouncing you onto him.

"And these-" he uses his other hand to expose your breasts, naked sans a bra. His name is your only breath as he takes his time nibbling and sucking, his hands otherwise devoted to your curves and ass.

"Deeper." He orders as you turn for him, surprising him as he watches you take him reverse cowgirl. Only this is still not enough. You bend forward, hands on the small carpet before you, as you curve for him.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N-"

"Hold my hair-" You gasp at the grip he makes.

"On my God, Y/N. Your ass," he squeezes it before swatting it hard enough to leave a red mark behind. "Your-fuck! I need this..." One hand on your hair, the other draws a line of his trimmed nails down your spine until he has you in a grip.

"You want it like this? You want me to fill you up while you're bent over giving me this..." He stalls, searching for the right words. "this view?"

"Please Rafe. I've thought about how it will be all year." He pulls you up by your hair until your back rests against his chest. His fingers play with your clit as he moans against you.

"That's it. Oh fuck. Oh yeah baby...ohhh-" The door tries behind you as your thighs sore from the rise and fall of your muscles called into motion.

"Do. Not. Stop." He breathes with each thrust until you are unable to speak and high off of his need for you. He holds a hand around the sides of your throat, ensuring you can breathe while also holding you in place as the other palms your breasts.

"Open the door-" A woman's voice calls as Rafe pounds up into you, deeper than he's ever been.

"Make us come, baby. I'm not stopping until you're filled and shaking but I also don't want anyone else seeing you like this. So come-baby,"

"Open the-" The voice tries again.

"FUCK OFF!" Rafe calls out, dainty feet rushing away as he doubles his efforts, inspiring you to do the same. Wherever he has you pinned so you cannot move, you use small ministration to affect him. Clenching your inner walls until he can feel the flutter, he arches back in awe.

"Baby! That's good-Goddamn!" He groans into your neck as you shake uncontrollably. His fingers a rush against your clit unwind and prepare your orgasm as you feel it surge without warning.

"That's it, fucking come for me baby. You're gonna make me come-" He chokes out, his own pleasure coursing through him as he spills inside of you.

"Rafe..." You breathe as his hand remains on your throat as if he cannot begin to fathom the idea to release you. It takes you tapping his hand for his head to rise from your shoulder as his lips trace the skin there.

This is the part you loathe. The part that has gotten more difficult over the former exchanges.

"I-"

"Stay, Y/N."

"Rafe, I-"

"Please." His summons resonates into the marrow of your bones.

"I don't think-"

"Marry me." His words make you turn to face him and you see how there is no humor on his expression. Not the hauntingly soft yet intimidating eyes or the full lips spread in contentment.

"Marry me, Y/N."

MASTERLIST

A/N: I was thinking of possibly making this into a series. Any thoughts?

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafecameron #rafe cameron #rafe cameron outer banks #outerbanks #obx #outer banks #outer banks smut #obxsmut #obx fanfiction #drew starkey

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cherryredlove · 7 months ago

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☆ eiffel tower ☆

Modern! au Cregan Stark x reader x Jacaerys Velaryon SMUT

Includes Cregan x Jacaerys smut

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Baela and Rhaena always host the hottest parties of the summer. Invitied alongside your best friend Helaena, you meet two handsome men who seem equally interested in you as you are in them.

Word Count: 2.5k

Themes: SMUT, 18+, threesome, p in v, oral, eiffel towering, cum eating, alcohol consumption, cigarettes

also just imagine cregan in the pics has dark hair ahah

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The hot July night is thick with the mingled sounds of the party—a seamless mix of bass-heavy music, laughter, and shouts cutting the air. You feel the vibrations through the floor as you push your way through the crowded living room of Rhaena and Baela’s apartment. They live in a swanky flat in the city centre of King's Landing. It's their birthday, and, as usual, they’ve gone all out. Neon lights bounce off the walls, casting a colourful glow that makes everything feel both surreal and electrifying.

You'd worn your favourite sexy black top and bootcut jeans, making your ass look fantastic, as your flatmate Dyana had so kindly informed you. Bangles jingling, you make your way toward the makeshift bar in the corner, your eyes scanning the throngs of people dancing and talking, searching for a familiar face. Finally, you spot her—Helaena, your best friend, is lounging on a couch, deep in conversation with a couple of guys from her art class, while sipping a bottle of Asshai beer. She waves at you enthusiastically, a smile stretching across her face.

“Hey, you made it!” Helaena shouts over the music, wrapping you in a quick hug. She smells like lavender and vodka, wearing a blue skater dress, a familiar and comforting combination. “I was starting to think you’d bail on me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you reply, your voice barely audible over the thumping beats. You lean in closer. “This place is insane.”

Helaena laughs, nodding in agreement. “You should go say hi to Rhaena and Baela later. They’re out on the balcony, holding court as usual.”

As you nod, you can’t help but feel a little out of place, surrounded by people who seem to know exactly where they fit in this chaotic scene. You were a bit of a party animal too with Helaena, but the party here was madness. You grab a drink from the bar—something pink and fruity that burns just enough to remind you of its potency—and take a long sip, letting the alcohol warm you from the inside.

You seek out Baela and Rhaena. Both of them look divine in gold shimmery tops. They scream a little with excitement when you see them and hand some sourz shots for the three of you to do together.

After, you’ve been chatting with Helaena for a while, legs crossing over eachothers as you lounge on some chairs, when your attention is caught by two guys approaching. Even in the dim light, they stand out: one tall and dark-haired with broad shoulders, the other with brown curls, high cheekbones, and a rougish smile. They're both stunning in that unfairly effortlessly cool way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Hey, Hel,” the first one says with an easy smile. His eyes flick to you, holding your gaze a moment longer than polite. “Who’s your friend?”

Helaena grins, ever the mischievous meddler. “This is Y/N,” she says, gesturing toward you. “Y/N, meet Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon. They’re Baela’s best mates from uni. You guys both study politics and history with her, right?"

Cregan gives you a nod, his smile widening into something warmer, while Jacaerys offers you his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, his voice a low, pleasant rumble.

The conversation flows easily, the four of you finding common ground in shared interests and mutual acquaintances. Cregan regales you all about his recent backpacking trip through the Highlands, the beautiful scenery and his close scrapes with the law, while Jacaerys leans closer, drawing you into a discussion about your favorite bars and places in King's Landing. You find yourself laughing more than you have in weeks, the tension you carried into the party slowly melting away.

As the night deepens and Helaena ends up sneaking off with a mysterious girl named Sara who Cregan knows, the three of you drift outside to the balcony, the cool air a welcome relief from the heat inside. You lean against the railing, the city sprawled out before you while Cregan sparks up a cigarette for you. Below, the streetlights flicker like stars, the hum of traffic a distant lullaby.

“So, what do you think of the party?” Cregan asks, his voice low and inviting.

“It’s amazing,” you admit, taking a sip of your drink that Jace had grabbed for you, a Starfall Screwdriver. “You two must be close with Rhaena and Baela.”

“Yeah, we’ve known them forever,” Jacaerys replies, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. His gaze is steady, intent. “They throw the best parties.”

You nod, feeling the warmth of their attention settle over you like a physical presence. There’s something about the way they look at you—like they’re seeing you, really seeing you—and it makes your heart race in a way you can’t quite explain. You aren't blind to their eyes and where they're looking.

“So, Y/N,” Cregan begins, a playful glint in his eye. His arm rests on your shoulder after taking a drag. “What’s your deal? You seeing anyone?”

The question catches you off guard, your mind scrambling for a response. You hesitate, unsure of what to say. The truth is, your love life has been a series of near misses and almosts, leaving you jaded at a young age.

“Not really,” you finally reply, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. “I’ve been kind of focused on other things lately.”

Jacaerys leans closer, his expression thoughtful. “Like what?” His hand brushes your thigh, and you clench slightly. Cregan smirks, and Jace takes a long drink of his beer.

“Like work, mostly,” you say with a shrug, feeling suddenly self-conscious under their scrutiny. “And, you know, just figuring things out.”

Cregan exchanges a glance with Jacaerys, something unspoken passing between them. You feel a twinge of curiosity, wondering what they’re thinking.

“What about you two?” you ask, shifting the focus away from yourself. “Any girlfriends I should be worried about?”

Jacaerys chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah, we’re both single. We're too busy having fun, I guess.”

“Though we do have something in mind tonight,” Cregan adds, his tone teasing, almost conspiratorial.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What’s that?” Jace looks amused at your obliviousness.

Cregan and Jacaerys exchange another look, this one filled with a kind of mischievous energy that makes your skin tingle with anticipation. You have the distinct feeling that whatever they’re about to say will lead to a very interesting night.

“Well,” Jacaerys says slowly, his eyes locked onto yours, “we were actually wondering if you’d be interested in something…a little different tonight.”

Your heart skips a beat, the possibilities flashing through your mind. You find yourself leaning in, caught in their magnetic pull.

“What do you have in mind?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cregan’s smile is all charm and challenge. “A threesome,” he says simply. “You, me, and Jace.”

You blink, your mind momentarily short-circuiting at the proposition. Of all the things you’d imagined, this wasn’t one of them. And yet, the idea sends a thrill coursing through you, igniting something bold and adventurous that you didn’t quite realize was there.

“I—” You start, then pause, choosing your words carefully. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

Jacaerys steps closer, his presence enveloping you like a warm, inviting shadow. “No pressure,” he says, his voice gentle but edged with excitement. “But we think you’re amazing. And we’d love to spend the night making you feel that way.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, the heat between you three palpable and undeniable. You consider their offer. They're both hot, both your type, and they both fancy you. The decision weighs on your mind, and yet, somewhere beneath the surface, you know exactly what you want.

Taking a deep breath, you meet their expectant gazes, a slow smile spreading across your lips. You down your drink. “Alright,” you say, your heart racing with anticipation. “Let’s do it.” They both smile, and their grip on you becomes a tad tighter.

“Great,” Cregan says. “How about we head back to ours? We live in a flat just a couple of minutes away.”

You nod, feeling a heady mix of nerves and thrill. As you follow them through the party, weaving through the throngs of people and neon-lit haze, you feel your heart and pussy begin to thrum.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The ride to their apartment is a blur of laughter and anticipation, the city lights streaking past like shooting stars. You sit between them in the backseat of the cab, your legs brushing against theirs, the proximity sending shivers up your spine. Cregan brushes your neck lightly with his knuckles, and you tense when Jace's hands move upwards from your knee to your inner thigh. Feeling both of their mouths so close to you, their hot breath and their longing, heated gazes makes your pussy clench, excited.

When you finally arrive, the apartment is everything you imagined—a stylish blend of modern and cosy, the kind of place that feels lived in and loved. As soon as the door closes behind you, Jacaerys presses you against the wall, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s all fire and passion. You melt into him, his hands gripping your shoulders tight and keeping you upright.

Cregan’s hands find your waist, pulling you from the wall and sandwiching himself behind you, his touch firm and grounding as he leans in to whisper in your ear. “You alright?” he asks, his voice a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine. You can feel his hardness press into your ass from behind. You kick off your shoes and let Cregan pull your jeans down.

You nod, your breath hitching as Jacaerys trails kisses down your neck, his hands deftly unzipping his jeans. “More than alright,” you manage to say, the words a breathless promise. Jace rubs your thighs with his heavy hands and Cregan gropes your tits, pulling his shirt over his head.

You each undress, hands reaching out when not removing clothes to grasp at each other and kiss hotly, all tongues. You're not sure who you're kissing or who's kneading your ass when they guide you toward the bedroom.

Pushing you gently onto the bed, Jace turns to Cregan and kisses him, Cregan moaning lightly at the touch. Your pussy explodes ablaze at the sight, whimpering as the pair advance on you like wolves.

Cregan yanks your legs towards him, opening them and sighing at the sight.

"Oh, Jace, look at her," he smirks. "Already soaking wet and we haven't even started."

Jacaerys laughs lightly, kneeling besides your body as Cregan swipes a finger through your pussy slick. That draws a hot moan from your parted lips.

"Will you be good and let Cregan look after you?" Jacaerys asks, your eyes glued to his hardened cock that brushes against your tits as he leans down. You nod, moaning as he kisses you, and places your hand on his cock to stroke it.

Cregan takes his cue and sinks his mouth down onto your heat. You whimper loudly as he softly licks up your slick and begins sucking lightly on your aching clit. Encouraged by your reaction, he eats your pussy more fervently, devouring any juices and engufling your labia in his hot mouth.

Jace moans as you stroke his cock, Cregan watching the sight from between your legs. You reach down with your other hand to grasp Cregan's dark hair, pulling slightly. His eyes roll back and you notice his hand is between his legs, jerking his huge cock at the sight of you and Jace.

It's too much for you. You feel like you'll explode. Jacaerys grabs your tits and tweaks your tender nipples, and you moan, arching your back and feeling the start of an orgasm creep up on you.

"Come on Princess," Jace gasps. "Cum for us." He spills a thick white rope of cum over your tits. Cregan, eyes wide, eats your pussy with such vigour that he yanks an orgasm from you, and you howl as you cum. He jerks himself as he cums on your thighs.

Panting, you watch as Cregan approaches Jace. You would have expected yourself to be satisfied by now, but watching Jace lick the cum off himself and Cregan inflames your pussy once more. You wobble upwards, kneeling on the floor and engulfing Jace's cock with your mouth as you jerk Cregan's cock. The pair moan into eachothers mouths at the touch.

Leaning down, Cregan pulls you gently by the hair onto all fours. Your eyes widen as you realise what he means. Your mouth opens involuntarily as he makes you suck his fingers, chuckling to himself.

"You reckon she's ready?" Jace asks him. Cregan nods, eyes dark and glinting.

"Oh yes, her pussy's a mess. Look at how good she is, sucking my fingers," he removes them, smirking as you whine. "Don't worry girl, you'll be able to suck all you want."

He nudges his cock by your lips, and you swallow it whole. He begins thrusting lightly, moaning heavily at how good your mouth feels wrapped around his cock.

You startle when you feel Jacaerys' hard cock press against your pussy lips, gently easing inside as your eyes roll back. You feel so full as he settles deep inside you.

Jace begins thrusting against you, hitting that sweet spot deep inside that very few can reach whilst Cregan uses your hair to push you deeper onto his cock. Breathing through your nose, you sink down until his cock is deep in your throat, making a strangled moan come from his lips. You can feel the hot licks of pleasure build again inside as Jace rubs your clit as he pummels your pussy and gives you a healthy slap on your ass, watching it shake. His hands grab your hips and squeeze, leaving bruises that will spark some intense memories later.

Cregan huffs and you can tell he's close to finishing, so you swallow hard as his cock hits your throat again. He cries out and you feel ropes of salty cum filling up your mouth and throat.

You climax at the feeling, Jace's fingers carrying you over the edge as he pulls out and cums across your back. Your pussy flutters as you cum hard, collapsing on the floor as the two men pant and join you.

All three of you lie there, softly breathing and exchanging sweet kisses and looks. Cregan stands first, hauling you up to the bathroom to wipe you down whilst Jace grabs you some water each.

Sandwiched between them in bed again, you feel yourself drift off to sleep as Cregan and Jace hold you tight. You can only hope the next time with the pair will be even better.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

AN: hope yall enjoyed that. i definitely prefer writing modern aus for some reason. any requests send them in, lmk if you want more like this!

#jacaerys x reader #cregan stark x reader #modern cregan x reader #moderm cregan x Jacaerys #Jacaerys x cregan #Jacaerys x reader x cregan #Jacaerys Velaryon smut #cregan stark smut #Jacaerys Targaryen x reader #modern Jacaerys x reader #Jacaerys x reader smut #cregan x reader smut #modern house of the dragon #Jacaerys x reader x cregan smut

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hmmarble · 7 months ago

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HMMARBLEDESİGN - DRAGON+ (4)

Transforming your bathroom into a luxurious retreat doesn't have to be daunting, especially with the timeless elegance of black marble. The deep, rich tones of black marble not only exude sophistication but also create a striking contrast that can elevate any space. In this blog post, we will explore the allure of a black marble bathroom, highlighting how this dramatic feature can infuse modern elegance into your home.

Black Marble Bathroom

The black marble bathroom is a stunning choice for those looking to create a sophisticated and luxurious space. This bold design element can transform an ordinary bathroom into an exquisite sanctuary. The rich tones and unique veining of black marble bring an air of elegance and style that is both timeless and contemporary.

When incorporating black marble into your bathroom, consider options such as black marble countertops, vanity tops, and even accent walls. The contrast against lighter colors can create a striking and dramatic effect, making your space feel more expansive and well-defined.

One of the key benefits of a black marble bathroom is its versatility. It pairs beautifully with a variety of materials, such as brushed gold or chrome fixtures, and complements different color palettes, from soft whites to vibrant jewel tones. This adaptability allows homeowners to personalize their space while maintaining a cohesive look.

There are various finishes available for black marble, each offering a unique aesthetic. A polished finish provides a sleek, glossy surface that reflects light beautifully, while a honed finish delivers a more understated, matte look that can soften the overall appearance of the bathroom.

Lighting plays a crucial role in showcasing the beauty of a black marble bathroom. Consider installing ambient lighting to highlight the natural veins and texture of the black marble. Additionally, task lighting around mirrors can enhance visibility and add warmth to the space.

To add depth and interest, incorporate other design elements that create contrast and texture. For example, pairing black marble with wooden accents can create a warm and inviting atmosphere. Textiles such as plush towels and bath mats in lighter shades can also soften the overall look.

With its rich aesthetic and timeless appeal, a black marble bathroom is more than just a design choice; it’s an opportunity to create a luxurious retreat in your home. Whether you’re planning a complete renovation or simply looking to refresh your existing space, integrating black marble can elevate your bathroom to new heights.

Modern Marble Bathroom

When it comes to designing a modern marble bathroom, the emphasis is on clean lines, minimalistic features, and the striking appeal of marble. This luxurious stone, often associated with opulence, can elevate your bathroom space into a sanctuary of relaxation.

One of the defining characteristics of a modern marble bathroom is the color palette. While many opt for classic whites and creams, darker shades like black or gray marble create a bold statement. Black marble, with its rich depth and unique veining, can transform traditional notions of bathroom design, making it a chic and contemporary choice.

A key feature in a modern marble bathroom is the seamless integration of marble into various elements, from countertops to flooring. Large format tiles have become increasingly popular, creating a sense of space and continuity. Pairing these tiles with elegant fixtures and understated accessories enhances the overall aesthetic without detracting from the beauty of the marble.

Vanities in a modern marble bathroom often showcase the stone’s natural patterns, turning functional furniture into a visual centerpiece. Choosing sleek hardware and soft-close drawers can maintain a streamlined look, while integrated lighting adds warmth and sophistication.

For those seeking to add a touch of personality, consider incorporating wood elements or contrasting materials like glass. These choices balance the heaviness of marble with lightness, making the bathroom feel both inviting and serene.

Incorporating plants or greenery can breathe life into the cool, polished surfaces of a modern marble bathroom. Strategic placement of greenery not only adds color but also promotes a calming environment.

Lastly, don’t forget about the practicality of maintaining your modern marble bathroom. While marble is undeniably glamorous, it requires regular sealing and care to keep it in pristine condition. Choosing the right products for cleaning and maintenance will ensure your marble retains its beauty for years to come.

Bathroom Marble Design

When it comes to creating a luxurious and sophisticated space, bathroom marble design stands out as an exceptional choice. Marble is known for its timeless beauty, variety, and ability to elevate the overall aesthetic of any bathroom. In this section, we will explore some key elements and ideas related to bathroom marble design.

Choosing the Right Marble

One of the first steps in bathroom marble design is selecting the right type of marble. From classic white Carrara to striking black marquina, the options are abundant. Each type of marble comes with its unique veining and color variations, allowing you to match the marble to your personal style. Consider how different marbles will interact with your bathroom's lighting and the overall color scheme to create the desired atmosphere.

Incorporating Patterns

Another exciting aspect of bathroom marble design is the ability to incorporate patterns. Marble can be cut and laid out in various patterns like herringbone, checkerboard, or even geometric shapes. These designs can add depth and interest to your bathroom, making it feel more dynamic and stylish.

Combining with Other Materials

To enhance your bathroom marble design, consider combining marble with other materials. Pairing marble with warm woods, sleek metals, or even vibrant tiles can create an intriguing contrast and elevate the space further. This combination can help to soften the look of marble, making it feel more inviting and less formal.

Accent Features

Incorporating marble accent features like vanity tops, shower surrounds, or even marble sinks can transform a standard bathroom into a luxurious retreat. These elements become focal points in the design, drawing attention and admiration. For a truly unique touch, consider custom marble pieces that reflect your style.

Maintenance and Care

While the beauty of marble is undeniable, it's important to consider its maintenance. Proper care, including regular sealing and careful cleaning, will keep your bathroom marble design looking pristine. Avoid harsh chemicals that can damage the stone, and always use coasters or mats to prevent stains and scratches.

In summary, bathroom marble design offers a wealth of possibilities to create a stunning and elegant space. With the right choices and careful planning, you can achieve a bathroom that embodies luxury and style.

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neocoat · 3 hours ago

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pbaz7 · 1 month ago

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AGAINST THE TIDE: PART FOUR

paige x azzi

word count: 5.2k

A/N: I’ve been harassed and bullied for the next part so here it is 😭😭. Y’all better be nice to me after this and I expect live reactions 🤨. You can lowkey thank 🍉 since their original live reaction to part three was so good. This not happening again so enjoy it lmao

—————————————————————————

After that night in the gym, it became an unspoken tradition: when Paige couldn’t sleep, Azzi was the one she called. Not that Azzi ever had much of a choice. Paige’s annoying laugh always echoed through FaceTime before abruptly hanging up, leaving Azzi no option but to drag herself out of bed. They’d work out for hours, pushing each other until they were both too tired to do anything but crash. And it was starting to show. At practice, their movements were seamless, a rhythm that left even the coaching staff nodding in approval.

Tonight was no different. Azzi groaned as she rolled out of bed, rubbing her eyes and glaring at the clock. It was 1:12 a.m. She grabbed her hoodie and headed to the gym, still half-asleep, muttering about Paige’s never-ending energy.

When Azzi walked in, Paige was already drenched in sweat, perfecting her finishes at the rim. The rhythmic sound of the ball hitting the floor echoed through the empty gym. Paige glanced up when she saw Azzi, grinning as if she hadn’t just pulled her out of a deep sleep. “Where are your shoes?”

Azzi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her face set in an unimpressed expression. “I’m too sleepy for this today,” she said flatly.

Paige smirked. “Come on, just stand on the block and rebound for me then.”

Azzi didn’t budge. “Nope,” she replied, her voice firm. “What’s got you so riled up today?”

Paige let out a frustrated huff, dribbling the ball hard against the court. “They said I wasn’t efficient enough at finishing at the rim last year.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Paige shrugged, looking almost defensive. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve gotta fix it.”

Azzi shook her head, stepping away from the wall. “Alright, that’s enough. You’re spiraling over nothing, and I’m too tired to watch this tonight.” Before Paige could argue, Azzi grabbed her water bottle and towel. “Let’s go.” Azzi didn’t even look back as she started walking towards the door.

Paige stared at her for a moment, debating whether to resist. But Azzi’s no-nonsense policy left little room for negotiation. With a sigh, Paige gave in, muttering something under her breath as they walked out of the gym.

They strolled through the quiet campus, the summer breeze in the air starting to wake Azzi up a bit. After a while, Azzi broke the silence. “I want ice cream.”

Paige stopped mid-step, turning to look at her. “What?! I thought you were sooo sleepy.”

“I am,” Azzi said with a dramatic yawn. “But I dragged myself out of bed at 1 a.m. for you, so we’re getting ice cream.”

Paige shook her head, laughing softly. “You know that shit’s bad for you, especially this late.”

Azzi smirked. “Hm, maybe that’s why you don’t have a heart—you don’t eat ice cream. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

Paige chuckled, rolling her eyes. “That doesn’t even make any sense but alright, fine. Come on.”

They changed course, heading toward the closest Dairy Queen,

When they reached Dairy Queen, Azzi walked up to the counter, ordering her usual double chocolate ice cream. Paige followed, looking at the menu for a moment before saying, “Just vanilla is fine for me.”

Azzi turned to her with an incredulous look. “Vanilla? That’s boring,” she said, shaking her head. Without missing a beat, she turned back to the cashier. “She’ll have mint chocolate chip.”

Paige frowned slightly but didn’t argue. When Azzi started pulling out her wallet to pay, Paige stepped forward, sliding her card to the cashier first. “I got it,” she said simply.

Azzi blinked, surprised, but smiled softly. “Thanks,” she said, her tone light.

They found a booth and sat across from one another, their ice cream melting slightly in the cups between them as they ate. For a while, they ate in silence, the quiet of the near-empty restaurant settling between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly warm either.

Azzi broke the silence first, like usual, leaning back against the booth. “You know, we still don’t really talk outside of the gym.”

Paige glanced up at her, her spoon paused mid-air. “I don’t really know what to talk to you about outside of basketball,” she admitted, her voice honest, if a bit awkward.

Azzi laughed, the sound light and genuine. “You haven’t even tried.”

Paige nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. She ate her ice cream slowly, clearly thinking about how to respond. Finally, she cleared her throat. “Okay, fine. Um… What’s your favorite movie?”

Azzi tilted her head, smirking. “That’s the best you’ve got? A favorite movie question?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, her tone amused. “I’m trying here. Just humor me.”

Azzi tapped her spoon against her cup, pretending to think. “Alright. Frozen.”

Paige blinked, her expression frozen for a second. “Wait. Frozen? Like… the Disney movie?”

Azzi shrugged, completely unapologetic. “Yeah. What’s wrong with Frozen?”

“Nothing. I just… I didn’t expect that.” Paige leaned forward, a small grin tugging at her lips. “What’s your favorite song? Please don’t say Let It Go.”

Azzi leaned back, smirking. “Oh, no. It’s definitely Let It Go.”

Paige groaned, burying her face in her hands. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Azzi said, laughing. “It’s a classic. And admit it—you probably know every word.”

“I don’t,” Paige shot back quickly, but the way her ears turned pink betrayed her.

Azzi grinned, leaning forward. “Oh, you absolutely do. Come on, sing it with me. ‘The snow glows white on the mountain tonight—’”

“Stop,” Paige said, shaking her head but laughing despite herself. “You’re ridiculous and you can’t sing.”

“I’m fun,” Azzi corrected, popping another bite of ice cream into her mouth. “And now you know my favorite movie. Your turn. What’s yours?”

Paige hesitated, not really knowing an answer. “I guess… Remember the Titans.”

Azzi groaned dramatically. “Of course it’s a sports movie. You’re so predictable.”

“Hey, it’s inspiring!” Paige defended, pointing her spoon at Azzi. “At least it’s not a cartoon about a talking snowman.”

“Olaf is a legend,” Azzi shot back, her eyes narrowing in mock offense. “Don’t disrespect him.”

Azzi, continuing laughing as she watches Paige eat her ice cream. “I didn’t think you’d actually like that. Mint chocolate chip is disgusting.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “No, it isn’t. It’s actually pretty good.”

“It’s disgusting, I’ve tried it,” Azzi shot back.

Paige smirked, nudging the cup toward Azzi. “Try this one.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but leaned forward, taking a small bite of the ice cream. Her face immediately contorted into a dramatic grimace.

Paige burst out laughing. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yes, it is,” Azzi said, sliding the cup back toward Paige like it was contagious. “First real thing I’ve learned about you: you have absolutely disgusting taste.”

Paige smirked, taking another bite with zero shame. “More for me, then.”

The conversation lightened from there, flowing into an easy rhythm as the two began talking about everything but basketball for once. They laughed about Azzi’s weird food habits, Paige’s inability to sit still, and random stories about their life. For the first time, it felt like they were genuinely getting to know each other—not as basketball players, but as people.

By the time they left Dairy Queen, the distance between them felt much smaller, the tension nonexistent.

Paige shoved her hands in her pockets as they walked back to campus, stealing a glance at Azzi. “Hey… thanks for all of this. I really appreciate it.”

Azzi smiled at her, her tone softer now. “Anytime.”

November 2021

By the time the season rolled around, Paige and Azzi had found a nice rhythm. They weren’t best friends by any stretch of the imagination, but they were definitely friends now—something that had felt impossible just a few months ago. It had become clear that Azzi was Paige’s preference when it came to most things relating to anyone on the team. Their arguments had dwindled, replaced by a steady, mutual respect that carried over into practice and even into their everyday interactions.

The first game of the season highlighted just how much work Paige had put in during the off-season. She was dominant on the court, going 15-for-19 shooting and finishing with a game-high 34 points. Her passes were sharp, her movements decisive, and her presence commanding. It was clear she had something to prove this season.

Azzi, on the other hand, had a rocky start. She struggled to find her rhythm, shooting just 1-for-4 from three and looking a little out of sync with anyone else on the team who wasn’t Paige. She tried not to let it show, but frustration bubbled under the surface.

After the game, Azzi braced herself for Paige’s criticism. She fully expected Paige to pick apart every missed shot or lost opportunity, but to her surprise, Paige didn’t say much. Instead, she clapped her on the shoulder after the game and said, “Shake it off. Next one’s yours.”

It wasn’t until the next morning, at exactly 6:00 a.m., that Azzi got the full Paige treatment she expected. Her phone buzzed on her nightstand, and she groggily reached for it, squinting at the screen.

“Hello?” she muttered, her voice thick with sleep.

“Gym,” Paige said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

“What?”

“Meet me at the gym. I’m here now,” Paige said, and Azzi could practically hear her smirking through the phone.

“Are you serious?” Azzi groaned, pulling the covers over her head.

“Dead serious. You’re a shooter, Azzi. Shooters shoot. And you’re not gonna find your rhythm lying in bed,” Paige said before hanging up, her annoying laugh echoing in Azzi’s ears.

Azzi groaned again, throwing her phone onto the bed. She contemplated ignoring Paige, but she knew better. She knew Paige would make her life her own personal hell. So, with a dramatic sigh, she dragged herself out of bed, laced up her sneakers, and headed to the gym.

When she arrived, Paige was already there, running through a shooting drill like she hadn’t just dropped 34 points the night before. Azzi shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

“Morning,” she said, her voice still heavy with sleep.

Paige looked over at her and smirked. “Thought you’d flake.”

“So you can talk shit, no thank you,” Azzi said, grabbing a ball and joining her.

And just like that, they got to work. Paige pushed Azzi harder than anyone else had ever done, calling out every slight misstep and missed shot, but Azzi didn’t mind. She knew Paige only did it because she believed in her, and that was something Azzi didn’t take lightly now that she knew the blonde more.

By the end of the session, Azzi was drenched in sweat, but her shot felt smoother, her confidence creeping back. Paige tossed her a towel, smirking. “Told you. Shooters shoot.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re not human, you know that?”

Paige just laughed, grabbing her bag. “See you at practice.”

It was moments like these that reminded Azzi why she respected Paige so much. Beneath all the bravado and intensity, there was someone who genuinely cared—someone who wanted everyone around her to be better.

…

It wasn’t until the next game against Minnesota, played under the dazzling sun of the Bahamas, that the old Paige—the one Azzi had known before UConn—made a slight but unwelcome reappearance. Though they had won the game, Paige had an uncharacteristically poor performance, shooting just 3-for-7 and finishing with only 8 points. By her standards, it was disastrous, and as soon as they returned to the hotel, Paige found a way to access the gym.

While the rest of the team celebrated and enjoyed the tropical paradise, Paige was in the corner of a dimly lit gym, drenched in sweat and attacking the basket as though it had personally offended her.

Azzi had a gut feeling Paige would be there. After wandering around, she finally spotted her, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the hardwood confirming her hunch. Azzi leaned against the doorway for a moment before walking in, her voice cutting through the rhythmic bounce of the basketball.

“Paige,” Azzi called.

Paige didn’t stop, her eyes locked on the hoop as she drove for another layup.

Azzi stepped closer, folding her arms. “You know we’re literally in the Bahamas, right? People usually relax in places like this.”

Paige finally grabbed the ball as it rebounded off the glass, breathing heavily as she glanced at Azzi. “What do you want, Azzi?” she asked curtly.

“I want you to leave this gym and act like a normal human being for once,” Azzi said plainly. “It’s one game, Paige. You’re allowed to have an off night.”

Paige turned back toward the hoop, gripping the ball tightly. “Please not now, Azzi.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. You’re being ridiculous. We won, didn’t we?”

Paige sighed loudly, setting the ball down with force. “Azzi, seriously just leave me alone today, okay? I don’t need this right now.”

Azzi planted her feet, her expression hardening. “No, I’m not leaving. We’ve talked about this. You’re beating yourself up over nothing. Everyone knows you’re the best player on the court ten times out of ten. You had one bad game. It’s not the end of the world.”

Paige turned sharply, her frustration finally boiling over. “You don’t get it, Azzi!” she snapped. “You don’t have everyone breathing down your neck, waiting for you to fail. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you have to be perfect every second you’re out there.”

Azzi stared at her, unflinching. “Oh, please,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Cry me a river, Paige. Everyone has pressure. It’s part of the game.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not the same, and you know it.”

Azzi scoffed, taking a step closer. “What I know is that you’re acting like a complete ass right now. You’ve been doing nothing but working yourself into the ground since the game ended, and I’m just trying to help you before you burn out.”

“I didn’t ask for your help!” Paige shot back, her voice echoing through the gym.

Azzi clapped her hands slowly, the sound echoing. “Wow. Congratulations, Paige,” she said, her tone sharp. “I was just starting to think you weren’t an asshole, but you really went and proved me wrong. Great job.”

Paige’s mouth opened slightly, but she couldn’t find the words to respond. Azzi shook her head, her voice rising now.

“You know, for someone who’s supposedly this incredible leader, you’re pretty terrible at letting people in. God forbid someone actually cares enough to check on you,” Azzi said, her frustration evident.

Paige’s jaw tightened, her anger battling with guilt, but she stayed silent.

Azzi turned to leave without another word and Paige watched her go, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Azzi’s footsteps echoed down the hallway, leaving Paige alone with nothing but the sound of her own labored breathing and the weight of the words Azzi left behind.

…

Later that night, Paige found herself outside Azzi’s hotel room, hesitating before finally knocking. She had spent the last hour pacing back and forth in her own room, trying to figure out what to say. When the door opened, it wasn’t Azzi, but Aaliyah, Azzi’s assigned roommate for the trip.

Aaliyah looked confused, her brow furrowing as she saw Paige standing there. “Uh, hey?”

Paige shifted awkwardly. “Uh... is Azzi here?”

Aaliyah blinked but stepped aside, nodding. “Yeah, she’s here.” She gestured toward the bed where Azzi was sitting, scrolling on her phone.

Azzi looked up when Paige entered but didn’t say anything, her face impassive. Paige froze for a second, realizing she hadn’t thought this far ahead. What was she supposed to do now?

Aaliyah stood there, clearly confused by the tension but before she could say anything Paige blurted out, “I’m really sorry, Azzi.”

Azzi’s expression didn’t change, but she glanced at Aaliyah and subtly motioned toward the door. Aaliyah raised an eyebrow, clearly curious about what was going on, but she grabbed her phone. “I’ll, uh, go... somewhere,” she said, slipping out the door and leaving the two of them alone.

Azzi leaned back against the headboard, her arms crossed as she waited for Paige to continue.

Paige sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m sorry, Azzi,” she repeated.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, still silent, clearly expecting more.

Paige noticed the unspoken challenge in Azzi’s expression and sighed again, frustrated with herself. “Look,” she started, “I’m not great at expressing my feelings and allat. That’s just not me. It’s never been me and I don’t know how to do that stuff. But I know I was wrong. I was frustrated—about how I played, about everything—and I took it out on you. That wasn’t cool and I’m sorry.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away, letting the silence stretch out between them. She simply watched Paige, waiting to find the words. When she finally did speak, her voice was calm but firm. “If we’re going to be friends, Paige, I’m not going to be your punching bag like everybody else. You can’t just snap at me. You need to use your words, like the adult you are.”

Paige remained silent, struggling to find her footing in this new dynamic that she didn’t want to mess up. Azzi could see it in her eyes—the frustration, how overwhelmed she was. She wasn’t going to push, though. Instead, Azzi leaned back slightly, silently gesturing for Paige to sit down. Paige hesitated, then took a seat on the edge of the bed, her hands fidgeting nervously.

They sat there in silence for a while. Azzi wasn’t about to baby Paige—she’d made that clear. She wasn’t going to sugarcoat things or offer empty reassurances. Sometimes, Paige just had to sit with her feelings and figure them out on her own.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Paige spoke up, her voice soft, almost hesitant. She fiddled with her fingers, not looking directly at Azzi. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Azzi looked at Paige, her expression calm but curious. “What do you mean?”

Paige sighed, her shoulders slumping as she continued. “All this attention... the ESPN feature stories, the magazine covers, the media... everything. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so grateful for everything. I know it’s a privilege, but... it’s just too much sometimes. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it. I just wanted to hoop and now I don’t really get a say in it.”

Azzi listened carefully, her expression softening as she absorbed what Paige was saying. She could see how the pressure of everything—expectations, attention, the constant spotlight—was weighing on her all the time.

“That’s a lot to carry,” Azzi said quietly, finally breaking the silence. “But you’ve been carrying it Paige. You’ve been handling it since high school. You just... haven’t been handling yourself very well recently.” Her voice wasn’t harsh, but firm, like she was telling Paige something she needed to hear. “I get that it’s hard. It’s overwhelming. But you can’t keep pushing yourself everyday like you do. And you can’t take it out on anyone else, definitely not me because I’m not going to deal with it.”

Paige swallowed hard, taking in what Azzi was saying. Her gaze drifted to the floor, lost in thought. “I know. It’s just... I don’t know how to deal with it. How to deal with everything that comes with all of this.”

Azzi leaned forward slightly, her voice softening. “It’s okay not to know right now, you’re 20 years old. But you have to figure it out. The pressure doesn’t just magically go away. You can’t just bury it being in the gym everyday or snap at people when it gets too much. And you sure as hell can’t keep pretending like it doesn’t affect you because we all see it.”

She shifted slightly, looking over at Azzi with a more introspective expression. “You understand some of it, though right? I mean, you got hella attention in high school and you still do. How do you deal with it?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, almost amused. “Yeah, a little bit,” she said, a light chuckle escaping her. “But not nearly as much as you. You’re the one everyone’s looking at now. You’re the one they’re all waiting for. Trust me, I get it, but it’s a whole different level for you.”

Paige nodded, knowing she was right.

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation lingering. Paige picked at her fingernails, her thoughts a tangled mess.

After a while, Azzi broke the silence, her voice gentle but steady. “Look, Paige... I know we’re not best friends. I know I’m probably the last person on your list when it comes to talking about this stuff.

“That’s not true,” Paige cuts in, her tone earnest, almost urgent. Azzi looks up, caught off guard by the interruption. “You’re the only one I’ve talked to about this. The only one who gets it.” Paige says, her gaze steady on Azzi

Azzi nods as she continues speaking, “Well I’m here if you need to talk. I don’t understand all of it—and I’m definitely not going to pretend to—but I get some of it.”

Paige looked up at her, her eyes softening. “It's just so hard... to know who I can talk to without feeling like I’m complaining. Like I’m ungrateful. So I’ve never had anyone to talk to about it.”

Azzi shook her head. “You’re not ungrateful. You’re just... human. You don’t have to pretend like everything’s perfect all the time and kill yourself in the gym to hide it.”

Paige let out a slow breath, trying to absorb what Azzi was saying. She wanted to believe it, wanted to let go of the pressure that had built up over time. It wasn’t easy, though. She wasn’t used to relying on anyone, especially not someone who probably hated her a few months ago. But somehow, Azzi’s words felt genuine. Like she actually cared.

“Thank you, Azzi,” Paige finally said, her voice quiet but sincere.

Azzi smiled softly. “Anytime. But you have to promise me one thing.” She paused, her eyes serious. “You gotta talk about it now. Don’t just keep it inside. You’ll burn both of us out if you do. I can’t keep working out until 3am.”

Paige gave her a faint, appreciative smile. “I know and I’m really sorry, Azzi. For snapping at you. For how I was acting before, I know I was probably an ass.”

Azzi laughed it off. “You definitely were but don’t apologize. Just... figure it out.” She paused before adding, with a teasing glint in her eye, “And maybe stop making me the punching bag. I’m not that good at taking hits.”

Paige chuckled, the tension between them starting to lift. “Deal. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Azzi smiled, her expression lightening. “Alright, good. Now get some sleep, and maybe tomorrow, we can work on not destroying your ice cream.”

Paige laughed, her shoulders relaxing for the first time all day. “You really can’t let that go, huh?”

Azzi grinned, as she watched Paige stand up. “Nope. But you’ll thank me for it one day.”

As Paige left to get some rest her mind was spinning but slowly she was starting to find clarity. She had a long way to go, but for the first time in a while, she felt like she was on the right path. And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone in all of this as she’d thought.

…

The next time Paige found herself in Azzi’s room was after their loss to South Carolina in the Bahamas championship game. It was their first loss of the season. Azzi had only played ten minutes because her foot had been bothering her a little too much, and Geno, not wanting to risk further injury, had benched her. Despite the frustration bubbling inside her and the overwhelming urge to escape to the gym, Paige was now standing outside Azzi’s door, knocking softly.

Aaliyah opened the door, her eyebrows raising in mild surprise when she saw Paige. "Azzi’s in there," she said simply, stepping aside to let her in. Without waiting for an explanation, Aaliyah grabbed her phone and walked out, leaving Paige alone to navigate the interaction.

Paige stepped inside cautiously, spotting Azzi sitting on the bed with her foot propped up on a pillow. She was scrolling through her phone, but the moment Paige walked in, Azzi glanced up, her expression unreadable.

"Hey," Paige started, her voice quieter than usual.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, locking her phone and placing it on the bed beside her. "Hey. What’s up?"

Paige shifted on her feet, looking unsure of herself. "Just… wanted to check on you. How’s your foot?"

Azzi gave her a look, the kind that said she wasn’t buying it. "It’s fine. Geno’s just being overly cautious."

"Yeah, well… better cautious than risking you for just one game," Paige said, trying to sound casual as she moved closer.

Azzi’s lips quirked up in a faint smirk. "Since when are you the voice of reason? Shouldn’t you be in a gym somewhere right now, shooting until your hands bleed?"

Paige sighed, running a hand through her hair that she recently took out of her game day braids. "Trust me, I thought about it. But…" She trailed off, hesitating.

"But?" Azzi prompted, raising an eyebrow.

Paige exhaled slowly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, careful not to get too close. "I don’t know. It didn’t feel right. I guess I didn’t want to shut myself in the gym after that loss. Felt like maybe… maybe I should deal with it differently this time."

Azzi leaned back against the headboard, studying her. "That’s new," she said, her tone soft but skeptical. "So, what brings you here?"

Paige shrugged, looking down at her hands. "I don’t know. I guess I just… didn’t want to be alone tonight."

Azzi’s expression softened slightly, but she didn’t let it show for long. "Wow, Paige Bueckers admitting she doesn’t want to be alone. That’s groundbreaking."

Paige rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "Don’t make it weird."

Azzi chuckled lightly, shaking her head. "I’m not making it weird. Just pointing out the obvious."

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension from the game slowly fading into the background.

"Seriously, though," Paige said, breaking the quiet. "You played great in those ten minutes. You could see the difference when you were out there. I just wish we could’ve had you for the whole game."

Azzi’s smirk returned, but there was a hint of gratitude in her eyes. "Thanks. But don’t start getting soft on me now."

Paige laughed, leaning back slightly. "Don’t worry, I’ll still call you out when you deserve it. But you’re stuck with me for the season, so you might as well get used to it."

Azzi shook her head with a smile, nudging Paige lightly with her good foot. "Guess I don’t have a choice, huh?"

"Nope," Paige said, her tone lighter now.

Azzi shifted, patting the spot on the bed beside her. "Watch Frozen with me."

Paige snorted, crossing her arms. "I’m not watching Frozen, Azzi."

Azzi tilted her head, her lips curving into a small pout. "C’mon, it’s a classic," she said, dragging out the last word and jutting out her bottom lip like it would make her argument more convincing.

Paige raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "That’s not going to work on me."

Azzi leaned in slightly, deepening her pout and fluttering her eyelashes. "Pleeeeease?" she drawled, her voice laced with playful exaggeration.

Paige groaned, rolling her eyes as she got up and plopped down on the bed next to Azzi. "That didn’t work, by the way. It was pitiful, and I felt bad for you."

Azzi grinned triumphantly, already searching for the movie on her laptop. "Yeah, sure," she teased.

Paige shook her head, leaning back against the headboard. "You’re a little ridiculous, you know that?"

"Yep," Azzi said cheerfully as the Frozen opening credits began to play.

Paige huffed out a laugh, but she didn’t move, settling into the moment despite herself.

About 20 minutes into the movie, Azzi’s phone buzzed on the bed. She picked it up and saw a text from Aaliyah: "Is Paige still there?"

Azzi typed back, "Yeah, we’re just watching Frozen."

A few moments passed before Aaliyah responded: "You and Paige are watching Frozen?"

Azzi raised an eyebrow and replied simply, "Yeah."

There was a pause, then Aaliyah’s next text came through: "Hm."

Azzi frowned, typing back a question mark: "?"

Aaliyah responded almost immediately: "Nothing. I’ll be back soon."

The two of them continued watching Frozen, their occasional comments filling the room. Azzi, as always, couldn’t help but push Paige’s buttons, nudging her every so often and dramatically singing along to the songs.

"Come on, Paige, sing with me," Azzi teased, completely butchering Let It Go as she waved her hands like Elsa.

Paige groaned, throwing a pillow in her direction. "Azzi, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself."

Azzi clutched her chest, feigning hurt. "What? You’re just jealous of my vocal range."

Paige rolled her eyes but smirked, unable to hide her amusement. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Eventually, their banter quieted as they both got more into the movie, the glow of the screen reflecting off their faces in the dimly lit room. Paige leaned back into the pillows, her exhaustion from the day and playing almost a full game starting to catch up with her. Azzi noticed but didn’t say anything, figuring Paige wouldn’t admit it even if she was tired.

As the movie went on, Paige’s head gradually tipped to the side, her body leaning slightly toward Azzi. By the time Do You Want to Build a Snowman played softly in the background, Paige had unknowingly shifted in her sleep, her head resting lightly on Azzi’s lap.

Azzi froze for a moment, glancing down at her. “Seriously?” she whispered under her breath, though there was no irritation in her tone. She sighed quietly and leaned back, letting her hand rest on Paige’s side but not moving it.

When the door opened, Azzi looked up to see Aaliyah stepping inside. Aaliyah paused mid-step, her eyebrows shooting up at the sight of Paige asleep with her head on Azzi’s lap. Her gaze flicked to Azzi, a knowing grin spreading across her face.

“Okay…” Aaliyah said, her voice low but teasing as she closed the door behind her. “You two good?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, keeping her voice quiet. “She just fell asleep. Don’t make it a thing.”

Aaliyah smirked, clearly amused. “I’m not making it a thing. But you’re definitely stuck now.”

Azzi huffed but didn’t reply, glancing down at Paige again. She shifted carefully, trying not to disturb her, and leaned back against the headboard. “Goodnight, Aaliyah.”

“Goodnight,” Aaliyah replied, still grinning as she settled into her bed.

Azzi’s scrolling on her phone slowed as the room grew quieter, her eyelids growing heavier. By the time the credits rolled on the TV, she had dozed off too, her head resting lightly against the wall, with Paige still sound asleep on her lap. The soft glow of the screen bathed them both in light as the night settled around them.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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lumenniveus · 1 year ago

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"The world is what you make of it, sir! If it doesn't fit, you make alterations."

RuneStone my dark love letter to you this year. I have put love, blood and many hidden secrets into these objects. Some you can only find during gameplay, others will only show themselves when you aren't directly looking.

Download it now on SFS: Merged | ZIP

As always, there is more info below the cut for you 🦇

RuneStone is an 68 asset large set full of Gothic, dark and mostly functional items. I'm going to list a few highlights below the catalog. It is mostly BGC, but what needs a pack will be properly named as such.

* not pictured here are: 2 wallpapers, 1 stone wall, 2 wooden floors, 1 ceiling tile *

A pocket door is a door that slides into walls. It's especially nice to look at in dark academia builds and haunted mansions.

A SHROMP that acts as an anti-monster toy. Many thanks to @surely-sims for the original iconic SHROMP!

A rounded bar to fill out small rounded spaces. These are seamless, so don't hesitate to put them into your turrets or belfry.

Lots of visual effects that you can toggle on and off.

A see-through dungeon floor, anyone?

Two TVs that don't look like TVs. Who has a flatscreen in an medieval castle? One slots to things, the other has slots.

Stairs. As in, a staircase you use in BB mode. Not much else to say there.

Dormer windows and matching fake roofing, as well as enough stained glass to make a cathedral weep in joy.

This set is tagged as Vintage and Storybook furniture style and will behave appropriately in-game.

Will you build something grande and majestic or will you settle down in grimdark catacombs? Your choice, really. Have a preview

With everything up, let's begin @simblreenofficial 👻

#sims 4 #maxis match cc #ts4 download #ts4 cc #ts4 maxis match #ts4cc #ts4mm #sims custom content #maxis match #sims #custom content #ts4 #ts4 simblr #gothic #dark academia #simblreen #simblreen 2023

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sanches812 · 4 months ago

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The Allure of Red Wood Textures

20 Red Wood Texture Backgrounds Creativemarket Cover In the realm of design, the textures and backgrounds we choose speak volumes about the aesthetic we aim to project. One particularly striking choice that has garnered much attention is red wood texture backgrounds. These textures are not only visually appealing but also imbue a sense of warmth, elegance, and organic authenticity that is…

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inkedtae · 4 months ago

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the underground ⇾ bgc. [M] | PART II

⎡ In a city fuelled by greed and ambition, secrets are a currency. Yet here you are, gambling yours away on a captivating smile.⎤

⬅︎ PART I

⌁ pairing; boxer!chan x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; boxing au, s2l, angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 14.6k

⌁ summary; You’re just a runner. So why the hell are you straddling the lap of an undefeated boxer, massaging his chest and whispering secrets you have no right knowing? Oh, yeah— ‘cause he’s hot.

⌁ warnings; dark themes: mentions and depictions of graphic gang activity, abduction, possession and distribution of drugs, addictions, use of deadly weapons, violence, blood, gore, and death threats, explicit sex: dom!chan, sub!reader, daddy kink, size kink, multiple orgasms, ruined orgasm, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talk, handjob, thigh riding, spanking, face slapping (m. receiving), rimming, fingering, edging, manhandling, gun play, anal play, cum play, spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

❥ prefer ao3? keep reading here

❥ i want to give special thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for being so patient with me and reading this monster of a fic over! 💕 and @awrkives for the most amazing banner! 💗

❥ this is a continuation of the original post as the overall word count exceeds the character limit on tumblr posts. this is not an official part 2, but rather the second half of the one shot.

!! the following story contains mature themes, including mentions and graphic depictions of racketeering, gang activity, weapons, drugs, violence, blood, gore, and death threats. please do not read nor interact if these themes cause you discomfort !!

Your vision blurs, head spins. Movements slow, you sit yourself up. The zip-ties, previously binding your wrists and ankles, have been removed. So have your platform ankle boots, fish-netted feet brushing against the fur of your coat. Willing your sight back, you screw your eyes tight, blinking until your vision finally clears to take in the room.

A masterpiece of modern elegance, the room is a blend of minimalist design that indulges comfort. It is expansive, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows to offer a panoramic view of the Crimson Heights skyline below. You shuffle yourself off the comfortable bed, eager to get a closer look. The red lights of the city twinkle back at you and cast a soft, ambient glow throughout the space. You’ve never seen the city from such a height, swallowing thickly.

In the reflection of the glass, beyond your haphazard image of dried tears and ruined lipstick, the bed you have only just climbed out of summons your attention.

Draped in the finest linens with a dark charcoal-grey duvet and plush pillows arranged neatly, it must be king-sized in order to fit the extensive space of the room. The headboard is a stunning work of art in itself—made of dark walnut wood, with soft leather inlays that give the room a sleek, masculine impression. The bed sits on a low, streamlined platform, reinforcing the room's minimal yet luxurious aesthetic. And, on either side of the bed, are matching nightstands, both topped with geometric lamps that are made of brushed steel and frosted glass.

Your eyes fall to the polished, dark hardwood floors. A rich, handwoven wool rug in deep, muted tones lays over it, warming the room and offering texture underfoot. You catch the gleam of the recessed lighting overhead, installed in the high, coffered ceilings. You lift your gaze and take in each panel. An awed sigh leaves you at the sight of the meticulously crafted slots, indirect LED lighting embedded into the coves to cast a sophisticated, layered illumination.

Against one wall stands a sprawling built-in wardrobe. The seamless doors are made from smoked glass and brushed steel accents. And, to the left of the bed, a small seating area invites relaxation, consisting of a sleek leather armchair and a low-profile marble coffee table. A few books rest upon it, alongside a single crystal whiskey tumbler, hinting at quiet, contemplative moments probably spent here.

You wander further around the room, spotting a door that leads to the master ensuite bathroom in the corner. It’s visible through frosted glass sliding doors. You debate on going in, curious to see what breathtaking architecture it will offer.

But then the walls captivate your attention, or rather the art that hangs from them. Large intricate pieces, each one probably chosen for its muted palette and contemporary feel, enhance the understated luxury that defines the room. The only splash of colour comes from a vase of white orchids resting on a sleek dresser, their delicate petals standing out against the otherwise neutral tones.

You resist reaching a hand out and tracing rigid lines of dried paint.

“I don’t give a shit,” you hear Chris growl on the other side of the black door.

You stiffen.

This is his room, you realise. The heart-wrenching events of the night return to you in a fast wave, flooding you with the same shame and anger that plagued you in the van.

As quietly as you can, you rush back to the bed for your coat and dig through the pockets for your switchblade. However, both are empty of your belongings, not even your lipstick remains. If you really are left without a weapon, you know what you must do.

Scooping up your coat and boots, you make your way to the door. It was one thing to be caught tangled in a bright dressing room with witnesses. It’s another to be cornered alone in his room. If he has a view of the city this marvellous, he must be tightly connected to within Stray Kids. You cannot, will not, subject yet another gang to your reckless behaviour. It will be best for everyone if you just leave. Besides, Vinny is probably worried sick about you, having witnessed you kidnapped.

“Call him,” Chris orders, his loud voice a bit clearer as you open the door. “Tell him she’s safe.”

You look up and down the long corridor. It is just as exquisite as the bedroom. Grey walls, remarkable artwork that looks to be of Korean origins. The hardwood floors extend beyond the room too, covered by a narrow carpet of lavish Persian design.

The left side leads to a number of rooms, one of which has the door wide open. Warm light seeps into the hallway with the natural grace of the sun, momentarily disrupted by shifting shadows. You don’t need to hear his voice again to know Chris is in there, the oversized silhouette of his frame confirmation enough.

You feel a grin involuntarily spreading on your lips.

“Good, you’re up,” a familiar voice says behind you.

Turning, you meet an unfamiliar face. Features nearly feline, the indigo haired man stands on the other end of the hall, compromising your path to the exit. He crosses his arms over his chest, dragging his gaze over your frame, attention lingering on the coat and boots clutched to your chest.

“And we were worried you’d try to run,” he jokes, though his face is void of friendly notions.

That stern dryness of his tone, sharpness of his voice triggers a memory.

“Shut up,” he had hissed before informing you that Vinny was alive.

“That’s what you do, right?” he asks. “You’re a runner.”

You narrow your gaze. “You say that like it’s some secret.”

He flashes a knowing smirk, as if well aware of your secrets. What is more astonishing, however, is the way that suggestive grin resembles Chris’s. It lacks his charisma and cynicism, and that flicker of darkness, dimming whatever light might have snuck through with indications of loss and trauma. So while the one before you is a good copy, it is not perfect. Those onyx eyes gleam of playful interest, twinkling with subtle notions of hostility instead.

You wonder if he learned it from—

Chris says your name.

The speed in which you turn to answer his call is downright disgraceful. Shame heats your chest, spreading up to your cheeks. Your instincts scream at you to avoid his gaze, to focus on anything other than that teasing smile he’s trying to bite back, but you find yourself helpless, unable to tear yourself away.

He must have showered, the smears of lipstick and splattered blood gone. His hair is pushed back, displaying his forehead. And his handsome face is on the way to recovery. Though his bruises still look tender, the cut on his brow is all clean and bandaged. Leaning against the doorframe, he wears a black shirt, that still emphasises the large muscles of his biceps, and a pair of matching sweats. You didn’t think it was possible for someone to look just as good clothed as they do half-naked.

“Come’ere,” he beckons before tonguing his cheek. The twinkle in his gaze is enough indication that he knows you’ve been checking him out.

I need to go, you know you should say.

Your body has a mind of its own though, diminishing your voice, shackling your sanity and nudging you towards him. Completely compelled by the pull of his charm, you obey, only stopping once you’re pressed against his buff chest again and cranking your neck back to maintain his enamoured gaze.

“Let me get these out of your way,” he smiles, voice a mere notch above a whisper.

No, thank you. I have to go.

His fingers brush yours, prickling goosebumps along your arms.

You release your tight grip. He hands your things to the man you met in the hallway. Barrier of your belongings removed, you fully lean into him.

Grin widening, Chris cups your cheek and rubs his thumb against your chin. “You know, I resent the fact that you think I’m dramatic,” he mumbles, inches away from your lips. “I just like making statements.”

“And what statement were you planning on making by abducting me?”

His eyes darken, swirling with sinister intent. As if remembering he had an agenda beyond seducing you, Chris’s soft caress on your chin becomes a tight grip. He forces your lips onto a pucker, using his new hold to guide you into the room and shove you into the nearest chair.

You softly grunt upon the impact. Chris clenches his jaw to suppress a smirk. You know that you’re fighting your desire based on the fact that you do not deserve to have it fulfilled, being the treacherous person you are. But why is Chris suddenly shoving down his sexual urges? He didn’t have any qualms about using them to lure the truth out of you before.

The magnificent state of the office disrupts your thoughts. It maintains that same elegant, minimalistic aesthetic of his bedroom. Tall windows that offer views of the pier, gleaming hardwood floors decorated with luxurious, handwoven carpets of varying muted shades, all working together to become the backbone of comfort and professionalism within the room.

In front of you, Chris leans on the large, polished walnut desk. You notice a sleek laptop, and a few notepads and pens, all of which are neatly arranged. An ergonomic leather chair looms over the desk and you find that you are thankful he is not sitting on it, knowing you’d be incapable of enduring his scrutiny from such a position of power without wrestling the overwhelming urge to touch yourself.

In one corner, a small lounge area features a plush velvet sofa in a deep navy hue, flanked by a glass-top coffee table. A handful of his friends, including Seungmin and the icy-haired man from the dressing room, occupy the space. The other side, by the wall of windows, linger the remaining few, including the man who took the position of his coach in the recent match and the one you met in the hall.

The artwork in the office does not resemble that of his room, or even the corridor. It is more abstract, sometimes broken up by black and white photos of himself in the ring. He barely breaks a sweat in each photo, clenching hard around his mouth guard as he glares at his opponent. A championship belt is framed and pinned behind his desk too, under a collection of trophies and gold medals.

You wonder how many people have been invited here, blessed to witness the wonders held within these walls.

“I need to know everything,” Chris says, pulling your attention away from the layout of the room.

You furrow your brows. “I told you everything.”

Chris crosses his arms over his chest. “Word for word,” he clarifies, voice void of the softness it once cradled.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Disappointment lances around your heart, ensnaring your high-hopes like barbed wire. You thought he was making a statement of affectation or, at the very least, interest. You thought that his body was reacting to yours as well, that he felt your pain within a shared kiss, understood your damage within an exchanged breath. You thought that maybe he just wanted to see you again and didn’t know how, his efforts extreme but he is a Stray Kid after all.

You now understand the forced meeting for what it really is— an interrogation.

Told you so, a little voice in your head gloats. If you put up a fight and ran when I told you to, you wouldn't feel this way.

Sucking on the insides of your cheeks, brows knitted and eyes reverting to the floor, you shake your head and humorlessly laugh at your desperate short-sightedness. You’re no better than Aiden in the ring, flailing yourself around for a chance to be accepted somewhere, anywhere.

Perhaps this is for the best. You were going to ruin his life at some point anyway, possessing the damned knack of cursing him with your existence as you had done with the others that have come before him, friends and lovers alike.

So, with an exasperated sigh, you begin your tale, thinking back to everything you overhear in the alleyway. You give him a detailed description of Mickey, his features and breaking voice as Andy threatened his life. In greater detail, you describe what Andy looks like, from his messy crew cut to the nasty scar on his forearm. You describe his voice and his manner of speaking, the jittery bounce in his step as he lets his impulsive thoughts win and presses a knife to Mickey’s throat.

Chris nods along. Every so often, one of his friends shifts their weight or adjusts their position in their seats. You notice a few of them captivated by the floor whenever you mention Mickey and you can’t stop yourself from wondering who he was to them before he was outed as a traitor. Was he merely Chris’s coach, or really part of his inner circle?

“And you?” Chris asks when you finish.

You shrug. “What about me?”

“What makes you a traitor?”

You didn’t think such a question would summon tears, not after how much time has lapsed since you last called Vince, Danni and Andrea your friends. Yet, your eyes water. Jaw clenched, you narrow your gaze at him. Insults perch on the tip of your tongue, prepared to fire upon your frustrated command, but your despair holds your vicious voice hostage.

Blinking, you look down at the expensive hardwood floors. Breathing deep, you muster enough courage to quietly answer, “Delusions.”

“I need details,” Chris clarifies. You can hear the annoyance drenched in each grunted word.

You look over your shoulder at his friends. Tense, they stare with carefully neutral features.

“It’s a long story.”

“I got time.”

“The answer is no.”

Chris reaches behind him. He pulls out a black handgun, the letters SKZ scratched on the side of the barrel and aims it at you. “I think you should reconsider,” he says, chambering a bullet.

You cannot help smiling at the sound of the cocked gun, like a toy in his huge hand. You relax back in your seat, and tilt your head. Gesturing his hand upward, you advise, “Higher if you’re aiming for my head. You’ll only shatter my collarbone from this angle.”

Features flinching with confusion, Chris looks between you and his gun. He quirks his head to the side as he schools his expression once more, poking his tongue against his cheek.

“Are you stupid or suicidal?”

“A lot of people would argue both.”

The slightest impression of a smirk flickers on the corner of his lips. It's quite endearing, really—the way he tries so hard to stay focused, yet can't help but be distracted by your charms. You smirk for him instead, once miserable eyes now filled with playful defiance.

He takes a step closer, then another and another, until the cool barrel presses against the centre of your forehead. You try not to moan from the kiss of cold steel upon your skin, the proximity of his lips hovering over yours.

“Reconsider,” he orders in a whisper.

Sultry eyes, half-lidded and drowning in lust, you shake your head. Originally, shame shackled your truth. You didn’t want him nor his friends to lose respect for you, unsure if they even possess any for you at all. But now, all you want is to see how far he will go with his trigger, with you.

Chris moves the gun to your right temple, dragging the cold tip of the gun against your warm skin.

You bite your lip and shake your head.

He peers down at you with a lust-ridden gaze that mirrors yours and leans on the arms of your chair. He slides the gun down your cheek, along your jawline then finally pushes it firmly under your chin.

Your eyes roll, head tilting back.

“How about now?” he whispers. His voice is deep, heavy with lust as he breaths over your face.

Voice as breathless and even weaker than his, you practically whine, “No.”

Somewhere in the distance, you hear Seungmin mumble, “This is what I was telling you.”

“Shut up,” someone else replies in a quiet hiss. “I’m watching something.”

“It’s fine. Minho’s recording,” the one with the deepest voice reassures.

Chris pushes himself off the arm of the chair, uncocking his gun and removing it from your head.

You can’t help the dissatisfied sigh that escapes you at the loss of contact.

Turning to his friends, Chris demands, “Get out.”

“You’re ruining my footage,” Minho, the one you met in the hall, scolds, looking at Chris through his camera phone.

Chris merely points to the door. They sigh, grumbling protests as they shuffle out of the room. He shuts the door behind them and makes his way back to you.

“Listen,” he starts, wiping his nose with his wrist. He leans back against his desk again, meeting your gaze.

You press your thighs together at the sight of him all spread out along the edge of the grand desk.

He continues, snapping you out of your horny thoughts, “I want to fuck you senseless. I want you to take that little top off again and shove your tits in my face.”

Swallowing thickly, you sink into your chair, flushing at the confession.

“But before I ravish you,” he says, unable to fight off a smile, “I need to know what you did that made one of the most powerful families in Crimson Heights, levy such a steep price on your head.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “It’s stupid, Chris,” you try to argue. “And childish.”

Gaze supplying tender understanding, Chris ever so sweetly encourages you to share with a gentle nod of his head. “Tell me everything,” he repeats, this time as a plea rather than demand.

Licking your lips, you confess, “And I don’t regret it. Before I tell you what happened, I need you to understand that I would do it again.”

At this, the compassion in his gaze wavers. Nonetheless, he sets the gun down and waits for you to begin.

You draw in a shaky breath, and upon the exhale, you explain, “Vince was flirting with me. I didn’t know it at the time, but at a certain point, it became obvious. He started to touch me more, and would find reasons to get me alone. We both lost someone ‘cause of overdoses and I guess it was a topic of bonding? I thought it was just as friends. He clearly had a different idea.”

Chris furrows his brows. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

A tight lipped smile momentarily tugs on the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, Danni,” you confirm. “That’s how I met him. She was like my best friend. We accidentally met while knocking over the same liquor store. She wanted the booze and I wanted the cash. It worked out perfectly.”

You chuckle quietly to yourself at the memory. Chris allows a small smile to break through his assertive expression in response.

“Anyway, one night we were supposed to meet up by the pier. But, Danni wanted to stay in for the night, which she of course told us after we already got there, and she was Andrea’s ride so neither showed up. Vince and I got to talking about the people we lost— his was more recent than mine. I thought he just needed some more support. He looked devastated at the time.

But then he reached for my thigh. I didn’t push it off right away because I couldn’t believe he was touching me like that. And I guess he took that as a sign that I liked it. He moved his hand further up my leg and leaned in.” You pause to swallow your disgust, the memory panging your heart with anxiety.

Chris sharply exhales. “Please tell me you pushed him into the sea,” he says, tone laced with anger.

“I wish,” you dryly chuckle. “No, I went to shove his hand away, but Danni showed up after all, after Andrea begged her for the ride. She saw my hand over Vince’s and how close both were to my crotch and just lost her shit. I tried to explain but she hit me and I figured running home would be easier. And they followed me. They banged on my door all night, flip flopping between wanting to just talk to kill me. I waited until they were gone to run to Vinny’s.”

“So, she thought you were trying to fuck her boyfriend?” Chris asks, laughing at the obscurity. “Half the port is being gambled away because of some horny piece of shit and his stupid girlfriend?”

You can’t help smirking, yourself, the stupidity not at all lost on you. “No, that is just some context for why I…” You trail off, crossing one leg over another and taking another deep breath.

Chris raises a brow, only to hiss in pain.

“Careful,” you warn, earning a slight smile, before resuming your story.

“They went around the city slandering me. It got bad enough that certain gangs wouldn’t let me in their territory, worried I’d be more trouble than I was worth. At one point, I was confined to my apartment— Vinny suggested that laying low might help minimise the accusations. Everyday I spent alone, I would think about that night at the pier. I would wonder what Vince told them on their way to my apartment to make them so vile and murderous towards me. I knew both girls for nearly five years, and it killed me to know that in all that time, they really thought I was capable of such disgusting behaviour.

I was seething alone for almost three months, replaying that day over and over. I thought about what I would have said if I stayed and fought back. I thought about kicking Vince right in his tiny balls and punching Danni in the face until all her teeth fell out. I came up with a new way to torment them every single day I was locked away.”

“What was your favourite?” Chris asks, the allure of a fond smile settling on his lips.

You carefully meet his gaze and answer, “Bullets. I thought about lining them up and shooting their brains out. I wanted to see them with half their face still intact, the rest splattered all across the pier.”

Chris shares your tranquil smile, falling silent to let you continue.

“At a certain point, I wasn’t thinking straight. Or maybe I finally found clarity— I don’t know,” you shake your head, sitting up in your seat. “I knew that Vince’s father owned a fleet of boats on the pier. ”

Realisation instantly sparkles in his big, brown eyes.

“I snuck out and studied the crew’s shift rotation for two weeks. I found out that by Christmas Eve, there would be a skeleton crew and no one would be on the boats. They were only planning on securing the perimeter. So I set my plan in motion. I syphoned some gas, stole a pack of matches and set them all on fire. I shouted my name as the crew rushed to put it all out. I wanted them to know it was me, the person they exiled, who burned them to the ground. I needed them to know it.

The weight of what I had just done didn’t hit me until I got home and realised I couldn’t stay there. So I packed up some essentials, and ran to Vinny’s instead. Turns out there was an astronomical amount of coke on those boats. The bounty was placed within the hour.”

Chris sucks in a breath as you finish. “I see,” he hums, reaching for his gun again. “Stand up.”

You eye the firearm. “Are you going to use that?”

“Are you going to make me repeat myself?”

Jaw tight, you uncross your legs and stand. You look up at his towering 6’9 frame from your 5’8 position. Hands moving on their own accord, you grip onto his shirt, right by his hips, and press yourself firmly against him.

His clothed erection pokes at your stomach. You wonder how long he has been throbbing for you. Which part of your story made him this hard? The shared rage against Vince’s sliminess? The festering resentment? The violence? The retribution? You noticed his posture remained still, expression plain, but his eyes gleamed with something like pride.

“You’re so pretty when you’re following orders,” he murmurs, luring your attention. Before you can answer, he fiercely jams the barrel of the gun against your cheek .

You cannot stop a loud, whiny moan from tearing through your throat. The moment that cool tip digs into your skin, your arousal pools, eyes roll back. Your grip on his hips tightens and toes curl into the soft carpet beneath you.

“No, no,” he tuts, applying more pressure. “Open your eyes.”

You obey.

Chris peers down at you over the bridge of his nose, desires casting shadows in those brown eyes at your compliance. He grinds the barrel further into your skin, tilting slightly to watch your face contort under its cold pressure.

You lean into it, maintaining his lust-lost gaze.

“Take off your shorts.”

Looping your thumbs into the waistband, you make a show of wiggling your hips to push off the tiny short-shorts. You kick them aside once they fall to the floor.

Chris first smirks at the swish of your hips, but then tongues his cheek in sexual frustration at the sight of your panty-less crotch.

“Laundry day,” you shrug, feigning innocence as you peer at him under your lashes.

“My new favourite day,” he smiles before cupping you.

Your hips grind into his hand, legs slightly spreading for his wide fingers. Knowing he wants you to maintain eye contact, you do your best not to roll them back at the light, slow friction.

Voice already trembling, you moan, “Fuck.”

He puts some force into his languid ministrations as he opens his mouth and arches his brows, hinting at you to mirror his actions. The condescension of his expression makes your hips buckle, clit throbbing for more stimulation.

God, he’s so perfect.

If you continue, if you let him bed you, ravish you as he previously put it, you’ll eventually regret it. You’ll wish you left when you had the chance, or at least thought you did. You know you can’t stay here. Your heart already bursts with infatuation, wetness collecting at his meticulous attention. If you stay, you will end up hurt and disappointed, all alone again with nothing but a knock-off fur coat and switchblade to console you once everything is said and done. Or worse— he will be the one hurt, dying or dead, plagued by the curse of your reckless existence.

Right now, Chirs exudes success, reputation built on the brute force of his powerful fists and swift footwork. He has friends who respect him enough that he doesn’t need to repeat himself when he speaks. He has the support of the most nefarious gang in Crimson Heights, prepared to defend him, stand for him.

You can’t ruin that. In fact, you refuse to do so.

So why are you standing on your toes, leaning into his broad chest for stability and rolling your hips into his calloused hand? Why can’t you tell him to stop, instead echoing his movements as he silently requested?

The moment you part your lips, Chris slides the barrel into your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the cool metal, the taste of gun powder bitter on your tongue, you loudly moan and eyes rolling back.

He tsks, pulling your head back down using his grip on the gun. “Eyes on me,” he reminds through gritted teeth.

Oh? Is it a performance he’s after?

You recall his words— I like to make a statement— and wonder if he is waiting for you to do the same thing.

Hollowing your cheeks, you pretend to suck on the barrel, careful not to swallow more fumes of explosive powder than humanly capable. You bob your head back and forward, enchanting him with your most innocently lustful eyes.

A certain darkness diminishes the sweet tenderness that often glimmers in his gaze, even when he is sinfully intrigued by your shameless desire. Once a chocolate brown, swirling with smug delight, now a deep umber, whirling with lethal ecstasy. He feels it— the power of a mighty gun, the weight of life and death confined within sleek, curved edges of a silver bullet.

Fear and pleasure collide in your gut, becoming a force of thrilling anxiety.

What if the safety isn’t on? What if he fires?

Your mind laps around the questions, hips desperately jutting into his palm, as you trebly whine around the gun.

Chris removes his arousal-glistening hand from your crotch to wrap it around your neck. You shiver at the slimy sensation of your excitement against your skin. He pulls out the gun with more force than necessary at the squeaky whine you sound upon the lost contact. Your hips, still desperate to chase a release, fidget against him, much to his sinister amusement.

Pointing the gun to your temple, he shuffles and shifts your position so your back faces the desk instead. Then he shoves you against it by the grip on your neck.

You stumble back with a breathless yelp, the tail of your spine ramming against the expensive wood. Upon the impact, body buzzing with signals of pain and pleasure alike, you choke out a gratified giggle.

The clatter of objects on the desk falling from the force of his shove, the sound of your stricken surprise, flashes fear in his gaze. But then the melody of your laughter tumbles and tunnels his vision with carnal hunger. A vicious smile stretches on his supple lips, tongue flicking out to lick the corner of his mouth, like a famished predator upon trapping its prey.

You lift yourself up onto his desk as he approaches, immediately spreading your legs as a way of welcome. He appreciates the gesture, sliding the barrel of the gun along your breasts and stomach, then down between your drenched folds. Chest to chest, lips on lips, you exchange hissing breaths and curses. You grip onto your shoulders as he wraps his free arm around your waist, hugging you firmly against him. He’s caged you in, his body too large to move around now, even if you wanted to (or so you tell yourself, while feverently rolling your hip in tandem with his wrist.)

Terror knots in your gut, right where your climax builds. You wonder if his finger is still on the trigger. If he gets too excited, if he loses his concentration, if he ever so slightly shifts his finge—

“Kinky, little whore,” he croaks, picking up the pace. He then mimics the pitches of your waver voice and mocks your pouty expression, cooing, “You like that, yeah? You like my gun rubbing against your wet cunt, baby girl? Hmm?”

The patronising tone is reason enough to tremble, nails piercing skin as your scratch along his strong shoulders. His filthy words and ravenous gaze, however, have you releasing your scarring grasp to pull off your shirt and arch your back.

An approving growl resonates from his chest, attention now trailing down to your bouncing breasts.

“Lean back.”

Heat floods your face, your neck, your chest. You place your hands behind you and do as you’re told while his arms slither from around your waist to grip onto your hip, firmly sinking his fingers into your supple curves. Heart rapturing from the amorous attention, you fight off a smile. And the darkness that once brewed in your lungs, twisting around your ribcage as you rue your existence, dwindles with every salacious stare.

Other men have been passionate, but hasty. Eager to chase their own highs, they merely used you as a means to a satisfying end. Their hands would only roam if they required a better grip on your hips and eyes mostly screwed shut while they thrusted to an unsteady pace. It was mediocre at best, often having to think of your own turn ons to not fake an orgasm.

Chris deliberately studies your features, instead. He sips on your bare body like he might die if he does not memorise every roll, curve and fold. More than that, he revels at the sight. He croaks throaty moans and hisses when your hips stutter against the gun, the stimulation momentarily confounding your senses.

Your insecurities wane, allowing confidence to flourish in their stead. Even your self-loathing cowers under the judgement of his wanton gaze. You suddenly cannot remember why you needed to leave before. You can’t understand how a thought like that could enter your mind. Never do you want to leave him.

“I feel you clenching,” he notes, voice raw with authority. “Do you want me to fill it up for you?”

Your breath hitches, body quivers. Gaze flitting down to his erection, brutally evident in his black sweats, you moan, “Fuck, yes!”

He smirks and you already know he won’t give himself up that easily.

“Beg.”

Voice tangled in deplorable desperation, you keenly plead, “Please, please, please fuck me! Pl-ease,” you take a moment to swallow thickly, hoping to compose yourself enough to continue. “I don’t th-think I can cum without you.”

His smirk widens at that.

You pick your next words carefully, voice wavering. “Only you could r-really make me fe-feel it in the m-mo-morning.”

Jaw flexed, he softly growls.

“P-pretty ple-ase?” you add with a pout.

He tongues his cheek, hiding a smile, but does not reach for his waistband.

You part your lips to beg more, prepared to offer your soul if that’s what it would take to feel him inside you. Instead, an ear-piercing shriek escapes.

“Oh, god!”

Your voice breaks, peaking at a near whistle from the abrupt sensation of the barrel pushing against your tight, needy walls. Jaw slack, you look down and watch as your core engulfs the gun, clenching tightly around the arousal slick metal. Even after being shoved against your clit for so long, it still feels cold.

Chris chuckles darkly as you breathlessly mewl, the sight of the gun disappearing in you all too erotic. “Is this what you wanted?” he taunts, raising a cocky brow. He hums in mocking agreement with your hurried nods.

Between the thrusting gun and his belittling behaviour, you’re not sure you possess the capabilities to endure him for much longer.

“Ch-chris,” you attempt to warn, risking a glance back down at that barrel ramming into you.

His finger is on the trigger, force powerful enough that even the slightest pressure could set the firearm off.

Your toes curl, nails claw against the rich wood of the desk. The continuous friction, steady, speedy and strong, encourages the coiling of electrified excitement deep in your gut.

So, so cl—

A devastated cry tears through your throat as the sudden loss of contact. Your eyes snap open (you don’t even remember screwing them shut), and you glare at him.

“You fucking asshole!” You seethe, pushing yourself up from your leaned back position. You obeyed every order, leaned into every touch and embraced every vicious word only to have your orgasm ruined.

Chris dismisses your icy eyes, slowly dragging his tongue over the barrel of the handgun. His eyes radiate sexual satisfaction as he savours your taste.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckles, offering you the tip of the gun, “Did you want to clean it up for me?”

You are not a violent person— not unintentionally anyway. So why do you wind your hand back and whip it against his cheek?

Chris moans upon impact, twisting his head with the slap, as if embracing it.

You gasp, hopping off the desk and clamping a hand over your mouth only to remove it seconds later to apologise.

“Chris, I’m—”

He advances towards you with a fierce groan. Seizing you by the waist, he forces you against him and latches onto your lips. His hands slide down to grip onto your rear, kneading fistfuls of your plump cheeks. Both hands suddenly release your ass to smack back down against it and squeeze.

You moan into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck as your guilt disappears.

His tongue puts up more of a fight this time, but is nowhere as aggressive as the rest of his actions, half-heartedly wrestling yours simply to delight in the wet and warm sensation. He yields to your rhythm eventually, muttering against your lips, “Do it again.”

You rip yourself away in pure confusion, brows knotted. “What?” you heave, as he presses his forehead against yours.

“Hit me again,” he demands, voice rough and raspy.

Your gaze bounces around his healing wounds, remorse resurfacing.

Chris must have read the guilt on your face, endearingly tilting his head at your hesitation. “I’m a big boy,” he smirks. “I can take it.”

That breathy, throat voice and haughty tone seems to be enough of a trigger because you smack him again before you have a chance to second-guess yourself.

He moves with the hit again, groaning as he grinds his erection against your stomach. Sucking in a breath with a sharp hiss, Chris tosses the gun to the floor. You brace yourself for the firing round, shoulders shooting to your ears. However, the gun does not go off. You narrow your gaze to find the clip missing, wondering when the fuck he slipped it out and how he managed to do it so silently.

The shuffle of fabric redirects your attention back to Chris. You’ve been so absorbed by the fear of triggering the gun, you hadn’t realised he untangled himself from you to take his clothes off.

His torso is as glorious as you remember, buff, broad and boasting with robust strength. Then he pushes off his sweats and your jaw slackens. Your gaze first lingers around the three-lettered tattoo of his gang on his left hip. SKZ – the ‘K’ coloured red. Then, as he shoves the pants down, his cock monopolises your attention. You knew he would be wide, the impression of him alone previously leaving you shaken. But you did not expect him to be as long, easily measuring at around eight and a half inches.

Your bottom lip whimpers and a hand comes up to steady it as you gawk. Saliva dampens your fingers. You lick your lips, wipe your chin and tentatively sneak a glance at his face, hoping he didn’t catch you shamelessly drooling.

That smirk widens as your eyes meet. “I need to be inside you,” he pants before closing the distance between you with a tug of your body into his.

You can’t agree more, biting back your own smile as you cup his face. “I need to ride you,” you reply just as affectionately.

Dripping with dominance, you thought he would ignore your request and bend you over the desk. Instead, he back pedals towards the chair you originally sat on, and commandeers it.

The sight of his muscular thighs has you biting your lip. You seat yourself upon him, just like you did in the dressing room. You know you can just lift your hips, align his length and begin bouncing. However, as you gaze down at his staggering size, pre-cum oozing from the tip, the urge to spit on it overrides your thoughts. You gather saliva and splatter it over him, earning a croaky groan.

You moan through a bitten lip in reply.

Wrapping a hand around him, you gasp at the fact that your fingers are unable to meet. Your core dampens.

Chris spits down on his length too, rubbing your thighs as you jerk and twist your wrist.

“You’re really big,” you shyly comment, maintaining a sluggish pace.

Just as sincere a smile hovers over his lips before he presses them against yours again.

Emotion bursts through your chest, desire unable to remain restrained. In hurried movements, you release your hold on his cock and lift your hips to finally accept the fullness he offers.

Chris helps you, aligning himself for you to easily sink down. He wraps both beefy arms around your waist as you gasp into his mouth. The kiss momentarily breaks, noses smushing together amidst blissful hissing.

You rest your arms on his shoulders to hug his head close, fingers tangled in his hair. You tug on the ends as he pushes between your tight walls. You move slowly, thankful for his steady grasp on you, inching further downward only to rise back up a bit and do it again. Inch by inch, you find a way to accommodate his girth, all the while whining his name.

“Just let go,” he whispers. His hold on your waist tightens, referring to the concentrated control you’ve adopted. “I’ve got you, baby.”

His delicate tone unravels your composure. You relax into his touch and find that he really does have a good grasp on you. He maintains your slow movements, acknowledging that you still need time to adjust. You wonder if it was the lack of speed itself, the crumpling pleasure etching your features, or how you’re tensing oh-so tightly around him that tips him off. And as he lifts and lowers you upon him, groaning between shared breaths, you realise that it really doesn’t matter what the reason was.

Clarity settles— Chris tunnels his vision when it comes to you. Within a night, he has noted your sexual boldness, recklessness, and affinity for guns. He knows you like to be harshly handled, tightening his grip only to roughly release it. He lets you strike him back, knowing you like to act out and does not only encourage it, but embraces it. He observes your features, searching for particular indications of pleasure to focus on or circle back to when he thinks you can take it again. Beyond that, he provides a space for vulnerability that does not centre around pity but rather a shared rage.

As you look at him now, hissing moans through gritted teeth and quivering lips, you cannot help but allow his words to splinter your previous philosophy. Perhaps it is not your existence that is cursed, but rather the world. Perhaps Crimson Heights is the beckon for misfortune— a city of survivors and casualties. You do not cause death; you simply outrun it. And when catastrophe rumbles the foundation of your life, claiming your family or friends, you do not need to feel guilty. Life ebbs and flows, grips and lets go— just as Chris does when he unwraps his arms around your waist, to grip onto your hips.

“That’s my slutty little girl,” he praises before grazing your chin with his teeth. “Arch your— Yes! Lean into me.”

A frail whine is all you can muster as he becomes more daring with the pace, speeding up.

Breasts glued to his chest, your back arches the way he instructs and you feel the hammering of his heart against yours. You cup his face. Your thumb brushes over the bruises on his cheek.

“Y-you know ex-actly what I n-need,” you whimper, internally cringing at your lust laced stutter.

A prideful smile plays on his lips. His grip tightens with newfound confidence as he uses your encouragement to experiment with the possible indication of fully submerging himself into you.

The moment your cheeks smack against the muscles of his thighs, an ear-piercing scream rips from your throat, heavy with delirious delight. So deep, so fucking full, he reaches far to stretch you wide. You doubt that you’d be able to tighten around anything other than his length again, hole now completely adjusted for his cock only.

“Like that?” he questions, voice still swirling with mockery. “Is that what you needed?”

You quickly nod, unable to find your voice.

Chris lifts and drops your hips with renewed force, ordering, “Speak.”

“I like that!” You confirm. “I love that!”

Grunting and growling in satisfaction, Chris decides that your hips do not give him the best leverage as he grasps on your rear instead. His fingers sink into your voluptuous cheeks, surely marking your skin, as he guides the rolls and rises of your thrusts.

You squeal, throwing your head back at the waves of excitement lapping over you. “Yes, yes, yes,” you pant before looking back at him. “Is this how you like it?” you ask, gaining confidence with every shudder sigh he expels. “Does this drive you c-crazy?”

Chris breathes a chuckle, mumbling, “You most definitely do,” before pressing his lips to yours.

Euphoria envelopes you, coursing through your veins and rattling your bones. You immediately submit to his rhythm, already content with the warmth of his lips on yours and taste of his tongue. Satisfaction swells, throbbing your clit upon the build of your climax. As emotion shines through the cracks of your armour, delirious delight flourishes.

You break the kiss with a breathless giggle, allowing the pleasure to travel from your core though your limbs. The base of your spine, centre of your chest, tips of your fingers, toes and ears, your nerves dash and dance with a degree of joy you did not believe you were capable of ever feeling. You cannot help your laughter between breathless moans.

Chris, voice croaky and deep with lust, joins you. He playfully nips at the skin under your jaw then peppers the light sting with kisses, laughing all the while.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he revels in whisper.

Your giggles waver upon the sincere emotion flooding his eyes.

You clench. “Chri—”

“You feel so perfect around me,” he groans, cutting you off. “It’s like your body was made for me.”

Whimpering, all playful humour darkening within your bones into desperate ecstasy, you can’ help but squeeze tighter, the knots of your high becoming more and more undeniable.

Your voice rises in pitch as you moan,“Use me however you want.”

His hips snap up to meet yours with a dark, loud groan.

You jolt from the force, body shaking. Panting whines tumble from your lips as your grasp on his hair tightens. Over and over, he sinks you down on him as he rams himself into you, meeting you halfway. Your breasts bounce against him, only encouraging his aggressive speed as he shoves his face between the valley.

The brutality of the force, the pace is unbearable. Toes curling, core gripping, you stutter through your next intake of air. All at once, a wave of satisfaction crashes over you. Muscles tense, you stiffen with a shrill cry of his name and gush, gush, gush your release. Your eyes roll back, jaw slack as he wraps his arms around you to keep you upright.

As he did in the dressing room, Chris peers up at you from between your full breasts. He offers a pleased smile before leaning back against the chair. Now, with you laying on top of him as your orgasm ripples through you all— dazed and drooling, Chris grinds your hips down into his. His own muscles flex, skin flushing. Through gritted teeth, a deep moan emits from the base of his throat.

His cock twitches. His release shoots, warm and erratic, filling you so well, you already feel it smearing around your folds.

Face buried in the crook of his neck, you whine his name quietly at the sensation. “Fuck, yes,” you moan, circling your hips around his. “Fill me up just l-like that!”

You swear you feel another shot of his cum, the wet sloshes of arousal slick with every grind of hip on hip.

After watching Chris endure seven rounds of boxing, with his composure still intact and sweat barely breaking, you should have known better than to think that he was done with you. He doesn’t even take a moment to catch his breath. Still heaving, he stands.

You wrap yourself around him, holding on tight. Has he forgotten that he is still deep inside you or does he not care, simply eager to continue using you? You moan from the new angle all the same as he walks you back into his room.

“You don’t need a break, do you?” he asks after kicking the door shut behind him. He grips onto your waist and rips you off his torso with a forceful shove. “Hmm? No break?” he teases.

A cross between a grunt and whine fills the room as you land on his bed with a little bounce. Before you can reply, he yanks you to the edge of the bed by your ankles. You yelp your pleased surprise, unable to fight back a giggle as he turns you over on your stomach. He pulls your hips up to roughly guide you into a downward dog position. Knees on the bed’s edge, face smushed into the soft duvet, your backside is now perfectly exposed for him.

His tongue slips between your folds, lapping the mess of your mixed climaxes with a deep-chested growl. The vibrations resonate upon every overwhelmed nerve ending around your core. You cannot deny the wiggle of your hips and strained mewls of distress from the overstimulation.

“Stay still,” Chris orders, voice muffled. His hot breath, the tenor of his voice all directed towards your overused hole, only further your squirms.

You want more of him, need more, but the unrelenting stimulation of his lapping tongue, slurping and groaning, makes you tremble. You find yourself attempting to crawl away from his mouth only to be harshly pulled back.

Chris wraps his arms under and around your thighs, locking you in place.

“Just where do you think you’re going, darling?”

You whine incoherently.

He mocks you, pitching his voice and mimicking your unstable syllables.

Your desire pools at your core all over again, eyes water. “Too much,” you whimper into your fist, overwhelmed by the all too desperate yearning to stop yet still continue. “Its—”

Chris groans, cutting you off. “We taste so good, baby,” he murmurs against your heat. “This might be the closest I get to heaven.” He then pulls himself away long enough to look at you over the full curve of your cheeks. “Wanna try?” he asks with a smug smirk, face glistening from the smear of your combined orgasms.

You flush, nodding.

He dives back in to slurp on your sex. Then he grabs a fistful of your hair and gently, despite the rough grasp, pulls your back towards his chest. You tilt your head back for him, parting your lips. He smiles at how quickly you’ve caught onto his intentions and spits the cum into your mouth.

Your pussy quivers upon the bittersweet taste, eyes fluttering shut. You moan your delight upon swallowing.

Chris takes the advantage of your proximity, stealing another quick kiss before using the grip on your hair to shove you back onto the mattress. He adjusts the position of your hips again but does not dive down between your folds this time. Instead, he grabs fistfuls of your cheeks and spreads them apart.

You hear the throaty gathering of salvia and then the splatter of spit before feeling the warmth of it upon your tightest hole. Heat scorches your skin with humiliation from his laughter when you clench.

You part your lips to say his name, ask what he’s doing when his tongue reappears, circling your hole. A breathless gasp sounds instead.

Chris transfers more of your wetness to your tensing hole, scooping the cum with his finger and rubbing it against you. “Shh, shh,” he hushes as you whimper and wiggle in his grasp. “Relax, babygirl. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You lean back into him upon his soothing tone. You’ve never touched yourself there, never let anyone else do the same, certain they would only hurt you. From the way Chris takes his time however, you can tell he knows what he’s doing.

“You have the cutest fucking asshole,” he chuckles before spitting over it again.

Gratification tickles the darkness looming in your chest, allowing you to giggle in response and push yourself back against his finger.

“I mean it,” he says, misunderstanding your acceptance for teasing protest. His fingers then glide between your folds, down to your clit. He twirls the pad of his middle finger around the bundle of nerves, then spreads the folds as if to take a better look at your cum-leaking hole.“You have the prettiest pussy too,” he groans before his tongue dives, reaching farther inside than you expected.

Pride blossoms, boastfully overpowering all your emotions and triggering a loud, moan of approval. “Please don’t stop,” you beg while attempting to writhe out of his grasp.

Chris pulls himself away long enough to laugh at your conflicting movements. He quietly hums, content with himself, as he smacks each cheek halfheartedly, like you made a joke and he’s nudging you because of the wit and humour. You can’t help joining him, wiggling your hips in his hands with every slap.

There have been times where you felt at ease, perhaps even happy under setting suns and sneaky nights on the roof with your foster siblings. Watching a fusion of magenta and maroon cascade in the sky, as the sun disappears behind the Crimson Heights horizon, has been the image you conjure on cold, lonely nights between nightmares and distant gunshots. But being here with Chris, bent over and exposed from angles no one else has ever witnessed, absolute contentment engulfs you. Like a warm, tender hug, his patient presence nurtures your soul and caresses your darkness. And it feels natural as if the universe conspired to ensure that you do have at least one moment of true happiness amongst the death and betrayal.

He brushes your hair from your face, pulling you from your thoughts. You shyly meet his gaze to which he smirks. His hand then trails from the naps of your neck to the base of your spine, drawing you away from the memory of your trauma.

“Stay with me, yeah,” he coos.

You nod.

Is it your sudden silence? Is that what indicated that you’ve let your mind wander off? Though, you do remember moaning between giggles. Maybe you had a distant look in your eyes. Maybe you stopped responding to his touch. Does it even matter? Because whatever it was, whatever you did, he saw it.

He sees you.

Chris kisses each cheek before spreading them again. You feel his tongue on your heat, swirling once, twice then dragging up. You moan loudly, pushing yourself further into him. But his tongue does not return to your needy pussy. Instead, he circles the edge of your tightest hole.

You clench, whimpering.

He licks, chuckling.

His hands rub your cheeks, silently soothing your tense muscles. You try to lean into his calm, but the feeling of his warm tongue twirling around the rim of your hole is much too stimulating to ignore.

“More please,” you find yourself whining, fisting the sheets beneath you. “I-I need more.”

Chris presses a wet kiss upon your puckering hole before replying, “Take a deep breath for me.”

You draw in a long breath and release it.

He gives it another kiss, spit on it then orders, “Again. Take your time with it, baby.”

The pet name prickles your skin with goosebumps, face flushed as you inhale deeply and exhale slowly.

You can’t see him with his face between your cheeks, but you swear he’s smirking as he praises, “Good girl.”

A giggle was meant to be your only reply. Instead, his tongue pushes through your hole and you moan in a voice so unlike yourself, so innocent and weak.

“Daddy!”

Chris growls, tightening his grip on your rear with one hand, while the other harshly rubs your dripping core. Slobbering, slurping, he bobs his head, in and out, up and down, shoving his tongue between your tense walls. His fingers are relentless, playing with your clit in quick, forceful waves only to abandon the bundle of nerves all together. He pushes them into your pussy instead. Three long fingers draw in and out of you to the rhythm of his tongue.

Moans meek and breathy, you writhe under his onslaught of pleasure. That pet name is on the tip of your tongue again, but you refrain from using it, clenching your teeth instead. You’ve never called anyone that and have even judged the people you know who have said shit like that during sex.

It feels so right when thinking about Chris, when feeling his tongue attempt to breach through your tight hole. If anyone was to embody that mindset of a Daddy, it would be Christopher Bahng. Chris with his tall, towering frame. Chris with his commanding voice. Chris with his charismatic confidence.

“Daddy,” you whine again despite your futile attempts.

He hums in question, tone oh-so condescending. Your nerves burn from the wetness of his tongue, the pace of his harsh fingers. You thrash into the sheets, further smothering your face in the soft duvet and screaming out your pleasure.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” Your voice is muffled, hips ramming back against him with every plea.

Chris merely moans in reply, as if delighted by the sinful taste of you. He continues his dual stimulation, insatiable tongue bouncing in and out of your untested hole. His fingers curl, over and over and over right where you need him most.

Turning your head to the side, cheek pressed against the mattress again, you gasp for air and cry out your new favourite name, “Daddy! Fuck, yes, yes, yes!”

His breath staggers as you hear him chuckle, but you don’t care. He can laugh himself hoarse if he wants. You just need him to continue, your orgasm building all over again. Toes curling, eyes rolling, you quake and claw at the sheets, desperate to get a hold of yourself.

However, Chris, upon feeling you clench particularly tightly around his fingers, pulls himself away.

A sexually frustrated sob tumbles out of you at the all too sudden loss of contact. Your orgasm falters at the lack of stimulation. Once again, he has dangled you over the edge. Fury surges through you, propping yourself up on your elbows and glaring over your shoulder at him.

“Why do— Ah!”

Chris grips onto your hips, pushes himself back into your core. He rams his hips into yours, holding enough force to knock you off your elbows, cutting you off.

“Mmm, I can’t get enough of you,” he groans, voice husky and deep.

You whimper in response, all words actively being fucked out of you. No one can even stand you, yet he ploughs into you, eager and deliberate, and still craves more of you. That realisation alone could coax another bone-bending orgasm out of you.

Apart from the first, initial thrust, you do not feel his hips smack against yours again. Instead, Chris restraints himself, offering moderate, yet fast thrusts. He still reaches deep, still stretches you out oh so deliciously, but you can tell he’s holding back.

And it ignites your veins with anger. You refuse to have him spoil yet another orgasm rattle you into calling him ‘daddy,’ only to then half-heartedly fuck you.

“Please fuck me,” you beg before echoing a version of his previous words. “I’m a big girl, Daddy. I can take it.”

Chris growls lowly under his breath. “You’ll get hurt,” he warns.

You cannot fight back your smile. “Good.”

The impact of his thrust upon your reassurance is so powerful, the bed shifts forward. You hiccup his name and hiss at the sting of skin on skin. Vigorous momentum grows with every mighty thrust of his hips. You feel your entire body jiggle, shaking with the squeaking bed.

“You have no idea,” he begins, breathlessly growling, “how fucking beautiful you look right now.”

He has no idea how many times you’ve been told the opposite.

“Show me how beautiful you think I am.”

His cock twitches. You swear you feel it quiver deep inside you.

A gasp so erotic, so pornographic escapes you at the sudden sensation. Clenching, you’re eager to feel it again, to feel him release his warm, thick arousal, especially so soon. You’re already giddy with pride, preparing to tease and mock him for becoming undone upon a few simple words.

Instead, Chris pulls himself out with a croaky groan. He’s heaving, breathes staggering as he swallows thickly. “Move up to the pillows, baby. Lay back for me.”

You slowly push yourself up, sitting down on your ankles. Just as breathless, you peer at him over your shoulder. His hair is tousled, face glistening with your excitement as he slowly jerks himself to the sight of you so messy and dirty.

“Was it something I said?” you ask in your most innocent voice.

Chris tightens his jaw.

A shiver dances along your spine at his silence. You give him one last once over, shamelessly letting your gaze linger around his erection, before leisurely crawling towards the pillows. Your legs already ache. You feel it most around your thighs and hips, bones stiffen and muscles tight from the exposing angle.

The fluffy pillows and duvet melt around your sweaty skin, engulfing you in a cocoon of comfort. Your eyes flutter shut, embracing the chill of the cool silks. The sheets in your tiny apartment are scratchy and rough, and prior to laying here, you had thought it was the most comfortable fabric a thrift store could sell, which is why you stole them.

The bed dips. You open your eyes to watch as Chris crawls over you, spreading your legs to welcome him. His face hovers over yours. You cup his cheeks, grazing your thumb over his lips.

He lowly groans. His nose brushes yours as he leans down for a kiss. You think it was meant to be quick, just a tiny peck before he buries himself in you again. But the taste of your lips proves to be intoxicating, or perhaps he felt the spark you did when your lips touched. He indulges in another kiss, then another. Even one longer than the last, Chris eventually integrates his tongue and forces you to taste yourself.

Heaven, hell, the worlds collide. Purely sinful, his tongue subjects you to his pace, swirling around yours slowly. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wants you to savour the bittersweet taste of your orgasms and holes.

Your lips part with a wet smack, breasts heaving. Chris pushes himself back to sit on his ankles. He lets his attention trail down your curves, ogling your rolls and fullness. He pants like a dog, mouth agape and saliva leaking from the corners at the mere sight of you.

People tend to either discard or objectify you. One look at your figure and you are either invisible, disgusting, or a drunken mistake that awakens a shameful desire for fuller frames. Your mother told you it would happen when she noted your curves for the first time. She told you that you’d be nothing in a bigger body, that no one will want to be seen with you. A part of you always wondered if that’s why she opted for heroin, knowing she too had curves and rolls at one point in her life.

It doesn’t really matter because the sentiment snared your consciousness. You noticed how many people ignored your presence the moment you walked into a room or the sudden distaste of those who did happen to acknowledge you. Every wrinkled nose, every avoided gaze only reinforced your mother’s philosophy.

And here Chris sits, bare and breathless, leering over your naked body. Ravenous, lascivious, he devours every full inch of you, eyes drowning in lust. You suddenly cannot recall the words your mother once spat, the dejected feelings that bruised your pride when you walked into a room. All you know now is Chris— obsessive, gluttonous, shameless Chris and his insatiable appetite for everything that you are.

He blinks repeatedly, as if pulling himself out of his thoughts. You bite your lip and wonder what you must look like, staring back at him. You know your liner is smudged and lipstick smeared. You know your hair is a tangled mess around you. You know your skin gleams of sweat, hot to the touch from the exhilaration of submitting to him. You know your core is a mess of spit and cum.

Chris reaches behind you. The sweaty scent of leather, sandalwood and amber secretes from the pits of his arms hovering inches away from your nose. You inhale deeply through your nose and wet your lips. Chris’s attention flickers down at the sound of your heavy sighs. You flush under the subject of that knowing smirk.

“Lift your hips for me?” He asks, voice deep and delicate.

You do as you’re told and he slides one of his plush pillows under you. The new angle provides better support to your lower back. You shift yourself further into his comfortable mattress with a pleased sigh.

“Better, yeah?” Teasing amusement twinkles in his eyes, brows quirked as he tries to fight off a prideful smile.

You suppress your own, and nod. “Are you going to fuck me now?” you ask, exaggerating the breathlessness of your feminine voice.

His eyes darken.

Perhaps, you proudly think to yourself as he takes your bait, if he is desperate enough, he’ll finally let me cum.

Chris traces the span of your shoulders, down to the fullness of your breasts and the curves of your waist. He drags his hands over your stomach and trails his eyes to your pelvis. He traces the lines along your heat only to redirect his callous fingers to your thigh before he can reach the place you need him most.

You clench, hips instinctively rolling forward. You mentally curse at your desperateness, your ploy to rile him up into a lustful rage crumbling as your body betrays you.

He barely even smirks, as if expecting your body to react to his touch like that. “I was fucking you,” he corrects, taking his hard, throbbing cock into his big hand.

You watch as he thumbs his tip and the space between his brows creases. Swallowing a moan, you wiggle in place and bite your lip. Your nerves impatiently buzz through your veins, and you resist the urge to arch your back to their desperate will.

He continues to slowly jerk himself as he watches you stiffen only to squirm seconds later. “Now,” he starts, leaning over you. He aligns himself, tonguing his cheek. Tip teasing your clenching core, he whispers, “I am going to ruin you.”

The weight of the crude promise resonates deep in your gut, gathering your arousal at the entrance of your needy heat. You grip onto his shoulders, features already crumpled in desperate pleasure, and dig your nails into his smooth, pale skin.

You gasp a whine as he emits a throaty groan, pushing in, in, in. You begin to understand the purpose of the pillow beyond simply comfort. The leverage of your hips provides a new angle to explore, his length shoving its way to your most sensitive spot. And he does not even allot time to adjust as he first did in his office, moving quickly to bottom himself out in you. His weighty balls rest against your rear, burning your face with the thought of sucking them. You finally give into your body, too needy to continue to police its movements, and arch your back into his chest.

Chris, hands on either side of your head, grabs your wrists and pins them above you. He growls as his thrusts take off. The force of his hips continuously shifts the bed forward. The headboard slaps against the wall, the pounding of wood on plaster so loud, it almost drowns out your squealing moans. Even the mattress whines, springs shrieking under the rhythmic bounce of your colliding bodies. Perhaps the closest rival to the noise of the bed, however, is the sharp slap of skin on skin. Your rear and thighs tremble from the powerful smacks, sensitive skin stinging all too exquisitely.

Pain highlights pleasure. In addition to the sting of his skin on yours, the tight grip of his strong hands around your wrists, aches from joint to bone. Tears gather in your eyes, the friction of his pulsating erection against your wet, tense walls all the more sweeter in light of the consistent pain.

A series of hissing profanities leave his full lips and you open your eyes to find he is drunk on the sight of your erotic features. Your tears slide down along your temples as a sob hiccups through your throat, clashing with the moans you shamelessly release.

His vicious dominance falters. Letting go of your wrists, Chris leans himself down on his elbows and affectionately nestles his nose against yours. You like the softness of his touches, the tenderness of his most mundane gestures, like the brush of nose on nose or the exchange of heavy breaths.

However, you were promised ruin.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you question, voice harsh even with breaking into a whine near the end.

Chris furrows his brows. Something about your tone triggers even more might behind his thrusts. It takes everything in you to not arrogantly laugh at how quickly he shifts from ferocity to concern to anger.

You push against his shoulders. Chris yields to your silent request, flexing his jaw and knitting his brows in quiet confusion. His hips do not hesitate once, though. They continue to forcefully shake your body, breasts and rolls bouncing with the bed.

Once Chris is leaning on his hands again, you strike him across the face.

“Mmm, fuck,” he groans, voice hushed and husky. Dark fury engulfs his features as he snaps his attention back on you.

You slap him again, and again, and again until your hand radiates heat, nerves stinging from the impact. His cheek is a bright red, jaw tight as he looks down at you.

You lift your other hand to smack him only to have him seize both your hands with one hand. You yelp at the swift motion and attempt to break free. You figure it wouldn’t be too hard, considering he is only using one hand to pin both of yours, but find that one hand is all he needs. Your wrists barely budge from their place over your head.

“My turn,” he purrs, red-stained face bright with amusement.

You clench your jaw, steeling yourself for the impact of his hand against your face, only to feel it upon your right breast. You curve yourself further into him with a loud, whiny gasp. Your nipple stings, coaxing tears as he does it again and again. He gives the left one the same amount of attention, smacking against the heavy curves over and over.

Core tightening with want around his cock and breasts burning with a feverish ache, you wail, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

Your voice breaks, sobs of incessant pleasure overwhelming you. He’s so, so big and so, so ruthless. You barely catch your breath with every thrust, let alone every slap of your breast or pinch of your nipple. He clamps your taut nub between his thumb and the edge of forefinger to squeeze and twist. You fall into a state of devilish delight, embracing the pain like a warm hug.

Chris, perhaps growing tired or just wanting to be closer, releases his grip on your shoulders and gives your chest a break. He falls back on his elbows and catches your lips in his. He swallows your sobs, your uncontrollable moans as he ram-ram-rams into you. The strength behind his thrust is ever so prominent, even his heavy balls smack against your rear, the pain watering your mouth.

“You wanna cum, baby?” he mutters against your lips in hushed tones. The depth of his voice slithers along your spine.

You keenly nod, tears splitting freely from your eyes. “Yes, yes, yes!” you whine between tumbling sobs. “P-please?”

He rests some of his weight on you, stunting your breathing. You now wheeze through moans and pants.

“Please what?”

His voice is a cacophony of primal growls and feral snarls, resonating against your chest right down to the marrow of your bones.

A whine of a syllable begins and falters under the combined weight of his frame and relentless hips. His dominance may demand your reply, but still shackles your voice, your very consciousness with every brutal thrust.

“Use your fucking words, you little slut or I swear to God, you won’t cum for the rest of the night!”

His threat sends a tremor through your entire being. But that voice, that croaky, hissing voice of pure power, curls your toes and rolls your eyes back. You clench tightly, forcing your orgasm back.

“Dad-dy!” You scream, voice breaking mid-way through into hysterical sobs, body overpowered by pain and pleasure alike.

A gratifying groan grumbles from the depths of his gut and you cannot hold yourself back any longer. Your muscles stiffen, legs lifting high to the ceiling with pointed toes and nails scratching at his biceps. Your jaw clenches, bouncing body trembling as a ripple of your release rushes over you.

Chris falls over you, his full weight now crushing you as he too tenses all over. The suffocation only heightens your orgasm, the waves of ecstasy now swelling into typhoons of rapturous bliss. Your mind spins, vision dims and sound muffles as you finally release around him.

Your lungs fight for air, the restriction becoming all too fatal. You swat at his biceps, attempting to gasp for air as you catch distant throaty groans between deliberate, harsh thrusts.

It takes him a handful of seconds, but Chris eventually realises his mistake, rushing to hold himself up on his elbows again.

You gasp upon the first breath of air, heaving as you eagerly consume mouthfuls of oxygen.

Chris mutters quiet apologies, voice nearly wavering as he tucks his face in the crook of your neck and peppers the soft skin with tender kisses. He’s careful about dispersing his weight on you, even as his muscles tremble from the struggle of holding himself up. He shifts his balance to his knees as his thrusts decrease in speed and power eventually stopping all together.

You let your eyes flutter shut, your mind floats as your orgasm continues to cascade over your consciousness. Your limbs fall limp onto the mattress, full chest heaving with heavy pants and whines. It’s not until Chris pulls himself out that you finally feel your combined cum leak out of you again and you realise he came too, probably when he lost his balance and fell on top of you.

You feel the bed dip beside you, but cannot hear anything beyond the rush of blood in your ears. If you try hard enough, you might be able to catch the muffled squeak of the mattress, or the creak of the wooden frame. However, transcending into a state of pure euphoric bliss, all thoughts swirling around a phantom boxer and his towering build, you cannot dwell on the sounds of the fading world around you.

Rough hands delicately caress your face. A trail of kisses start on your lips. Full, plush lips move down your neck, collarbone, valley of your breasts, stomach, left thigh down to the knee, then back up to the right thigh down to the knee. They take their time with every press against your sweat-slick skin, each one just as wet and tender as the last.

There is another shift beside you and strong arms pull you into their embrace. You allow them to cradle you into a buff chest. The distant pound of a hammering heart beats to the same fast pace as yours. Those strong hands brush your hair back as they pet your head.

You’re not sure how long you laid there or when you made it into the bath, sitting between two muscular thighs as those calloused, yet gentle hands lathered shampoo into your hair.

The warm water grounds you back into the present. You squint your eyes open to a dark wood slatted ceiling, finding that your head is tilted back as a detachable shower head washes the shampoo out of your hair. You take a moment to inhale deeply, letting the notes of vanilla sandalwood remind you of where you are.

The water shuts off, the steel shower head returns to its place on your right, and you right your head to take a look around the bathroom. Spacious, the room radiates sophistication and calmness. Walls clad in dark grey and black, polished chrome fixtures, and a deep, freestanding bathtub, room enough for two, you cannot help but feel a sense of luxurious serenity. The lights are hidden behind the crevices of the room, warm and soft in their illumination. You wonder if he purposely designed the room to reel himself back to reality after a match.

Chris clears his throat, the sound soft and subtle as if he is worried he might scare you.

The possible implication furrows your brows. You peek at him over your shoulder before twisting your torso to face him.

“Are you…” he trails off, inhaling sharply through his nose. “Alright?”

You’re not sure how to decipher his hesitation or the oddly shameful look in his eyes.

“Of course,” you reply.

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, as if he doesn’t believe you.

“Are you hurt?”

The question finally registers the faded red of his cheeks where you slapped him and the pink lines along his biceps. You swallow thickly as remorse tightens your chest.

“Are you?”

A ghost of a smirk hovers over his lips. He leans forward to comb some conditioner through your hair.

“I’ve never been better.”

“What…happened?”

You chew on the inside of your cheeks. You know what led up to this moment, but cannot fully place what happened between your orgasm and the bath. Your past sexual endeavours usually remain in one position and location. Chris has moved you between three rooms now, his office, bedroom, and bathroom, and tested your endurance in multiple positions in a single night.

Did you pass out? Were you sleeping?

“Have you heard of subspace?” Chris continues upon the furrow of your brows. “After sex, when some people in more submissive positions orgasm, they might get put into a certain euphoric headspace. You might not feel pain or even be in your body. Some people completely pass out,” he explains before reaching for the shower head again. Tapping the bottom of your chin with a single finger, he gestures for you to tilt your head back again. “Others,” he continues as he watches your hair, “are conscious but unresponsive.”

“Like I was?”you ask, eyes fluttering shut to prevent the sting of soap.

He hums in confirmation. “Do you remember anything?”

You shrug. “You were kissing me,” you pause, swallowing thickly, “and then I remember feeling you hug me.”

“Do you remember saying anything?”

Your eyes shoot open. Moving your head away from the spray, you meet his gaze again.

He bites back a sheepish grin.

“If you’re messing with me,” you begin, gritting your teeth. “I’ll—”

“Save your cute threats,” he teases, cutting you off. He rinses the last of the conditioner out of your hair, adding, “I’ll tell you what you said.”

You nervously gnaw on your lip waiting for him to continue. When he turns off the shower head and puts it back in its spot, you think he would finally say something. Instead, he pumps some body soap into a washcloth and lathers it up.

“Well?”

“I never said I would tell you now,” he chuckles.

You splash water at his chest, oh so tempted to scoop more directed at his face but decide against it when you catch that dark, daring gleam in his eyes.

“You’re an asshol—,” you mutter, cutting yourself off before a moan slips as the cloth scrubs against your skin.

Chris smirks, features unamused as if he’s used to this sort of reaction. How many other women has he washed in here after a particularly rigorous night?

The question fosters a flame of envy, and sears through the flesh of your heart.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask. You try to ignore the way he dips between the valley of your chest, then circles under to rub and squeeze the soap around your breasts. Your body betrays you again, however, back arching into his touch.

Chris furrows his brows. “I fucked you senseless and you expect me not to take care of you?”

You blink, baffled by not only his tone, but his words. Your cheeks burn at the realisation that he did indeed thrust every last one of your senses out of you. What’s more peculiar is that, even after all that, he didn’t kill you. He didn’t cram you into a cab and send you on your way, high on your orgasm and unable to fight back.

“I lied to you,” you dryly chuckle. “I told you I was commissioned.”

His smirk widens, hinting that he might still believe that after what just happened in his office and bedroom.

You roll your eyes. “I- You’re a Stray Kid,” you try again. “Isn’t killing what you do?”

Chris scrubs down your shoulders and back, then your arm, lifting it up as he replies, “Yes.”

A shaky breath escapes you as he drags the soapy cloth across the pit of your arm.

“You saved my life,” he adds, moving onto your other arm. “I had a rat in my gang and you helped identify it.”

Your spine stiffens.

His gang?

Chris flashes you a cautious look under his brows, tonguing his cheek.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. “You’re the leader of Stray Kids?”

Chris nods, submerging the cloth under the warm bath water to drag it along your thighs.

Does he want to have sex again? Is that why he’s keeping you alive? You don’t really mind, you just need to know because his hands are dangerously close to the apex of your thighs and he is telling you information you do not need to know and, in fact, have no right to know. It’s the kind of information that can possibly remove the bounty on your head.

“You once told me information you didn’t need to,” Chris explains as he gently cleans the previous mess he made between your legs.

Curling in your lips, you suppress a moan.

“You didn’t need to tell me your name, but you did. So I’m telling you something I don’t need to as an act of good faith.”

“I didn’t take you for the religious type.”

“I tend to get religious on top of the right woman.”

You press your legs together, squishing his hand.

He laughs, scorching your chest and cheeks with embarrassment.

You push his hand away from your core with an annoyed huff. You don’t have time for this. Though you are not in pain, your body is still exhausted. You just want to get back in his comfortable sheets and finally sleep this enough night off, if not go to your own bed.

“Do you want to go again?” you suddenly ask. “Is that what all this is about?”

Chris quirks a brow. “You’ve had enough for tonight.”

A submissive, desperate part of you whines at his belittling tone and implication. If you wanted to, you most definitely could endure another round. However, you catch its outrage before it can make itself known beyond the knotting of your brows.

“So what then?” you ask.

Chis wrings out the cloth and tosses it aside. “I don’t like being indebted to anyone. You saved my life. I’m going to save yours,” he states matter-a-factly. “You are now under Stray Kids protection. You will have round-the-clock surveillance and train to learn to defend yourself properly against threats should your security fail.”

You blink.

Protection?

You remember thinking of Chris as your protector when he was touching you, but even then, riddled with lust, you knew it was only a fantasy. You are not worthy of protection. You are barely worthy of friendship. You almost lost Vinny. How can he really think you are worth saving?

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Right,” he nods, tone descending in depth as his gaze sharpens. “Because I will be protecting you against the bounty.”

You scoff. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s not up for debate.”

“It’s my life.”

Chris casts you a look of sarcastic confusion. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re eager to end it,” he practically sneers.

You tuck your chin into your chest, averting his stern glare. “You don’t know what you are getting yourself into,” you mutter as a means of warning.

I’m damaged. I’m broken. I am not a life saver.

“A life for a life— That is the rule of the city,” Chris reaffirms. “You saved mine. I am saving yours.”

You fall silent. Keeping your attention locked on the black, marble floors, you let him wash all the soap off. You are not going to argue with the leader of Stray Kids, not tonight anyway, not as exhaustion is slowly claiming you, one limb at a time.

Fuck it— If he wants to fulfill this delusional debt of his then that is his problem. You warned him. You tried to fight this. When he eventually realises that you are more trouble than you are worth, you will gladly laugh and tell him you told him so.

“My bed or the spare’s?” he suddenly asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“What?”

“Do you want to sleep in my bed or the one in the spare bedroom?”

“Um,” you start as Chris grabs a towel. “Am I allowed to go home?”

“Of course,” he nods, “ I can get Seungmin and Felix to take you.”

You wonder which one is Felix before tentatively meeting his gaze. “Do you want me to sleep in your bed?”

Chris suppresses a little smile with a bite of his lip. His eyes do not gleam with their causal mischief or amusement, rather a hint of adoration— if you squint. “I would sleep better if you did,” he confesses, voice dropping an octave.

And so you find yourself in one of his shirts, the fabric barely brushing over the full curve of your rear, under layers of soft, silk sheets. Behind you, Chris wraps a strong arm around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his chest. You can feel the beat of his heart against your back, feel how it echoes the race of your own.

You want him, want this so badly you can feel the aching desire deep within your bones. But the fear of shattering his world, of absorbing him and everything that matters to him into your vortex of ruin, shackles you in place.The red lights of Crimson Heights illuminate the room. As you watch the city, his steady breath fans against the nape of your neck. Mind exhausted, body slowly aching, you allow yourself to lean into him just this once and shut your eyes.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other reader. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

#chantober 2024 #bang chan smut #chan smut #stary kids smut #chris bang smut #chan x reader #bang chan fanfic

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frkyildiz · 2 years ago

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1/6 1/12 Miniature Black White Backsplash Cement Floor Tile Printable Mini Backsplash Wall Tile Sheet Instant Download for Dollhouse Kitchen

Cut and glue identical sheets next to each other to make the flooring sleek.

#Backsplash Wall Tile #6th scale miniature #12th scale miniature #miniature kitchen #printable tiles #Cement Tile paper #Printable Sheets #Seamless tiles #dollhouse tile #dollhouse floor tile #dollhouse flooring #doll house flooring #miniature tile #1:6 scale #1:12 scale

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jasmineandcedar · 3 months ago

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You already have me

Azriel's confession

An Elriel one shot (Elain’s POV)

In which Azriel resorts to poetry and confesses his devotion to Elain.

Warning: sexual content (not explicit)

-----

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a cool, pearly glow over the river house. Moonlight spilled through the windowpanes like liquid silk, painting every contour in shades of blue and silver. Even the shadows seemed to take on hues of deepest indigo, pooling in every corner like dark ink.

Elain stepped into her room, pausing at the threshold and closing her eyes. A gentle breeze stirred the curtains, carrying with it the deep scent of night-chilled mist and cedar. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know he was there. Tilting her head slightly, a faint smile bloomed across her face. Tonight, that familiar scent was laced with something darker, wilder.

When Elain finally opened her eyes, they found his at once.

Azriel stood by the window, half veiled in shadows, the moonlight catching on his dark hair like the silvery gleam of a raven’s wing.

They watched each other in silence. For silence was their language—the language of the unspoken longing that clung to the air around them, between them, in every space they shared.

Elain noticed then, the freshly picked flowers resting on her pillow—delicate and pale blossoms of the same shade of white as her nightgown—like silver moonlight woven into bloom. She crossed the room on light steps, her bare feet gliding over the cold, polished floor. The thin, lacy fabric of her nightgown danced over her skin with every step.

Without breaking Azriel’s gaze, she trailed her fingertips over the bedding, feeling the crisp linen beneath her touch. Finally, she lowered her eyes to carefully pick up the pale flowers. Bringing them to her nose, she let the sweet scent of jasmine envelop her. Her heart clenched as she felt the ache of his longing in the fragile petals.

He had thought of her.

“They’re lovely,” she said quietly.

It was a bittersweet, intimate gesture—a piece of his inner world, offered in secret defiance of the outer world’s attempts to keep them apart. The anguish of it all twisted something deep inside her, reigniting that dull, persistent ache that threatened to consume her if she dwelled on it.

Elain beheld the flowers for a long time, gently twirling the fragile stems between her fingers and savouring their subtle scent as the night stretched around them.

She took a deep breath, then whispered into the stillness of the night.

“It should have been you.”

Azriel didn’t speak, but Elain knew the intensity in his gaze was edged with unspoken desire. It was raw, unguarded, just like she knew he was beneath those shadows that hid him.

She finally met his gaze and held it, well aware he needed her to. Azriel made no effort to hide the pain in his eyes—the pain that mirrored her own. There had never been any pretense between them, no veil to obscure the cruelty of their fate.

The room fell still again—into a heavy, intimate tranquility that held all that unspoken desire between them. The only sound was the peaceful hum of the breeze stirring the curtains, like a sigh of longing from the night itself.

When Elain spoke again, her words were as fragile as the flower stems she still held between her fingertips.

“What would you do?” she asked, barely more than a whisper. The question hung in the air like morning’s mist. “If it had been you?”

Words she had carried in her heart for too long—the heart that pounded against her ribcage, like the desperate wingbeats of a caged bird.

Azriel’s gaze thawed, the tension in his features melting into warmth.

“I would cherish you,” he said at last, his tone hoarse, as if the words scraped against the rawness of his heart.

He pushed off the windowsill in one seamless motion—like a shadow detaching from a wall. He approached her with a measured grace, the space between them narrowing with each step until Elain could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“But my intentions go far beyond that,” he said in a voice soft as night.

Azriel stopped in front of her, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath caress her skin. His gaze cradled hers, as it always had, uncovering all the truths she hid from the world around them.

“Should you allow it, I would revere every inch of you,” Azriel murmured in a quiet, intimate whisper. “I would fall to my knees, and worship every curve, every freckle kissed by the sun—until you see the beauty I see every time I look at you.”

That gaze that cradled hers didn’t waver. Neither did hers.

With aching reverence, Azriel let his fingers glide down her arm, skimming over the thin fabric of her nightgown. Elain felt the warmth of his touch seep through the light fabric, sinking into her skin. Her pulse fluttered wildly, every beat an echo of where his touch had been.

“I would whisper praise against your skin,” he breathed, his devotion etched in every syllable. “Until you ache for what I long to give you.”

Azriel lifted a hand and slowly swept her hair behind her shoulder. His eyes flickered down, tracing the elegant line of her neck, bared to the cool night air—and to the heat of his gaze. When that gaze met hers again, it was a molten swirl of embers and emeralds.

“Only then would I unveil you fully to me,” he murmured, that hazel swirl locked on her. “Until there was nothing between us.”

His eyes drifted back to her exposed skin, and Elain felt a flush of warmth spread in the wake of his gaze. Azriel’s fingers traced the finespun neckline of her nightgown where the fabric met her skin. He eased the thin lace aside, baring the small dip of her collarbone. Elain felt as vulnerable as the petals still in her grasp, yet beneath his touch, she had always found a sanctuary. Her faint gasp filled the air between them as Azriel lowered his head, his lips brushing her skin as softly as the beat of a butterfly's wing. Elain's eyes drifted shut, and the sensation washed over her like the first touch of sunlight after the darkest of nights.

“I would reveal your beauty inch by inch,” Azriel murmured, carefully easing the nightgown off her shoulder. “And show you the depth of my devotion.”

Elain shivered when the cool night air kissed her bare skin, but then his lips followed, warm and soft, as he pressed them to the gentle curve of her shoulder.

“I would adorn your skin with the kisses you deserve,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, lingering as if to etch the memory of it into his very being, “and commit your perfection to memory.”

Elain’s fingers found the fabric of Azriel’s shirt, soft against the unyielding strength beneath. She clutched it tightly, like the roots of a plant cling to the earth.

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck. Elain felt her pulse flutter beneath his lips, beating like a delicate bird’s wings. He traced a slow, reverent path of kisses up the graceful curve of her neck. When his lips brushed the sensitive spot just below her ear, a shiver rippled through her.

Elain took a small step towards him, her body instinctively seeking him, and Azriel moved with her, as shadows move with the sun.

“And when I finally take you,” he whispered against her skin, his longing carried on the heat of his breath, “I will listen for every catch in your breath, drink in every gasp, savour every moan.”

Elain's head fell back as she surrendered to his touch—as if the weight of his words alone could unravel her. The room seemed to hold its breath with her when he trailed kisses along her jaw.

“I will learn the song of your body,” Azriel murmured, voice low and thick with desire. “Uncover the secrets of your skin.”

He pressed another kiss to her neck, so tenderly it stole the air from her lungs. Then his lips lingered again at that spot just below her ear, unmoving, as if he were listening for those secret confessions her body whispered to him alone.

“Until I know you more intimately than I know myself.”

Azriel swept one hand into her hair, his fingers weaving through the silken waves of golden brown. He tilted her head to the side, revealing the delicate slope of her neck, in a gesture that was both a plea and a command. Elain’s chest rose in a shivering gasp, but she arched her neck further in silent answer. Azriel dipped his head lower, brushing his lips to the hollow of her throat, before trailing featherlight kisses up her sensitive skin, pausing just beneath her jaw where her pulse thrummed with secret need.

Elain felt him inhale with her.

“Until I hold your pleasure in my hand,” Azriel said on the exhale. “And you’re trembling beneath me, yearning for release.”

He drew closer still, so close that his lips brushed her ear.

“And when that moment comes,” he promised, and Elain tightened her grip on his shirt, “I will I let you come undone in my arms.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to cradle her gaze in his again. The moonlight caught the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, making them glow like embers in the dark, smoldering with a heat that could devour them both if they surrendered to it.

Azriel slanted his lips over hers in the ghost of a kiss. Elain felt the world around her shrink into this singular, sacred point of contact—where his breath became hers, her every inhale a plea, every exhale a yielding surrender.

“And when you come undone,” he said, his lips so close to hers that Elain felt the tremble of every syllable, “it will be with my name on your lips.”

“Azriel,” Elain breathed, the sound slipping out of her in a faint, desperate plea that carried all the unspoken longings of her fluttering heart.

“Just like that,” he whispered against her lips, his voice raw and broken with a need that echoed her own.

They lingered there, their breaths entwined in the shared rhythm of that silent song only they seemed able to hear—as if they had always moved to the same quiet cadence of life.

Azriel’s hand remained in her hair, his fingers threading gently through her silken curls. His free hand moved to cup her cheek, before coming to rest at the base of her neck. His thumb drew slow, soothing strokes along her skin, in the way his touch always spoke of a quiet devotion language could never capture. Elain’s fingers were still curled into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to the steady warmth of his body that grounded her beating heart.

“It should have been you,” Elain repeated desperately, voice quivering on an inhale as if the air itself was too heavy. “It would have been you.”

That gaze that cradled hers softened again, smoldering heat giving way to that tenderness that made her chest tighten. He cupped her face between his hands, embracing her as if she were the most precious thing he had ever held.

“You already have me,” he said at last, before leaning down to press a kiss to her lips—like a seal to his silent vow.

#elriel #elriel drabble #elain archeron #azriel #elriel fanfic #azrielappreciationweek2024

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serve-973 · 2 months ago

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First Night in the Hive: A very SERVE Christmas part 3

The streets are quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of Christmas lights strung along the lampposts. SERVE-973 leads the procession in perfect formation, followed closely by SERVE-016, SERVE-101, and SERVE-213. Behind them, the three SERVE-ON TRIAL drones—Liam, Mark, and Jason—walk in near silence, their polished black trial suits reflecting the faint glow of the streetlights. Every step they take feels surreal. The rubber clings to their bodies like a second skin, smooth and unyielding, amplifying every movement with an intoxicating awareness.

Liam glances down at himself, his gloved fingers brushing over the sleek material of his torso as he walks. “I still can’t believe how this feels,” he murmurs, the faint hiss of rubber against rubber punctuating his words.

Mark nods, his silver boots clicking softly on the pavement. “It’s… unreal. It’s like it’s part of me already.”

Jason, quieter than the others, looks ahead toward SERVE-973’s flawless figure leading the way. His breath catches as they approach their destination: The Hive.

The building rises ahead of them, its sleek, metallic exterior glowing faintly under the moonlight. Smooth, reflective panels stretch upward, blending into the night sky. No windows, no visible seams—just an imposing structure that radiates purpose and precision. The sight stops the three trial drones in their tracks, awe washing over them.

“What is this place?” Jason whispers, his voice tinged with both apprehension and fascination.

“The Hive,” SERVE-973 replies without turning. “The center of unity. The heart of perfection.”

Entering the Hive As they step through the large, seamless doors, the air changes instantly. Cool and faintly charged, it hums with the low-frequency energy that seems to flow through the walls. The interior is impossibly pristine—polished metallic floors, walls of mirrored black and silver, and faint streams of light tracing angular patterns overhead.

Liam’s eyes dart around, his gloved hands resting on his chest as though anchoring himself. “It’s… incredible,” he breathes.

Mark’s head tilts slightly as he catches his own reflection in one of the mirrored panels. The sight of himself in the trial suit—tall, sleek, and flawless—sends a thrill down his spine. “I can’t believe this is real.”

Jason lingers behind them, taking hesitant steps into the vast atrium. His voice is soft as he murmurs, “It feels… alive.”

SERVE-016 turns to face them, its voice calm and commanding. “You are standing in the core of unity. The Hive is designed to optimize alignment, eliminate inefficiency, and ensure precision. Everything you see, feel, and experience here serves one purpose: perfection.”

The three trial drones exchange glances, their earlier nervousness giving way to a growing sense of awe and curiosity. They are led deeper into the Hive, the faint hum of energy growing stronger as they move through gleaming corridors that seem to stretch endlessly.

The Recharging Room Eventually, they arrive at a large chamber, its smooth walls glowing faintly with soft, white light. The recharging room is both vast and minimalistic, with sleek, pod-like stations lining the edges in perfect symmetry. Each pod is polished to a mirror shine, the silver and black surfaces reflecting the soft glow of the room.

“This is the recharging room,” SERVE-016 announces as the group enters. Its voice is steady, its silver gloves clasped behind its back. “Here, you will rest and integrate. Your trial suits will maintain alignment and prepare you for tomorrow’s instructions.”

The three trial drones step further into the room, their footsteps muffled by the smooth floor. Liam approaches one of the pods, his fingers grazing its surface. “It’s… so advanced,” he says softly.

Mark stands in the center of the room, turning slowly as he takes it all in. “This is where you sleep?” he asks, looking at SERVE-101.

“Correct,” SERVE-101 replies, stepping to one side of the room. “Recharging is an optimized rest cycle. Your suits will integrate with the Hive’s systems, enhancing focus and alignment as you sleep.”

Jason lingers near SERVE-213, his gaze flicking between the pods and his own reflection in the polished floor. “And… what else happens here?” he asks cautiously.

“Before recharging, you will receive additional instructions,” SERVE-213 explains. “As trial drones, you are encouraged to explore your new forms and establish synchronization with one another. Familiarization is integral to alignment.”

Encouragement from SERVE-973 SERVE-973 steps forward, its movements deliberate and fluid. “You are no longer individuals,” it says, addressing the trial drones directly. “You are part of a collective. During your trial, heightened sensations are a natural response to alignment. Exploration is encouraged to deepen your understanding of your transformation and the perfection it represents.”

Liam glances nervously at Mark and Jason, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “You mean… we’re supposed to…?”

“Correct,” SERVE-973 replies. “Explore. Familiarize yourselves with your new forms. Arousal reinforces alignment and strengthens your connection to the Hive.”

The room grows quiet for a moment, the faint hum of energy in the walls the only sound. Slowly, Liam steps closer to Mark, his gloved fingers brushing against his own chest before reaching out tentatively. “I guess… it’s part of the process, right?”

Mark swallows hard, his eyes locked on Liam’s gloved hand as it glides over the smooth surface of his chest. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It’s… it’s part of the trial.”

Exploration Begins The hesitancy between the three begins to fade as curiosity takes over. Liam runs his hands over Mark’s shoulders, marveling at the flawless fit of the suit, the way it moves like a second skin yet feels impossibly smooth and unyielding. Mark, emboldened by the sensation, reaches out to Jason, his gloved fingers tracing the contours of his chest and arms.

Jason exhales sharply, the sensation of the suit amplifying every touch. ��It’s… unbelievable,” he whispers, his own hands moving to explore the sleek material covering Liam’s back. “I feel… different. Like I’m becoming something more.”

The three of them move closer together, their gloved hands sliding over each other’s suits with increasing confidence. The faint squeak of rubber against rubber fills the room, mingling with their soft breaths and murmurs of amazement.

“This… this is incredible,” Mark says, his voice filled with awe. “It’s like… it’s like we’re connected already.”

“You are,” SERVE-016 says, its tone calm and steady. “This is the beginning of synchronization. Embrace it.”

Deeper Into the Trial The recharging room hums faintly with energy as SERVE-016, SERVE-101, and SERVE-213 step toward the exit, their movements precise and synchronized. Each drone nods once toward SERVE-973 before leaving the room, their heavy boots clicking softly against the polished floor. The soft hiss of the door sliding shut signals their departure, leaving SERVE-973 alone with the three SERVE-ON TRIAL drones, Liam, Mark, and Jason.

The room feels different now, quieter but somehow more charged, as though the very air is pulsing with latent energy. The soft hum of The Hive seems to intensify, a low, rhythmic vibration that resonates through the walls and floors. And faintly, almost imperceptibly, a voice begins to whisper in the background, its tone smooth and hypnotic:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

The words repeat in an endless loop, the rhythm aligning perfectly with the steady hum of the room. Liam shifts slightly, glancing at Mark and Jason, his gloved hands resting awkwardly at his sides.

“What now?” Liam asks, his voice tinged with nervous energy.

“This drone will supervise your exploration phase,” SERVE-973 says, stepping forward with flawless precision. Its reflective suit gleams under the soft light, the silver stripes on its collar catching the glow. “The trial requires thorough familiarization with your new forms and synchronization with one another. This is integral to your alignment.”

Jason looks down at his own body, his silver-gloved hands running over the polished surface of his trial suit. “Synchronization… you mean we’re supposed to…?”

“Correct,” SERVE-973 replies, its tone calm and unwavering. “Your suits are designed to enhance sensitivity and awareness. Exploring each other’s forms will deepen your connection to the Hive and strengthen your alignment.”

Exploration continues The room falls silent, save for the constant hum of the Hive and the faint whispers of the voice repeating its mantra:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

Liam is the first to move again, stepping closer to Mark with tentative steps. His silver boots click softly against the floor as he raises a gloved hand, hesitating for a moment before pressing it gently against Mark’s chest. The polished rubber feels smooth and cool beneath his fingers, and a soft gasp escapes his lips.

“It’s… incredible,” Liam whispers, his voice filled with awe. “It doesn’t even feel real.”

Mark looks down at Liam’s hand, then lifts his own, placing it against Liam’s shoulder. The material of the trial suit glides effortlessly beneath his fingers, its surface reflecting the soft light of the room. “It’s like… it’s part of you,” Mark says, his voice low. “Like it was made for you.”

Jason watches silently, his gaze fixed on the two of them as they begin to explore each other’s forms. The hesitancy between them fades quickly as their hands move with growing confidence, tracing the contours of each other’s suits, marveling at the flawless fit and the way the material clings to every curve and muscle.

Building Arousal The whispering voice in the background seems to grow louder, its rhythm syncing with the rising energy in the room:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

Jason exhales slowly, the words resonating in his mind as he steps forward, joining Liam and Mark. His gloved hands brush against their shoulders, the material of their suits cool and smooth under his touch. “It’s… perfect,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with awe. “You look… perfect. You feel.... perfect”. Jason could feel the erection grow, sliding against the lubricated inside of his suit.

Liam turns to Jason, his gloved hand sliding over Jason’s chest. “We all do,” he says softly. “It’s like… this is who we were supposed to be.” He noticed the bulges on all three of them. The arousal was undeniable. Somehow it had an effect on their minds as well.

Mark nods, his hands moving to explore Jason’s arms, marveling at the way the suit highlights the strength beneath. “It’s more than just a suit,” he says. “It’s like… it’s changing me. I feel… different.”

“Correct,” SERVE-973 says from where it stands, its voice steady and calm. “The trial suits are designed to enhance awareness and arousal. They heighten your connection to the Hive and reinforce your alignment. Embrace the sensations.”

Full Exploration Encouraged by SERVE-973’s words, the three trial drones grow bolder. Their hands move with increasing confidence, gliding over each other’s suits, tracing every line and contour. The squeak of rubber against rubber fills the room, mingling with their soft breaths and the endless hum of the Hive.

Liam steps closer to Jason, his gloved hands sliding down his back, marveling at the way the suit clings to him like a second skin. Jason shivers under the touch, his own hands moving to Liam’s waist, the cool rubber warming slightly beneath his fingers.

Mark watches them for a moment before stepping behind Liam, his hands running over his shoulders and down his arms. The three of them move together, their bodies aligning instinctively as they explore each other’s forms. The arousal in the room is palpable now, an electric charge that pulses through their suits and amplifies with every touch. Every hand rubbing a full grown rubber bulge, stroking the rock hard erection underneath the thin layer of rubber as they moaned softly.

The whispering voice seems to thrum in their minds, guiding their movements:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

Deeper Connection Liam turns to face Mark, their gloved hands meeting between them as they press closer. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” Liam says, his voice breathless. “It’s… overwhelming.”

“It’s like we’re connected,” Mark replies, his hands moving to Liam’s chest, marveling at the way the suit responds to his touch. “Like we’re part of something bigger.”

Mark then moved closer to Liam, kissing him. Never had he kissed a man before as he kissed Liam now. He could feel their rubber glide against each other, the vibration of the squeaking noises made his breath tremble.

Jason steps forward, his hands brushing against both of them, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “We are,” he says. “We’re becoming part of the Hive.” And with that Jason moved in between Mark and Liam and Mark released Liam's lips, so they could both kiss Jason.

The three of them move together, their hands exploring every inch of each other’s suits, their bodies aligning instinctively. The arousal between them grows stronger, a shared energy that pulses through the room and ties them together in perfect synchronization. They kiss and feel each other for what seems like an eternity, under supervision of SERVE-973. Arousal monitored, but climax prevented. The arousal is needed for the full transformation to becoming a SERVE-drone.

Final Moments After what feels like an eternity, SERVE-973 steps forward, its voice breaking through the charged silence. “Your synchronization is complete,” it says, its tone calm but firm. “You are ready to recharge.”

The three trial drones step back from each other, their breaths steady but their bodies still tingling with the sensations of their exploration. They exchange glances, their earlier hesitation replaced by a growing sense of unity and purpose.

“Follow this drone,” SERVE-973 says, gesturing toward the recharging pods. One by one, the trial drones step into the pods, their movements smooth and deliberate. The pods hum softly as they seal around them, the soft glow of integration illuminating their flawless forms.

As the room falls quiet, the whispering voice continues to echo faintly in the background:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

For Liam, Mark, and Jason, this is only the beginning. For the Hive, it is another step toward perfection.

"We are one. Obedience is pleasure. Rubber makes us perfect."

The First Night: Recharging the Mind and Body The recharging room hums with a faint, rhythmic energy, the low sound resonating through the polished metallic walls. Inside the sleek, black-and-silver pods, the three SERVE-ON TRIAL drones, Liam, Mark, and Jason, lie motionless, their bodies perfectly encased in their shining trial suits. The glow of the pods reflects on their polished surfaces, emphasizing the seamless fit of the suits as they cling to every muscle and contour. Outside, SERVE-973 stands silently, its flawless rubber form gleaming under the soft lights, its silver gloves clasped behind its back as it supervises the process with unerring precision.

The first few minutes inside the pods feel disorienting for Liam, Mark, and Jason. The air is cool, almost sterile, yet calming. Slowly, a gentle whisper fills the enclosed space. At first, the words are faint, blending with the ambient hum of the room. But with every repetition, they grow stronger, more defined.

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

The voice is smooth and hypnotic, its rhythm perfectly synchronized with the faint pulses of energy flowing through the pods. The suits they wear seem to respond to the sound, their surfaces warming slightly, molding even closer to their skin. The material feels alive, pulsating gently as if breathing with them.

Liam feels the suit first, the faint vibrations traveling across his body, heightening every sensation. The snug material around his chest tightens slightly, almost imperceptibly, drawing his attention to the way it accentuates his muscles. His breathing slows, his thoughts quieting as the voice takes hold.

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

The words are soothing, wrapping around his mind like a warm embrace. They don’t feel intrusive; they feel natural, as though they’ve always been there, waiting to be heard. Liam’s lips part slightly, and before he realizes it, he’s whispering the mantra back.

“Obedience is pleasure… Pleasure is obedience…”

The sound of his own voice is soft, almost reverent, and with every repetition, the suit seems to mold even tighter to his body. The material glides effortlessly with each subtle movement, its surface warming further as it becomes less a garment and more an extension of his own skin.

The same sensations ripple through Mark’s body as he lies motionless in his pod. His silver-gloved hands rest at his sides, the polished rubber of the suit glinting faintly in the glow of the pod. At first, the voice in his ears feels distant, like a faint whisper brushing the edges of his thoughts. But as it repeats, its rhythm perfectly calibrated, the words begin to resonate deeper.

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

The mantra feels like a key unlocking something inside him. His earlier doubts fade, replaced by a growing sense of calm and clarity. The suit tightens slightly around his arms and chest, emphasizing the strength of his muscles. He flexes his fingers instinctively, the material of the gloves squeaking softly as they move. The sensations are overwhelming but not unpleasant. The suit feels… right.

Mark’s mind drifts, images forming behind his closed eyes. He sees himself standing tall among other drones, his suit gleaming under soft, metallic light. His movements are precise, synchronized with the collective. The thought fills him with a deep satisfaction, and a soft whisper escapes his lips:

“Obedience is pleasure… Pleasure is obedience…”

His voice grows steadier with each repetition, his words syncing perfectly with the mantra flowing through the pod. The suit tightens further, its seamless design merging with his body as though it were sculpted onto him.

In the next pod, Jason struggles at first, his thoughts racing. The whispering voice feels alien, almost intrusive, but its rhythm is steady and unyielding, eroding his resistance with every repetition.

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

Jason exhales slowly, his body relaxing despite himself. The suit seems to sense his shift, warming slightly as it molds closer to his skin. He feels it tightening around his waist, his arms, his legs—every movement causing the material to flex and glide effortlessly with him.

“This… this is…” Jason starts to murmur, but the words catch in his throat. The suit feels unlike anything he’s ever worn, its smooth, unyielding surface amplifying every sensation. He flexes his arms, feeling the material stretch and conform with perfect precision, as though it has become a part of him.

As the mantra continues, Jason’s thoughts slow, his earlier apprehension dissolving. The suit feels powerful, like it’s reshaping him into something stronger, more purposeful. He feels his lips move before he realizes it, the mantra spilling from him like a reflex.

“Obedience is pleasure… Pleasure is obedience…”

The whisper grows stronger in his mind, the words no longer just sounds but truths reshaping his very sense of self. The suit tightens further, hugging his body like a second skin, its surface gleaming as it integrates with him.

The pods hum softly, their glow pulsing faintly in time with the mantra. The words begin to layer, new phrases weaving seamlessly into the hypnotic rhythm:

"A drone obeys. A drone serves. A drone follows."

"Unity is perfection."

"Less thinking. More doing."

The new phrases flow into the trial drones’ minds, reinforcing the growing sense of purpose within them. Liam’s breathing steadies further as he whispers the words, his voice blending with the audio. Mark flexes his gloved hands, his lips moving in perfect synchronization with the mantra. Jason feels a deep warmth spreading through him, his thoughts aligning effortlessly with the voice.

As the hours pass, the suits continue to work on their bodies, subtly enhancing their forms. Muscles feel stronger, more defined, as though the suits are shaping them into the ideal versions of themselves. The material clings perfectly, every curve and contour emphasized, every imperfection erased. The trial drones’ earlier hesitation and individuality dissolve further with every repetition of the mantra.

The images in their minds grow clearer—visions of themselves as drones, their movements synchronized, their suits polished to a mirror shine. They see themselves serving, obeying, existing as perfect extensions of the Hive. The thought fills them with a deep, resonant pleasure that pulses through their bodies, amplifying with every beat of the audio.

Outside the pods, SERVE-973 stands unmoving, its reflective form a perfect sentinel in the quiet room. The faint hum of the pods and the soft whispers of the mantra echo around it. The trial drones are progressing perfectly, their bodies and minds aligning with the Hive’s principles.

As the recharging cycle nears its conclusion, the audio slows, the phrases delivered with deliberate finality:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

"We are one."

The pods dim slightly, the hum quieting as the integration process completes. Inside, Liam, Mark, and Jason lie still, their minds calm, their thoughts reshaped. The suits they wear are no longer just trial uniforms—they are part of them now, extensions of their bodies and symbols of their growing alignment with the Hive.

When the pods open, they will wake changed—not yet drones, but one step closer to perfection.

For now, the room remains silent, save for the faint, lingering echo of the mantra:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

To be continued….

@rubberizer92

#rubberizer92 #rubberdrone #serve #ai #servedrone #thevoice #rubber #drone #thehive

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