#The Rhythm Section Cast

[aeralux]

"Mine" - Aemond Targaryen

Summary: You find Aemond in the Keep's library one evening. You thought that maybe reading a few history books might bore you to sleep. Aemond knew another way to tire you out...

Words: 6.5k

Warnings: SMUT! but more specifically: targcest; degradation; name calling (slut, cocksleeve etc); he uses the term "princess" a lot; rough sex; possibly breeding kink (he does cum inside); mention of Jace and the word "bastard" (by Aemond ofc); fingering; squirting; dirty talk; just straight up filth yknow?

Other notes: Reader has long white hair in this story (reader is Targaryen) but no other physically descriptive words are included. English is not my first language so it may seem like I'm trying too hard at times to sound "real". If you wish you could always leave me a comment <3

-- aera xx

In the quiet library of the Red Keep, evening light poured through tall, narrow windows, casting an amber glow on the shelves filled with dusty books. The scent of old parchment filled the air, creating a nostalgic feeling of ancient knowledge. The soft rustle of turning pages added a gentle rhythm to the library, which was filled with whispered stories.

Aemond Targaryen, exuding a regal presence, sat in this historic space. His silver hair shimmered in the soft light as he read a thick book about the ancient history of House Targaryen. His sharp violet eye was focused on the tales within the pages.

When the door creaked open, it interrupted the library's silence. Aemond lifted his gaze from the book, recognizing your entrance. He closed the heavy tome with a soft thud, changing the atmosphere as he acknowledged you.

You stepped into the peaceful library, bathed in the evening glow, with a quiet energy surrounding you. Aemond nodded, a gesture that was both formal and restrained, before asking, "What are you doing here?" His voice was low and deliberate, breaking the silence. Each word carried authority and thoughtfulness. His one visible violet eye—his other hidden by a black leather eyepatch—lingered on you, silently prompting you to explain.

"I beg your pardon, my prince. I was unaware that visiting the Keep's library was not permitted for someone of my stature," you respond with a playful curtsy, gracefully toward the venerable history section. Your long, flowing white hair cascades behind you like a silken waterfall. While your floor-length night dress, rich with elegance, glides softly with each step. A delicate, deep blue shawl adorns your shoulders, offering a subtle shield against the evening breeze that whispers through the grand hallways. You gaze at the ancient tomes that line the shelves, for knowledge is a treasure worth pursuing, as said by your father many times.

Aemond's gaze followed your graceful movements, his one visible eye tracking you as you glide through the hallowed halls of the library. The sway of your silken garments and the shimmer of your hair caught the dim light, creating an almost ethereal aura around you. His lips curled into a slight smirk, intrigue and amusement playing across his features.

"A library, you say?" His voice, low and rich, echoed in the quiet space. "Since when has the Red Keep's library been open to anyone?" He rose from his seat, his tall frame unfolding with a fluid grace that belied his martial prowess. The click of his boots against the stone floor marked his approach, each step measured and deliberate. "Or perhaps," he continued, his tone taking on a teasing edge, "you've been granted special privileges that I'm not aware of?"

As he drew closer, the scent of leather and a hint of smoke clung to him, a reminder of his time spent training or perhaps riding his majestic dragon, Vhagar. His hand reached out, fingers grazing the spine of a nearby tome, the touch light yet purposeful. "Tell me, princess," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "what brings you to these hallowed halls? Surely not just idle curiosity." His one visible eye locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze palpable. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension. Aemond's presence filled the space, commanding and alluring, a blend of danger and magnetism that was unmistakably Targaryen.

You let out a soft huff, your lips curving into an incredulous smile as you surveyed the rows of books above you. The scent of aged parchment and leather filled the air, mingling with an undeniable sense of history. "Surely, I assumed this esteemed library would be accessible to all residents, particularly those of Targaryen lineage," you stated with poise. Your voice carried a subtle lilt of defiance, a challenge lacing your words as you turned to face the prince. "I fail to see why I should require written permission from the King to peruse the tomes housed within these walls. A noble mind seeks knowledge freely, after all." Your demeanour was resolute, fully aware that your words were a test of the prince's patience and authority.

A soft chuckle escaped Aemond's lips, the sound rich and warm, like aged wine. He closed the distance between you, his towering frame looming over you as you perused the bookshelves. The scent of leather and smoke intensified, mingling with the dusty aroma of ancient tomes.

"Ah, but there's a difference between being allowed and being… expected," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. His hand reached past you, fingers grazing the spine of a particularly old-looking book as he pulled it from the shelf. "Some things in life require… invitation, princess."

He turned the book in his hands, tracing the embossed title with a calloused thumb.

Aemond's gaze drifted from the book to you, his one visible eye roaming over your form with an almost palpable hunger. The air between you seemed to crackle with tension, a silent acknowledgement of the unspoken desires that simmered just beneath the surface.

"Tell me," he purred, leaning in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear, "what secrets are you hoping to uncover in these dusty tomes?" With a deliberate grace, you turned to face him, your eyes sparkling with a mixture of challenge and defiance. The air was thick with unspoken tension, and your voice, steady and composed, cut through it like a blade. "You dare to insult me, my prince. Do you truly believe that merely because I am a woman, I am devoid of the intellect to read and comprehend?"

You took a moment to let your words sink in, the candlelight casting flickering shadows around you. "For your information," you continued, your tone both firm and elegant, "I immerse myself in the written word far more than you may presume. Through hours spent in the quiet company of books, I have delved into the intricacies of the ancient language of High Valyrian."

With that, you leaned back gracefully against the towering bookshelf, the scent of aged parchment enveloping you, further emphasizing your knowledge and poise. Your stance was not just defensive; it was a proclamation of your strength and determination to be seen as more than just a princess.

Aemond's lips curled into a smirk, a dangerous glint in his eye. He leaned in closer, invading your personal space, his tall frame towering over you. The scent of leather and smoke enveloped you, a heady mix that stirred something deep within.

"Is that so?" he purred, his voice low and rich, like honey dripping from a spoon. "The ancient tongue of High Valyria, hmm? Impressive for a woman."

His hand reached out, fingers grazing your cheek with a feather-light touch. The calloused pad of his thumb traced the delicate curve of your jaw, a gentle caress that belied the intensity of his gaze. "But tell me, princess," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your ear, sending shivers down your spine, "what good is knowledge without the wisdom to wield it?"

Aemond's body pressed against yours, the hard planes of his chest a stark contrast to the soft curves of your form. The heat of his skin seeped through the layers of your clothing, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

As you linger in the hushed confines of the library, the air is thick with an almost palpable tension. Dust motes dance lazily in the moonlight that filters through the tall, arched windows, casting delicate patterns on the polished wooden floor. Your lips part ever so gently, the subtle movement accompanied by a playful flick of your tongue against your cheek—a gesture that hints at the complexities of your thoughts swirling within.

“What makes you say that? I believe you do not know me well enough to make such harsh accusations,” you murmur, your voice a silken whisper that cuts through the silence like a soft breeze. The starkness of the cold seems to conspire with the palpable tension in the room, causing your body to respond instinctively. You can feel a faint shiver suffusing your frame, and you —betrayed by your undeniable vulnerability—your soft nipples perk up in reaction. In a bid to maintain your composed facade, you fleetingly draw your thin shawl closer, attempting to shield yourself from the wintry draft and Aemond's intense gaze.

Your gaze, steady and unwavering, locks onto the source of the accusation. A lingering silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

Aemond's gaze dropped to your chest, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he noticed the way your nipples strained against the fabric of your dress. The air grew thick with tension, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of pages and the pounding of your heart.

"Oh, I believe I know you well enough, princess," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Well enough to see the hunger in your eyes, the desire that lurks beneath the surface."

His hand moved from your cheek to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your slender neck in a gentle but firm grip. The warmth of his skin seeped through your flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

"You may hide behind your books and your knowledge, but I see the truth of who you are," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your ear. "A woman with needs, with desires that cannot be satiated by mere words on a page."

Aemond's lips brushed against your earlobe, a feather-light touch that set your nerves ablaze. His tongue darted out, tracing the delicate shell of your ear, a teasing promise of the pleasures that awaited you.

"You seem to have lost track of yourself… my prince," you say, your voice flowing like velvet, rich with an alluring undertone that dances in the air between you. The candlelight flickers, casting warm shadows on the towering shelves laden with bound volumes. He arches an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Every woman has her needs and desires; I don’t believe I’ve ever denied that," you reply, your tone teasing.

You take a step closer, the scent of aged paper and polished wood swirling around you. "I truly came to the library seeking a few books," you assert, letting the words linger like a sweet melody as you survey the vast collection that surrounds you. "Yet, it seems fate has intertwined our paths, for it is you, who cannot seem to find satisfaction among the pages."

Your gaze locks onto his, and the air between you crackles with unspoken tension. The deep hue of his eye mirrors the mystery and allure of the old library, pulling you in like an enchanting tale begging to be read. You stand defiant, fearless in your challenge, as the study envelops you both in its quiet embrace, the world outside forgotten in the presence of such undeniable chemistry.

Aemond's lips curled into a wicked grin, his eye gleaming with a dangerous light. He leaned in closer, his body pressing against yours, the heat of his skin seeping through the layers of your clothing. The scent of leather and smoke enveloped you, a heady mix that made your head spin and your heart race.

"You're right, princess," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "I am a man with… insatiable appetites." His hand slid down from your throat to your chest, his fingers toying with the edge of your bodice. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against the swell of your breast, sending a jolt of electricity through your veins.

"And you, my dear girl," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips, "are a feast I am eager to devour." You observed his hand gliding gracefully across my body, each deliberate movement igniting a fire within you, while you struggled to maintain a steady breath. The air was thick with tension, a blend of desire and playful banter. "Do you truly see yourself as a dragon?" You teased him, your voice soft but laced with challenge. In the world of the Targaryens, such a title was often worn like a badge of honour, and most of them, like Aemond and you, embraced this fierce identity. There was a certain magic in declaring oneself a dragon, a symbol of strength and majesty.

As you gazed into his eyes, you could sense the latent power and pride he carried within him. At this moment, the noble essence of our lineage intertwined with the unmistakable charge of tension. Aemond's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his lips curling into a wicked grin. He leaned in closer, his body pressing against yours, the heat of his skin seeping through the layers of your clothing. The scent of leather and smoke enveloped you, a heady mix that made your head spin and your heart race.

"A dragon?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Oh, I am much more than that, my dear." The rough pad of his thumb brushed against the swell of your breast again, making heat pool between your thighs and your breath stutter. He murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips. "And you are the prey I am eager to hunt."

Your breath catches in your throat as Aemond's fingers graze over the sensitive peaks of your breasts, sending electric sparks racing through your body. You can scarcely believe the words tumbling from his lips, the raw hunger in his voice as he confesses his forbidden desires. "Aemond…" You breathe, your own need rising to match his. "If you've already caught me, then what's left to hunt?"

You lean into his touch, revelling in the feel of his calloused hands on my bare skin. At this moment, nothing else matters - not your duty, not your honour. There is only the heat building between you, the promise of pleasure and passion. "Prove it then," you challenge him, your eyes gleaming with mischief and desire. "Show me the depths of your obsession, the lengths you'll go to claim me as yours."

Your heart pounds in your chest, your body aching for his touch. You know you should resist, should push him away and cling to the tattered remains of your virtue. But Aemond has awakened something in you, a hunger you never knew existed. And now that you have had a taste, you fear you'll never be satisfied again. "Oh, my sweet girl," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "The hunt is just beginning."

With a swift motion, he swept you up into his arms, carrying you towards the nearby table. The books and scrolls scattered to the floor as he set you down on the polished wood, his body pressing against yours, pinning you in place.

His lips trailed along your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your throat. One hand slid between your legs, his fingers pressing against the damp heat of your core. "And I always catch my prey," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and heavy. "No matter how hard they try to escape." You yelp as Aemond suddenly picks you up, laying you on the wooden table. His sapphire eye glints with a predatory hunger as he realizes your lack of small clothes, his fingers grazing over your slick, aching core.

A whimper escapes your lips, but you quickly clamp your hand over your mouth, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at how much you are enjoying his rough touch. Your body trembles beneath him, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he looms over you, his presence overwhelming, his desire palpable. You have never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, and yet so eager for whatever comes next. Aemond's hands are everywhere, roughly skimming over your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

"Please," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "Please, Aemond, I need… I need you" You gasped and moaned as Aemond's fingers plunged deeper into your sopping wet cunt, your tight hole clenching and fluttering uncontrollably around his thick digits. Clear juices oozed out, dripping onto the table below. You weren't a maiden, having occasionally "relieved stress" with your cousin Jacaerys, but you had never felt pleasure this intense before.

Your hips bucked and writhed shamelessly against Aemond's hand, lewd whimpers and whines spilling from your lips as he finger-fucked you roughly. You threw your head back, eyes squeezing shut, your mind going blank from the overwhelming sensations. "Ahh! M-my prince!" You cried out as Aemond's teeth closed around your sensitive nipple, biting and sucking the tender bud. Electric jolts of pleasure shot straight to your core, making your pussy clench even tighter. You were losing control, surrendering completely to Aemond's dominant touch.

Aemond's lips curled into a wicked grin as he felt your tight heat clench around his fingers, your wetness coating his skin. He could tell that you were no maiden, but the way you responded to his touch was intoxicating nonetheless.

"That's it, my little minx," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Let go and give yourself to me completely." He bit down harder on your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. You cried out, your hips bucking wildly against his hand. Aemond could feel your body trembling beneath him, your thighs quivering as you teetered on the brink of release. He added a third finger, stretching you further, his thumb circling your clit in maddening strokes. Your moans echoed through the library, the sound of your pleasure filling the air.

"Come for me," he commanded, his lips moving to your neck. "Let me feel you come undone on my fingers."

You sat up on your elbows, your breath quickening as you watched Aemond's skilled fingers playing between your thighs. The scene was so erotic that you couldn't help but let out a loud, wanton moan. "W-wait, this feels… weird," you stuttered, your voice shaking as he continued his relentless ministrations. The pleasure was unlike anything you had ever experienced, building in intensity with each thrust of his fingers. A strange tension coiled in your stomach, unfamiliar yet tantalizingly close to release.

Your head fell back, your long white hair cascading down your back as you arched into his touch. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the whimpers and gasps that escaped you. "Aemond, please," you breathed, your hips rocking against his hand. "I've never felt anything like this before. It's too much…" But even as the words left your lips, you knew they were a lie. It wasn't too much, and Gods, you didn't want him to stop.

Aemond's eyes darkened with lust as he watched you sit up, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. The sight of you spread out before him, your skin flushed with arousal, was almost too much to bear. "Weird?" he chuckled, his fingers never ceasing their relentless pace. "Oh, my sweet girl, this is just the beginning."

He could feel the tension building in your body, the way your muscles tensed and quivered beneath his touch. He knew you were close, teetering on the edge of something profound and all-consuming. "Embrace it," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. You cried out loudly, your moans escaping in broken sobs as the intense pleasure overtook you. "N-no! S-stop!" You pleaded, but it was too late. Your climax hit you like a massive wave, washing over you with a force that left you gasping and trembling.

Your body convulsed with the sheer force of your release, your inner walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers. Clear, sticky essence gushed out of you, coating his hand and splattering onto the table below. The sensation was overwhelming, leaving you drenched and shaking.

As the final waves of ecstasy subsided, your arms gave out, and you collapsed back onto the table, limp and spent. Your core continued to twitch and spasm, empty and aching for more. You panted heavily, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch my breath.

At that moment, you felt utterly vulnerable, exposed, and at his mercy. The intensity of my orgasm had left you raw, your defences stripped away. You lay there, trembling and gasping, your body still humming with residual pleasure. You couldn't help but wonder what he would do next, how far he would push you. But one thing was certain - you had never felt anything quite like that before. Aemond watched with rapt attention as your body convulsed in ecstasy, your cries of pleasure echoing through the library. He felt your essence coat his fingers, your release dripping down his wrist and onto the table below.

He continued to work his fingers inside you, prolonging your climax until you were nothing more than a quivering mess beneath him. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, your skin slick with sweat, and your hair plastered to your face. "Look at you," he purred, his eyes roaming over your trembling form. "So responsive, so eager for my touch."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "And we've only just begun, my love. There is so much more I want to show you, so many ways I want to make you come undone." "W-wait", you cried out as Aemond's fingers began to slip free from your sensitive, cum-soaked pussy. Your release dripping down your thighs, the table below you slick with your wetness. Your legs trembled uncontrollably, the aftershocks of your intense orgasm still ripping through you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks at the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

Your pussy continued to pulse and flutter around nothing, still recovering from your intense climax. But you knew you couldn't take anymore, not yet. You needed a moment to catch your breath, to gather your scattered wits.

"Please, Aemond," you gasped, your voice hoarse and desperate. "I need a moment. You've undone me completely." Aemond smirked at the sight of your tears, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax. He knew that he had pushed you to the brink, that he had taken you to a place of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

But he also knew that it was too soon to stop, that he had to continue to push you, to mould you into the perfect lover for him. "Shh, my love," he murmured, his fingers gently wiping away your tears. "I know it's overwhelming, but you must trust me. I would never hurt you."

He leaned down, his lips trailing kisses along your jawline and down your neck. His fingers continued their gentle ministrations, his thumb circling your clit with a feather-light touch.

"Just breathe, my darling. Let yourself feel everything." You whimpered as you felt his fingers brush against your over-sensitive clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You couldn't help but moan softly, your hips arching into his touch, seeking more, craving more.

"It never felt like this with Jacaerys…" You whined absentmindedly. You had never been so wanton, so desperate for another's touch. But with Aemond, you couldn't help myself. He brought out a side of you that you had never known existed, a side that craved pleasure and passion and the sweet oblivion of surrender. A low growl rumbled in Aemond's chest at the mention of your former lover's name. The thought of Jacaerys touching you, pleasuring you, filled him with a jealous rage that he could scarcely contain.

"Forget him," he snarled, his fingers tightening around your wrist. "He is nothing compared to me. I am the only one who can truly satisfy you, the only one who can make you feel like this." He leaned down, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss. He poured all of his passion, all of his desire, into that single moment, claiming you as his own.

His hand moved lower, his fingers delving into your slick folds once more. He could feel your walls fluttering around him, still sensitive from your previous climax. "I will make you forget his name, my love. I will make you scream mine until the very walls of this library shake."

You whimpered as you felt Aemond's fingers delve into your sensitive folds once more, the obscene wet sounds of his ministrations filling the room. Your hips bucked involuntarily, trying to escape the overwhelming sensations even as your body craved more. "Aemond, please…" you gasped, your voice breathy and desperate. "I need… I need you inside me."

Your mind was hazy with lust, coherent thoughts slipping away like grains of sand through my fingers. All you could focus on was the heat building between your legs, the ache of emptiness that only Aemond's cock could fill.

"Please, my prince," you begged, your hips rolling shamelessly against his hand. "Does that mean I can't fuck Jace anymore?" You whined, biting your lip, your words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

Aemond's eyes narrowed at your question, his grip on your wrist tightening to the point of pain. "No, you cannot fuck him anymore," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You belong to me now, body and soul. I will not share you with anyone, least of all that pathetic bastard."

He thrust his fingers deeper into your cunt, his thumb pressing firmly against your clit. He could feel your walls clenching around him, trying to push him out, but he refused to relent. "You are mine. Mine to fuck, mine to claim, mine to ruin."

He leaned down, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "And I will ruin you, my love. I will break you apart and put you back together again, moulding you into the perfect lover for me." You let out a broken whimper, your body trembling from Aemond's touch. His hands roamed over your naked form, igniting a fire deep within you. You had never felt such desire, such raw, primal need. "Please, Aemond," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you inside me. I need you."

You reached out, your fingers tangling with his, guiding his hand to the slick folds of your sex. He groaned at the contact, his eye darkening with lust and longing. Aemond's eyes darkened with lust at your desperate plea, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"As you wish, my love," he purred, his voice low and seductive. He withdrew his fingers from your dripping cunt, bringing them to his lips. He licked them clean, savouring the taste of your arousal. "Delicious," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

He stood up, quickly shedding his clothes until he was completely naked. His cock sprang free, hard and ready for you. He pushed you down onto the table, spreading your legs wide. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds.

"Beg for it," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Beg for me to fuck you, to claim you as mine." You whimpered as you felt Aemond's hard, leaking tip tease your slick folds. Your body ached for him and craved his touch like nothing you had ever known before. "Please, Aemond," you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "I need you. I've wanted you for so long, dreamed of you claiming me as yours."

You looked up at him, your eyes glossy with desire, your lips swollen from his kisses. "I've touched myself thinking of you," you confessed, your cheeks flushing with shame and arousal. "Imagined you taking me, using me for your pleasure. Treating me like your personal slut." Your heart raced, your body trembling with anticipation. You had never wanted anything so badly, never needed anyone so desperately. Aemond was the only one who could satisfy the hunger that consumed you, the only one who could make you whole. Aemond's eyes darkened with lust at your confession, a feral grin spreading across his face.

"Such a naughty girl," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Touching yourself while thinking of me… I love it." He thrust his hips forward, burying his thick cock deep inside your slick heat. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your walls stretching to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, his fingers digging into your hips. "I'm going to ruin this sweet little cunt of yours." He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with reckless abandon. The table shook with each powerful thrust, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the room.

"Take it, you filthy slut," he snarled, his eyes boring into yours. "Take my cock like the whore you are." Aemond's hips pistoned faster, harder, driving his thick cock deeper into your aching cunt with every powerful thrust. "Ah!" You cried out, your inner walls clenching around his throbbing shaft, the delicious stretch and burn of his girth filling you completely. The broad head of his cock battered my inner barrier, striking that secret place deep inside that made sparks of pleasure explode.

"Hngh! Oh gods, Aemond!" You moaned wantonly, your body quivering like a leaf in a storm. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on his sweat-slicked shoulders as he pounded into you relentlessly, the obscene slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the chamber. "Have you ever… mph!… ever thought of me like this?" I managed to gasp out between his brutal thrusts, your eyes glazed with lust. "Thought of me while you touched yourself?"

You gazed up at him with hooded eyes, your lips parted and kiss-swollen, silently begging for more, for everything he had to give me. At that moment, you were his completely - mind, body and soul. Nothing else mattered except the feel of him moving inside you, claiming you, branding you as his own.

Aemond let out a dark chuckle at your question, his hips never ceasing their brutal rhythm. "Oh, I've thought of you plenty, my sweet," he purred, his voice dripping with sin. "Late at night, alone in my chambers, with my cock in my hand and your name on my lips."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, claiming every inch of you. "I've imagined bending you over every surface in this keep, fucking you until you scream," he growled against your lips. "I've pictured you on your knees, choking on my cock, begging for more." He sat back up, gripping your thighs and spreading your legs even wider. He pounded into you with renewed vigour, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room.

"And now here you are, my filthy little fantasy come to life," he snarled, his eyes wild with lust. "And I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

You bite my lip, hearing his words, whimpers of pleasure spilling out. "Yeah?" You breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. "Have you thought about using me in front of everyone, just to show them who I belong to? Who's the only one who gets to fuck me?"

Aemond's eyes darken, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully. "Poor you," you murmur, a wicked smile curving my lips. "You must have been so jealous of Jace…" You can hardly think, hardly speak, as Aemond's thrusts grow more brutal, more demanding. Each stroke sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Aemond's eyes flashed with rage at the mention of Jace, his thrusts becoming even more punishing. "That bastard doesn't deserve you," he snarled, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "You're mine, do you understand? No one else can have you."

He pulled out suddenly, flipping you over onto your stomach. He kicked your legs apart, mounting you from behind. "I should take you in front of the whole court. Let them all see who you belong to," he growled, his fingers tangling in your hair. "I should fuck you in front of that smug bastard. Make him watch as I claim what's mine."

He slammed back into you, his cock hitting that spot deep inside that made you see stars. "Yes, my prince," you moaned, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Parade me around the castle like the fucktoy I am. Let everyone see how you've claimed me, body and soul."

"This cunt belongs to me," he snarled, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. "No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to fuck you. You're mine."

You let out a sharp gasp as Aemond thrust into you from behind, the head of his cock slamming against your cervix. The pain mixed with pleasure, sending shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through your body. "Fuck, Aemond!" You cried out, your voice high and breathy. "Harder, please! Use me, ruin me! I'm yours, all yours!"

You had never spoken like this before, had never even imagined yourself capable of such lewd, wanton behaviour. But Aemond's cock was driving you mad with lust, turning you into a creature of pure, unadulterated desire.

You couldn't believe the filthy words spilling from your lips, the depraved fantasies unfolding in your mind. But you were too far gone to care, lost in the throes of passion, the heat of Aemond's body against yours.

"I'm yours," you gasped, my nails gripping the wooden table as he pounded into me. "Now and forever, I belong to you. Use me as you see fit, my love. My body is your plaything, your toy to break and remake as you please."

Aemond grunted in approval at your filthy words, his hips snapping forward even harder. "That's right, you're my fucktoy," he growled, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass. "My personal cocksleeve to use as I please." He reached around, his hand finding your clit and rubbing it roughly. Your back arched, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you.

"That's it, cum on my cock like a good little whore," he snarled, his fingers working you through your climax. Your pussy clenched around him, milking his length. With a roar, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock twitching as he filled you with his seed.

"Fuck, I love you," he panted, his forehead resting against your shoulder blade. "I love you so much it hurts." You creamed all over his cock, painting it white with your releases. You came with a loud scream of pleasure, your eyes wide with disbelief. You looked up at Aemond, your gaze searching his face, trying to read the truth behind his words.

"Do you actually mean that?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of shock and excitement.

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the memory of your passionate coupling still fresh in your mind. You could feel the sticky residue of your combined releases on your thighs, the slight soreness between your legs a testament to your intense lovemaking.

But to hear Aemond say it out loud, to put words to the deed, made it feel somehow more real, more tangible. More forbidden. Part of you wanted to deny it, to pretend that it hadn't happened, that you hadn't surrendered to the taboo desires that burned within you.

But another part of you, the part that had been awakened by Aemond's touch, his passion, his love, couldn't deny the truth.

And as you lay there, naked and vulnerable before him, you knew that you would do it again in a heartbeat. Aemond pulled out of you slowly, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound. He turned you over, his lilac eye intense as it met your gaze.

"More than anything," he said seriously, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "You're the only one who understands me, the only one who sees the real me beneath the arrogant prick everyone else knows."

He cupped your face, his expression softening. "I love you. I've loved you since we were children, playing in the gardens of the Red Keep. You were always my favourite cousin, the one I felt most connected to."

His thumb brushed away a tear you didn't realize had fallen. "I know I'm not good enough for you, not with my temper and rage. But I promise you, I'll spend every day trying to be the man you deserve. The man who can give you the life you want." He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

You smiled gently at the memory he conjured from your childhood, a soft glow lighting up your eyes. “You were such a sweet boy,” you said, your voice warm and reminiscent. With a tender touch, you caressed his hair, your fingers brushing lightly through the strands, evoking a sense of familiarity and affection.

Leaning closer, you continued, “I liked you from the very moment you helped me when Aegon tripped me.” The scene played in your mind like an old tapestry, vibrant and full of life—the laughter of children mingling with the rustle of leaves, the way he had reached out with such kindness.

A long-forgotten warmth filled your heart as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the heaviness of sleep gradually overcoming you, your eyelids fluttering as you struggled to stay present in the moment. With a soft sigh, you smiled at him, cherishing the connection that transcended the years—an unspoken bond woven through shared memories and gentle gestures, a bond that still felt as rich and regal as the day it was born.

Aemond chuckled softly, a low, melodic sound that resonated in the quiet room, his hand instinctively covering yours as it rested in his hair. "I was a boy who found trouble at every turn," he corrected with a charming grin, his violet eyes glinting with mischief. "Yet, despite my flaws, I always sought to extend kindness to you, even when my temperament faltered with others."

With a graceful sweep, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms and carried you toward the grand sofa nestled between the ornate cupboards. As he laid you down with the utmost care, he settled beside you, repositioning himself to envelop you in his warmth. His arm encircled your waist possessively, drawing you close so your head rested upon his broad chest, the steady rhythm of his heart echoing a soothing lullaby. "I shall always protect you," he murmured, his breath a gentle caress against your skin as his fingers traced intricate patterns along your back, each stroke imbued with affection. "No matter what trials may arise or who dares to come between us, I vow to remain steadfast by your side." With tender reverence, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, a promise sealed in that delicate gesture. His breathing began to slow, a tranquil cadence as he held you close, a knight sworn to guard his cherished queen against the world.

[faebled-stories]

Hidden Strength

Kinkvember Day 7: Femdom/Immobilized

Kiss Of Life Han Julie x Male reader

The sun began its slow descent, casting a golden hue through the tall, narrow windows of Julie's dormitory, and you could feel the enchantment in the air. The light filled the small room with warmth, turning it into a sanctuary as beams of sun danced like whispers across the furnishings. Each detail glowed in this soft, waning light—the small, well-worn books stacked haphazardly on the desk, the laundry basket in the corner that had long since needed attention, and the plush throw blanket draped lazily over the back of a chair. Dust motes floated serenely through the light, resembling tiny stars suspended in a gentle, magical glow.

Julie stood near the entrance, carefully adjusting a small vase of fresh flowers she had picked from a nearby store earlier that morning. The vibrant yellows of daisies and deep purples of tulips stood out against the rustic wood of the console table. Each petal seemed to tell its own story of the sunlit day that had just passed, stories that matched the bubbling thrill that flickered in her eyes. Tonight was the night she had been looking forward to—an evening she had imagined over and over in her mind, a night where you, the one who stirred her soul in ways words couldn’t capture, would finally meet her friends. She’d run countless scenarios in her head about how this meeting would go, spinning fantasies and rehearsing introductions. But now, here in the warmth of her room, those fantasies felt tangible, almost alive, breathing alongside her anticipation.

The dorm itself mirrored Julie’s emotions: cozy, inviting, and filled with a subtle lavender fragrance that floated through the room, calming her nerves. Soft light spilled from the delicate table lamps, blending with the gentle twinkle of string lights draped across her ceiling, casting an intimate glow over everything. It was the sort of ambiance that drew you in, evoking memories of childhood sleepovers, whispered secrets, and moments when bonds seemed to deepen in the flicker of a candle’s flame.

Then, the familiar creak of the door broke through her thoughts, and she turned, her breath catching as you stepped inside. For a moment, her eyes softened, her gaze locking with yours as a warm smile blossomed on her lips. It was as if the entire room shifted to acknowledge your presence, grounding her swirling thoughts and calming the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat. You, with your quiet confidence and easy presence, seemed to blend into the warmth of her carefully crafted haven as if you belonged there.

Julie moved towards you, her smile widening as she leaned in to press a gentle kiss on your cheek—a gesture both tender and electric, filled with the quiet intimacy of everything unspoken between you. Her fingers lingered against your shoulder for a moment, and you could sense the pride in her eyes as she stepped back, letting you take in the room. A hint of curiosity danced in your gaze as you absorbed the cozy details, the careful touches that revealed so much of who Julie was.

“Come on,” she said softly, her voice steady, colored with the warmth of belonging and a spark of excitement she could barely contain. "They are all dying to meet you." The pride in her tone was unmistakable, as if she was welcoming you into a part of herself she rarely shared, inviting you deeper into her world.

As you walked with Julie toward the living room, laughter and lively voices spilled over from the trio who formed the heart of her group—Haneul, Belle, and Natty—lounging comfortably on an oversized sectional. The warmth of their camaraderie seemed to fill the entire space, and you could feel how much they meant to Julie; they weren’t just friends—they were chosen family, each one a vital thread woven into the fabric of her life. When they spotted you and Julie approaching, their faces lit up with joy, eyes twinkling with friendliness and a touch of curiosity. Julie’s hand rested lightly on your arm, guiding you forward, as if anchoring you to this moment she had longed to share.

As you got closer, you could hear snippets of their playful banter; Haneul animatedly recounted a missed class, waving her hands in exaggerated gestures, while Belle teased her with a mock scolding. Natty, sprawled out on the couch, chimed in with an enthusiastic nod, her laughter bubbling up and pulling everyone else along with it. You felt yourself relax, letting your natural charm surface as you joined in the conversation, tossing in a few witty comments that sparked more laughter. The group responded easily, welcoming you as if you’d always been a part of their tight-knit circle.

Julie stepped back a bit, watching the scene unfold with a quiet sense of pride blossoming in her chest. For her, this was more than just an evening with friends—it was a bridge between her worlds, a blending of the people she cherished most. And as laughter and light-hearted teasing filled the room, she couldn’t help but feel that this gathering marked the beginning of something beautiful.

“I can’t believe it took you this long to bring your boyfriend over—he’s so fun to be around!” Haneul teased, a mischievous grin lighting up her face as she nudged Julie playfully with her elbow. Her words carried a lighthearted energy that filled the dimly lit room, sparking another round of laughter. Julie chuckled, brushing off the teasing with a casual wave of her hand, her cheeks faintly flushed. “Yeah, it was about time,” she replied, her voice warm with both pride and affection.

The evening continued to unfold like the pages of a captivating novel, each conversation flowing effortlessly, every laugh weaving the group closer together. You found yourself laughing deeply, the kind of genuine laughter that only emerges in moments of pure connection. It was clear you belonged here, that your presence added something vibrant to their bond.

Natty, relaxed in the comfort of the shared dorm, had chosen a loose shirt, unconcerned about needing a bra. The soft fabric draped casually over her, shifting with her movements, adding an effortless allure. Her confidence and natural grace were palpable, a quiet charisma that drew people in without her even trying.

But as the night wore on, Julie’s smile wavered just slightly as she watched you talking animatedly with Natty. Natty, with her easy charm and relaxed demeanor, was practically family to Julie—a friend who had stood by her through secrets, laughter, and tears. Julie rarely felt anything other than complete trust in her. Yet tonight, a flicker of jealousy stirred within her as she noticed your gaze linger just a fraction too long on Natty’s chest, where the loose shirt dipped slightly, hinting at more than she could ignore.

It was barely a moment—a fleeting look, subtle enough that anyone else might have missed it. But for Julie, it was enough to send an unsettling ripple through her composure. Her stomach tightened as the thought took root, her mind spinning despite her efforts to shake it off. It wasn’t as though you’d crossed any lines; you were simply being your warm, charismatic self, engaging and open as always. Yet, that fleeting glance tapped into insecurities she thought she had buried, doubts lingering like shadows even amid her trust in both you and Natty.

Julie took a steadying breath, trying to refocus as she observed the scene, almost as if from a distance. Within her, a delicate balance of pride and vulnerability settled—a quiet mix of loyalty and uncertainty that she held onto as the evening continued around her.

Forcing a neutral expression, she tried to suppress the unease that draped over her like a heavy cloak. The room buzzed with laughter and teasing, yet it was becoming harder for her to fully engage. Each time you threw your head back in laughter, your charm seemed to grow under the admiring gaze of her friends. A pang of doubt fluttered in her chest, a quiet ambivalence tugging at the edges of her mind.

Soon, the conversation shifted to relationships—a topic Belle was particularly excited to explore. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she leaned forward, her smile playful and a bit too eager. “So, what’s it like dating Julie unnie?” she asked, eyes twinkling. “Is she totally whipped for you?” The room erupted in laughter, and Julie felt warmth creeping up her cheeks—a comment that would normally roll off her back but now struck a tender nerve. Should she let it go? She clenched her jaw, forcing a tight smile.

Natty joined in, her usual boldness paired with an audacious smirk. “She's the leader of our group,” she said, glancing at you with a teasing glint, “but I bet you call all the shots at home. I can’t imagine her being in charge over you.”

You didn’t respond right away, and the group took your silence as confirmation, murmuring their agreement with amused grins. Haneul, ever the instigator, jumped in with laughter, egging on the playful ribbing. “Oh, for sure! Julie unnie, the one in control everywhere except with you,” she teased, nudging you with a wink.

The jests and laughter swirled around Julie like rising waves, each remark chipping away at her composure. She glanced anxiously at you, waiting—hoping—for you to step in and defend her, to assert the truth of your relationship and challenge their playful assumptions. But instead, you chuckled along with them, a casual shrug signaling that, to you, it was all just lighthearted banter. Seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity, and her stomach knotted tightly.

Your silence felt like a quiet betrayal. Why would you let them see her in such a simplistic, inaccurate way? How could you stand by, leaving the depth and nuances of your relationship blurred by their teasing?

A slow heat builds within Julie, anger bubbling beneath the surface, though she covers it with an artificial laugh, going along with the banter for the sake of appearances. Inwardly, her thoughts race, composing pointed retorts and fierce arguments she plans to unleash later. The laughter continues to fill the room, but joy feels painfully out of reach. She clutched the edge of your drink a bit tighter, hoping it’ll keep her grounded, but the jealousy from earlier and frustration continue to churn within, casting shadows that refuse to dissipate.

When the night finally winds down, and her friends’ laughter fades to soft goodbyes, Julie and you step out into the cool night air. The chill hits her like a sharp wave, bracing against her skin and momentarily clearing her head. But the fresh air does little to ease the simmering frustration that has been building inside her all evening.

The moment the door thuds shut behind her and you, cutting off the final echoes of laughter, the tension inside her snaps, unraveling the careful restraint she held all night. She turns to you, words tumbling out like a dam finally broken. “What the hell was that back there?” Her voice is low, sharp, and cold as it slices through the quiet of the night.

You blink, taken aback by the intensity in her tone. “What are you talking about?” you ask, confusion and concern mixing in your voice.

She crosses her arms, instinctively tightening them across her chest as if holding herself together against the flood of emotions threatening to spill. “You just sat there and let them say all that crap,” she spits, her voice trembling despite its force. “They were making me out to be a pushover, like I’m some kind of doormat at home. And you didn’t defend me—not once! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

Your eyes widen as realization sinks in, and guilt begins to weave through your thoughts. You open your mouth to respond, but she cuts you off before you can form the words. Taking a step closer, she looks up at you, her eyes glistening with restrained anger and hurt. “I expected you to set the record straight. To tell them that’s not who I am. But instead, you just… laughed along. Like it was all true.”

The accusation hangs heavy in the chilly air, each word settling deep. You feel the pang of guilt flicker across your face as you reach out, hesitating, searching for the right thing to say. But her gaze stops you, piercing and unwavering, a mix of anger and wounded pride. Beneath her anger, you see a raw sense of betrayal that gnaws at her, aching and exposed. This was supposed to be the night she introduced you to the people closest to her, the ones who saw her as strong and capable. Instead, she feels as though she’s been reduced to a shallow caricature, her relationship glossed over for the sake of a joke you let slide.

She draws a shaky breath, lowering her arms as she tries to steady herself, grounding the storm that churns inside her. “We’ll talk about this when we get home,” she says, her voice resolute and final, leaving no room for debate. She needs space to process the whirlwind of emotions before anything else can be said.

Your shoulders slump, and you nod silently, regret etching lines across your face. The two of you begin the walk back to your shared apartment in tense silence, each step echoing the growing chasm between you. The usual warmth and ease that bind you feel absent, replaced by a heavy, strained quiet that makes every footfall feel burdensome. The silence amplifies the divide, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, each step stretching the space further.

As you walk, she’s lost in thought, memories of the evening replaying in relentless loops. Every laugh, every teasing remark, and every moment you’d laughed along instead of defending her plays like an unending scene in a theater she can’t escape. Frustration simmers, coiling tightly in her stomach as she tries to understand how you could have missed how deeply it affected her, how your silence felt like a silent endorsement of their jokes.

-----

The familiar sight of your apartment, once a place that buzzed with shared laughter and the comfort of mutual understanding, now looms ahead, transformed into an arena of silent reckoning. Julie’s eyes, which once sparkled with shared secrets and inside jokes, now bore into you with a steely resolve that leaves no room for misinterpretation.

When she speaks, the word hangs in the air like a final verdict. “Strip.”

You find yourself obeying, not out of fear, but out of a deep-seated need to atone for your transgression.

As you undress, the gravity of the situation becomes increasingly palpable. Each article of clothing that hits the floor feels heavier than the last, a testament to your surrender and an acknowledgment of the power dynamics that have shifted so abruptly. The room, usually filled with warmth and comfort, seems to shrink around you, intensifying the awareness of your exposed state. The chair in the center, once ordinary, now holds an ominous presence, its unyielding surface a prelude to the control Julie is about to wield.

Sitting there, naked and vulnerable, your exposure transcends the physical; it becomes a baring of your very soul, a silent plea for forgiveness and understanding. The cool air of the apartment skates over your skin, raising goosebumps and sending shivers racing down your spine. Every sense feels heightened, tuned to the faintest sounds—the rustle of fabric, the soft creak of the floorboards, and the steady rhythm of her movement as she prepares. The anticipation stretches each second into an eternity, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

When Julie finally reemerges, the transformation is striking. Gone is the warm, light-hearted partner who shared laughter with you earlier in the night. In her place stands a figure of dominance, her presence commanding and confident. She is dressed in black, the fabric accentuating her form with precision, glinting subtly as she moves. In her hands are the tools of her trade: silken ropes that promise both comfort and captivity, a spreader bar that signals the extent of your impending restraint, and a gag that will soon silence your words.

Julie’s movements are deliberate, each step resonating through the quiet room. The click of her heels on the hardwood floor becomes a countdown to when your world will narrow to just her and the sensations she chooses to inflict. She pauses in front of you, her gaze sweeping over your form with a look that is both critical and approving. It’s not cruelty in her eyes but satisfaction—a shared acknowledgment of the trust underlying this exchange.

“Hands,” she commands, her voice low and unwavering. You comply immediately, bringing your wrists behind you as she steps closer. The scent of her perfume reaches you, teasing your senses. Her fingers are skilled, weaving the ropes with a practiced ease, the loops snug but not cutting. Each knot holds you firmly in place, ensuring your surrender is complete. The bindings serve as a tangible reminder of your submission, tightening with every subtle shift of your body.

Julie's eyes glinting with mischief as she picks up the gag. She holds it up for a moment, searching your gaze for that final glimmer of acceptance. She moves closer, fitting the gag around your head. The material presses into your lips, silencing any potential words. As the gag muffles your voice, turning your apologies and pleas into soft, incoherent murmurs that fill the room, Julie smiles in satisfaction.

The sensation is disorienting yet electrifying, deepening your vulnerability. With a playful smirk, she reaches for the spreader bar, attaching it firmly, stretching your legs and enhancing the sense of helplessness. You feel the weight of your submission settle in, the world around you narrowing to just her and the anticipation of what comes next.

She steps back to assess her work, the room momentarily filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing, now shallow and uneven. The silence stretches, amplifying the thrum of anticipation coursing through you. Her gaze lingers as she runs a finger down your arm, trailing goosebumps in its wake. The spreader bar still lies within reach, a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

“Do you know why you’re in this position?” she asks, her voice slicing through the quiet with a commanding edge. The question hangs in the air, charged with expectation.

You nod, the movement subtle but insistent. Your eyes meet hers, carrying an apology and submission that don’t need words. But the nod alone isn’t enough for her.

“Good,” she whispers, leaning down until her breath warms your skin. “Then you’re going to be a good boy and take everything I give you tonight. Understand?”

You nod again, more fervently this time, the gag pressing against your mouth as you do. Your heart thunders as her words echo in your mind, sending a pulse of anticipation through you that makes every nerve in your body come alive. Her lips curl into a smirk as she straightens, her eyes never leaving yours.

And with that, the teasing began.

Julie moves with a predator's grace, each step calculated and precise. She brushes against you, her body a whisper against your skin, as she circles the chair like a huntress toying with her prey. Every nerve heightens in suspense, registering each point of contact—her breasts grazing your arm, her hips swaying against your legs. The gag renders your mouth useless, but your eyes betray a silent, unspoken desire.

Her fingers skim lightly over your thighs and stomach, deliberately avoiding your most sensitive areas, savoring the way your body tenses under her touch. Fingernails scrape gently over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

"Already squirming," she teases, voice soft yet commanding. "I haven’t even started, and you’re falling apart."

A muffled groan escapes as your body instinctively yearns for more. She revels in your helpless state, bound and utterly under her control. Her fingers dance over your chest, tracing the contours of your muscles before finally grazing the tip of your hardened length. The touch is fleeting, barely enough to satisfy the ache building within, but just enough to keep you teetering on the edge.

"So needy already," she murmurs, dark amusement flickering in her eyes as she continues her tantalizing torment. "And I’ve barely touched you."

Julie’s mastery in the art of dominance is clear in the way she commands every inch of your submission, drawing out your reactions like a skilled musician coaxing a melody from each note. She knows the true power lies in denial, in the sweet agony of anticipation. Her hands explore further, tracing the lines of your torso, shifting between feather-light touches and firmer caresses.

The dynamic between you pulses with an electrifying tension, a charged dance of dominance and submission. Without warning, she climbs onto your lap, her thighs bracketing your hips as she straddles you. Her warmth presses against you, her slickness gliding over your length, coating you with her arousal and leaving a heated trail that only deepens the fire within you, threatening to consume you both in its intensity.

Her hips start a slow, deliberate grind, pressing her heat against you in a rhythm that’s both seductive and torturous, a constant teasing friction that only intensifies your need. Each controlled roll of her body against yours sends waves of pleasure rippling through you, spreading outward until every inch of your skin feels alive, hypersensitive to her slightest movement. She holds herself just out of reach, the wetness from her core brushing and slicking along your length, leaving you taut with need, your body practically vibrating with anticipation. Each soft gasp that escapes her lips as she moves only fuels the growing ache within you, driving you to instinctively buck your hips, craving to close the maddening distance, to press deeper into her warmth.

But the restraints binding you to the chair hold fast, forcing you to submit, a stark reminder of your willing captivity. Every strained movement, every pull against the bindings, only sharpens the ache, the urgency growing with each second she remains perched atop you, tantalizingly close but just out of reach.

She catches sight of the glistening evidence of your arousal at your tip, coated in her own slickness, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Leaking already," she murmurs, the tone a mixture of amusement and smug satisfaction. Her eyes gleam with wicked delight, drinking in every bit of evidence of your desire. "So desperate for me… and I haven’t even let you inside. Pathetic."

Her words cut through the fog of arousal, a sharp contrast to the gentleness of her fingers as they begin to wander, tracing languid lines across your chest. Her fingertips drift over your skin with a possessive tenderness, mapping each contour and ridge with expert care. Her nails skim along your muscles, trailing down over the firm lines of your torso and sending jolts of heat to every nerve, her touch both thrilling and maddeningly slow.

She leans in, her breath warm against your neck as she murmurs softly, her voice carrying a tone of command that feels both soft and absolute. Every inch of you responds to her, every nerve straining toward her touch as she masterfully pushes and pulls you between desire and restraint, leading you through a symphony of sensation, teasing you closer and closer to the edge without allowing release.

Your breaths come shallow and ragged, each exhale a silent plea for mercy as your gaze meets hers, desperation clear in your eyes. But there’s a glint of mischief in her expression as she holds you there, a silent acknowledgment that she’s in complete control. She has you—body and mind, bound and utterly at her mercy, while she conducts each sensation with calculated precision.

In one swift, unexpected move, she rises from your lap, leaving you throbbing, trembling with unfulfilled longing. The sudden absence of her warmth is jarring, a shock that leaves you gasping as your body craves her all the more. Helpless, you watch as she steps back, just out of reach, her gaze sweeping over you with a look of calm satisfaction, savoring the power she holds. She’s a goddess in her own right, basking in the way you devour her with your eyes, the silent worship etched across every fiber of your being.

With a fluid gesture, Julie blindfolds you, plunging you into darkness where every other sense sharpens. "You don’t get to beg with your eyes anymore," she murmurs, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "You’ll just have to feel." Deprived of sight, every whisper of her movement against your skin intensifies, turning each caress into a new form of exquisite torture.

She kneels down and her hand wraps firmly around your shaft, motionless yet charged with intent. You can feel the beat of your own pulse against her palm, each rhythmic throb amplifying the ache within you. She holds you just like that, unhurried, letting the tension build until every second feels like an eternity.

Then, almost imperceptibly, her arm began to move. Each stroke is a maddening tease—soft, deliberate, and just enough to make your muscles clench with anticipation, but never enough to bring you the release you crave. She slides her hand upward, a slow and torturous ascent that ignites every nerve along the way, until she stops just below the tip. Her grip tightens just a little, holding you there, keeping you on edge, her control turning your desire into a relentless pulse.

After a breathless pause, she reverses course, moving just as slowly down to the base and stopping again. The deliberate rhythm—up, pause, down, pause—leaves you trembling, body taut and shivering under the command of her touch. Each hold, each slight squeeze, feels like both a promise and a denial, the tension building with every passing second. It’s a masterful, torturous dance, and you’re ensnared in her control, helpless yet entranced by her command over your senses.

Her lips part in a sly smile "Look at you," she murmurs, her voice low and honeyed. "So hard, so ready and I decide when you’re satisfied." Her words are a silken reminder of her power, and the restraint she demands makes the desire inside you swell even further, twisting with both longing and surrender.

Just when the suspense is unbearable, she leans closer, her breath grazing your length, warm and tantalizing. The soft, steady rhythm of her exhale sends ripples of heat through you, and the contrast between her closeness and the aching need intensifies the tension coiling within. Her breath lingers, teasing, as if savoring every second of the anticipation.

Then, her lips brush lightly against the tip, a feather-soft kiss that makes your entire body jolt in response. In that instant, a drop of anticipation escapes, and she notices, her gaze fixated on each pulse of your member. She dips her head, the tip of her tongue darting out just enough to scoop the small drop, her touch maddeningly gentle.

Her tongue traces the tiniest, deliberate flick across the sensitive skin, collecting the bead with exquisite care. Each soft, restrained stroke of her tongue stokes the fire within, leaving you teetering on the edge of release yet held back, her control absolute. Each touch is measured, perfectly calculated to keep you suspended between need and surrender, an unrelenting tease that keeps you helplessly ensnared.

Your muscles strain against the bonds that hold you, your body surrendering to the exquisite torment she inflicts. The pride that once stiffened your spine melts under her touch, leaving you utterly exposed and vulnerable. In this game of pleasure and restraint, Julie is the undisputed master.

"What a pathetic mess," she taunts, amusement lacing her voice as she revels in her dominion over your body. "You tower me and yet I can make you crumble with just a touch." Her words cut both as a rebuke and a compliment, a testament to her irresistible allure.

With each slow stroke along your shaft and each flick of her tongue over the sensitive tip, she brings you to the very edge of release, only to pull back, leaving you teetering on the brink of bliss. Your body arches, straining against the restraints, desperate for the ultimate surrender that only she can offer.

Then, without warning, she stops.

Julie stands back, posture exuding a blend of amusement and authority, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips as she watches your frustrated contortions. Her eyes glint with mischief, sparkling like sunlight on an unruly sea, as she takes in the sight of you squirming under the weight of your desire. The tension thickens, a palpable pulse wrapping around you both, amplifying every flicker of energy flowing between you.

“You want to cum so badly, don’t you?” she taunts, her voice dropping to a low, sultry purr that resonates in the core of your being, each syllable dripping with seduction. The words hang in the air, tantalizing and laced with playful command, pulling you even deeper into her orbit. She leans closer, her warm breath brushing against your skin, strengthening the connection that crackles between you.

“Beg for it,” she continues, her tone turning sharper, though still steeped in teasing allure. “Apologize for what you did to me earlier.” Her eyes narrow, challenging you to surrender, to embrace the vulnerability simmering just beneath the surface. The power dynamic dances between you, electric and heady, anticipation swirling like a cyclone that leaves you breathless, utterly captivated by her control.

Your response is a garbled attempt at speech, the gag reducing your words to incomprehensible murmurs. Yet the desperation is unmistakable, a raw testament to the intensity of your need.

Julie chuckles softly, her breath hot and laced with playful mischief as she leans in, her lips hovering near your ear. The warmth radiating from her skin sends a shiver down your spine, heightening the tension simmering between you.

“I can’t understand you,” she teases, voice low and sultry, each word leaving a trail of excitement in the still air. Her playful tone cuts through the intensity, a lightness that only sharpens the edge of the moment. A mischievous grin dances across her lips, a blend of challenge and allure that sets your heart racing.

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” she purrs, her eyes bright with mischief. The space between you crackles with unspoken desire as you struggle to respond, caught in the spell she weaves. Julie’s confidence and sass infuse the moment with an infectious thrill, holding you captive in a deliciously precarious game of cat and mouse.

With renewed urgency, you try again to plead, your muffled cries growing more frantic. But Julie’s smirk remains, her head shaking in silent refusal as she drinks in your pleas, delight flickering in her gaze.

The seconds stretch, each one a small eternity that settles heavily on your consciousness. The yearning inside intensifies, a silent plea for release that feels like a prayer. Each minute seems to stretch further, blending into a timeless void filled only with the sound of your ragged breaths and the pounding of your heart.

Julie watches with an intensity that’s both unsettling and thrilling, her gaze tracking every twitch, every involuntary shudder that runs through you. She seems to derive a certain pleasure from this power, this control she holds over you.

Then, as if guided by an impulsive whim or sensing a subtle shift within you, her demeanor changes. Her fingers, which have been teasing around your length, suddenly tighten around your shaft. The warmth of her palm contrasts sharply with the cool air, the pressure sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

In an instant her hand begins to move in deliberate, fast strokes. Each motion is a symphony of sensation, a calculated descent into the depths of pleasure. Your muscles coil like a spring, tension mounting with every pass of her hand.

The room fills with the sound of your muffled moans, the gag doing little to stifle the raw, animalistic noises escaping your throat. Parched from panting, forming words becomes impossible, but your body speaks for you, each tremor a language of pure need. Your back arches, every fiber straining against the crescendo of sensation threatening to overwhelm.

Then, with a suddenness that’s both startling and inevitable, the wave of release crashes over you. After the relentless teasing and countless moments held just on the brink, the sensation is nothing short of explosive. It’s as though every nerve in your body has been ignited, the intense buildup finally finding its release in a torrent that consumes you completely. The climax is powerful and shuddering, each pulse deeper and more overwhelming than the last, streaking across your stomach and chest as Julie angles you just so, letting every drop land exactly where she intended.

The sensation is almost blinding, leaving you trembling in its wake. The sheer force of release leaves your muscles shuddering, as if they’re catching up to the relief they’ve been denied for so long. Your breaths come in sharp gasps, each one echoing the intensity of everything you’ve been holding back. Every ounce of tension unwinds, cascading through your limbs until you feel weightless, utterly spent.

As the aftershocks ripple through you, your head was buzzing, the world narrowed to the warmth and satisfaction coursing through your body. Julie’s hand slows, her touch soft and almost reverent as she loosens her grip, fingers tracing gentle circles along your skin. Her gaze lingers over the evidence of her careful work, a quiet triumph in her eyes as she takes in the effect she’s had on you, savoring each tremor and shallow breath.

You thought you were done, that the punishment had finally matched the crime, but you couldn't have been more wrong. The game is far from over.

The air hangs heavy with the scent of leather and the unmistakable musk of arousal, filling the space between you. Julie’s fingers work with expert precision as she reaches for the buckle behind your head, the slick click of metal releasing the ball gag from your mouth breaking the tense silence. As the gag falls away, you gasp for air, your chest heaving with a sharp, grateful intake, savoring the rush of cool air against your parched throat—a fleeting relief from the intensity she’s kept you under.

But she allows you no time to settle. Her fingers glide up to the blindfold, and with a quick tug, she pulls it away, letting light spill into your vision. Your eyes squint and blink, adjusting to the sudden brightness after so long in darkness, the details of the room coming back into focus in a dazed, almost surreal clarity. Julie’s face comes into view, her gaze heavy with satisfaction, her expression carrying the weight of everything she’s just put you through.

In one fluid motion, she gathers the overwhelming evidence of your surrender—your release, slick, warm and copious in her hand, holding it up between you, letting the light catch it as if it were some prized possession. Her eyes, dark and filled with a knowing glint, meet yours, and the look she gives you is laced with pride, satisfaction, and a sense of complete ownership that sends another shiver down your spine.

Her expression speaks volumes, a blend of triumph and control, as if marking this moment as her own creation. The silence stretches, laden with all the unspoken promises she’s fulfilled, and the intensity of her gaze makes it clear that she isn’t done with you yet.

“Open,” she commands, her voice a silky rasp that brooks no disobedience. Your lips part instinctively, the submissive reflex inside you responding to her dominance. Slowly, deliberately, she tips her hand, letting the viscous fluid slide over your tongue. The taste is salty, bitter—a potent reminder of your surrender.

"Keep it there until I say otherwise," she instructs, her tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. You nod slightly, eyes wide, a blend of fear, excitement, and adoration clouding your gaze. A soft whine escapes you, a sound that speaks volumes about your submission.

Her hand resumes its relentless rhythm on your sensitive member, merciless in its pace, drawing you back to the peak of pleasure despite the sharp, overstimulated ache that borders on pain. Each jolt that courses through your body makes you feel your vulnerability tenfold. The strength you once prided yourself on is gone, leaving you trembling, utterly at her mercy.

“Keep squirming” she purrs, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she revels in the sight of you reduced to this state. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your body twitches under her touch, control completely relinquished to her hands. The overstimulation is overwhelming, but stopping is a luxury she’s denied you, and you’re left trapped in an intoxicating blend of ecstasy and agony that only she can navigate.

Julie’s eyes, darkened with unrestrained desire, stay locked onto yours as her slick hand works you closer and closer. But there’s no comfort in her gaze, only dominance and satisfaction as she sees you fall apart under her touch. She leans in, a mocking smile on her lips. “Look at you—just a mess. Can’t even handle a little girl like me.”

The pressure builds unbearably, each second a dizzying rush that overwhelms you. Your face twists in desperation, begging silently for her mercy as her pace continues. Just when you think you can’t bear it anymore, your control shatters, a raw moan escapes you as a couple drops of liquid spills from your lips onto your chest as your release is forced from you again.

But Julie only smirks, her hand still working with an unrelenting rhythm, refusing to give you even a moment’s reprieve. She watches, amused, as you whimper and struggle beneath her, her mocking voice low and taunting. “I didn’t say you could stop.”

Your eyes widen, pleading, but she doesn’t relent. The sensitivity has your body spasming under her touch, every nerve frayed as she pushes you toward a second release, knowing it will push you past all limits. You can only submit, powerless as she drives you quickly over the edge again.

With a broken moan that quickly crescendos into a loud, uncontrollable cry, your body surrenders, releasing one last time in a shuddering wave. The climax is so overwhelming that your muscles, usually clenching tight in moments like this, go limp under her dominance. The sensation crashes over you, leaving your mind blank and your body helplessly convulsing.

As the intensity peaks, your previous release spills from your mouth, dripping down to your chest and mingling with the sweat beading your skin. The warm, slick mess spreads across your torso, the sensation amplifying the vulnerability coursing through you. Every fiber of your being is overtaken, leaving you quivering and trembling as she finally eases her grip. You collapse, utterly spent and broken before her, breaths coming in ragged gasps as the overstimulation echoes through your limbs.

Julie’s eyes never leave yours as she leans in, claiming your mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss that leaves you gasping. She pulls back with a sharp smirk, then spits harshly onto your chest, the suddenness of it making you shudder as the warmth mixes with the already smeared fluids. The act stings with raw dominance, each drop marking her claim. Slowly, she drags her fingers through the blend, smearing it purposefully across your skin. Each stroke is deliberate, a cool reminder of her power as her touch lingers over your heaving chest, spreading the warmth until it clings to every inch of you.

“There,” she murmurs with a smirk, voice a perfect blend of pride and satisfaction. “Now you’ll remember exactly who owns you.”

Julie rises slowly, her fingers gliding down your chest, pausing to press lightly where your heartbeat betrays your surrender. She steps back, her eyes sweeping over you—bound to the chair, hands secured tightly behind your back, legs spread wide by the bar at your ankles. Every inch of you is exposed, vulnerable, and yet there’s no desire to resist. The calmness settles deeper, the certainty of yielding to her undeniable.

A small, satisfied smile plays at the corner of her lips as she studies you, taking in the way the ropes hold you exactly where she wants. Her gaze fixes on you with a confidence that’s unbreakable. “This,” she says, her tone soft yet edged with command, “is exactly where you belong. Tied up, under my control, waiting for my command. You don’t get to call the shots here—that’s my role.” Her words settle over you, embedding themselves like an invisible mark, a seal on the surrender you feel.

She steps behind you, her hands resting firmly on your shoulders, anchoring you in her presence. She begins to knead away the last traces of tension, her fingers firm yet gentle, drawing you deeper into her influence. A shiver races down your spine as she leans close, her breath warm against your ear.

“Think about tonight,” she murmurs, her voice both soft and unshakable, as though each word is settling into you. “Think about how easily you yield, how completely you become mine, just as you are right now. Because this”—her nails trail lightly down your back, drawing a sharp breath from you—“is how things will be. In this house, and anywhere else we go.”

Her hands slide back to your wrists, her fingers deftly working to untie the ropes that have held you so tightly. She moves with care, releasing each bond one by one, each motion a reminder of her control. Even as the ropes fall away, the feeling of being held by her command remains. She moves to your front, kneeling to remove the spreader bar from your ankles, her fingers brushing your skin lightly, each touch a reminder that it’s her choice to free you, her decision.

Once free, you feel the urge to stretch, but her gaze roots you to the spot, grounding you in her authority. Her eyes stay fixed on you, unwavering, and without a word, the weight of her expectation presses down. It’s instinctive—you feel yourself slowly sinking down, lowering to your knees before her, your hands coming to rest at your sides.

Julie steps closer, her fingers reaching for your chin. She tilts your head up, bringing your eyes to meet hers, and the weight of her command settles even deeper within you.

“This,” she says, her thumb brushing softly over your jawline, “is exactly where you belong—at my feet, waiting for my word. I want you to see who’s in control, who makes the choices. And every time you look at me like this, you’ll remember that every action, every decision, is mine.” Her fingers tighten just slightly, her gaze holding yours with a depth that leaves no room for doubt.

You nod subtly, the acceptance in your gaze mirroring her certainty. Her hold on your chin remains, her fingers pressing a little firmer, reinforcing the truth she’s just spoken. “I don’t want you to just obey. I want you to feel it, to know that every inch of you is mine to command. You stay when I say stay. You move when I allow it. Understand?”

The air is thick with her authority, her words pressing into you, reinforcing her control in every possible way. You nod then finally, she releases your chin.

She smiles, her satisfaction evident. “Good,” she murmurs, watching you closely. “Get up and go clean yourself. Then meet me in bed. We're going to discuss your behavior at the dorm.”

You rise slowly, each movement a reminder of the boundaries she’s drawn. As you turn toward the bathroom, you feel her gaze lingering, following you like a weight that holds you in place even as you walk away. And when the door clicks shut behind you, the image of her small, knowing smile remains etched in your mind—a reminder of the perfect place she’s found for you, right where she intended.

[deforest]

SHE'S CRAZY WITH THE HEAT — 1946 ft. The International Sweethearts of Rhythm

In 1946, William D. Alexander began the production of a series of one-reel shorts, half-hour featurettes and feature films that would serve a dual purpose. These black cast subjects would be released to theaters that welcomed African American audiences; concurrently, the music segments would be excerpted from the films and released as Soundies. Ultimately, sixteen of Alexander’s musical shorts reached the Panoram screen, spotlighting the bands of Lucky Millinder, Billy Eckstine, Henri Woode and the International Sweethearts of Rhythm. (Alexander actually produced four films with the Sweethearts, three ten-minute short subjects and one feature, although some of the performances turns up in more than one film; only three performances saw release as a Soundie.) The International Sweethearts of Rhythm grew out of a band formed in the 1930s at the Piney Woods Country Life School, an institution – in part an orphanage – for poor African American children. A member of the music department had apparently taken note of the success of Ina Ray Hutton’s Melodears and decided that an all-woman band composed of school members might lead to something special. While they performed locally, the ISR did not begin to hit its stride until it left Piney Woods and became a professional touring outfit in 1941. The band was certainly “international” in nature, and its ranks included African American, Latina, Chinese, Indian, White and Puerto Rican musicians. In 1941, Anna Mae Winburn joined the orchestra as front woman and featured vocalist. During the war years Maurice King joined the band as both arranger and band manager. Born Clarence King in 1911, King played reeds and later became a fine swing arranger. While here we recognize his composition and arrangement for the Sweethearts – he called this tune “She’s Crazy with the Heat ” – King is best known for his longtime association with Barry Gordy and Motown Records for which he served as director of artist development. He worked closely with vocal groups, teaching the singers how to voice and phrase together. “Maurice brought sophistication and class to Motown,” said session musician Johnny Trudell. By 1946, the Sweethearts was recognized as one of the finest African-American bands in jazz. They recorded for Guild and RCA Records, broadcast regularly for the Armed Forces Radio Service, and toured Europe entertaining the GIs. While much of the success was due to Maurice King’s arrangements, the band’s musicians were all strong, and a special nod must go to Viola Burnside, one of the most neglected tenor soloists of the 1940s. I chatted with my friend Roz Cron, a member of the Sweetheart’s reed section, shortly before her passing. When I thanked her for her contribution, she paused and said, “Yeah, we were one of the best, one of the very, very best.” (via Jazz on Film)

[wannab3-writer]

Country Club Rivalry

PATRICK ZWEIG X CHILDHOOD FRIEND READER (some Art x reader)

NOTES : GOD, how I tried to make this an Art x Reader because I'm an Art GIRLIE, but Pat just had to come out on top for this one, truly…"

WARNINGS — 18 + content mdni, fem!reader, not proofread

wc: 5.3k

description:

When three friends work at the same country club, things are bound to get messy—especially when they have a bet about who can win over the reader first.

The Oakridge Country Club was bustling with its usual summer energy. Guests lounged by the pool, chatting under the striped umbrellas, while golf carts zipped along the winding paths. The sun blazed overhead, casting sharp shadows on the clay tennis courts where Patrick and Art were finishing their morning lessons.

You stood at the server station near the patio, jotting down drink orders on your notepad. It wasn't your first summer at the country club, but you still enjoyed the easy rhythm of the job—the way the breeze rustled through the trees, the laughter of kids playing by the pool, and the familiar faces of the regulars.

Patrick waved at you from across the tennis courts, his hair tousled from teaching. He was grinning like he always did when he'd just finished a good session. Art stood beside him, spinning his racket in his hand, looking relaxed and effortlessly charming.

"Hey, how's your section?" Patrick called, jogging over with Art trailing behind. He was wearing his usual tennis gear, white shirt, and shorts, with a blue visor to keep the sun out of his eyes.

"Pretty good," you replied, glancing at your notepad. "Mrs. Anderson is on her third mimosa, so I'm expecting a big tip."

Art laughed. "Better watch out, she's got a mean backhand when she's tipsy. I saw her smack a golf ball into the pond last week. Her caddie still hasn't recovered."

Patrick chuckled, shaking his head. "Classic Mrs. Anderson. Did you know she was a tennis champion back in the day? She could probably still give us a run for our money."

Art leaned in, lowering his voice. "Speaking of giving people a run for their money, I heard you've been racking up the tips lately. What's your secret?"

You shrugged with a playful smile. "Just being nice to people, Art. You should try it sometime."

Patrick laughed and nudged Art's shoulder. "Yeah, Art, maybe if you focused less on flirting with every guest and more on your job, you'd make some tips, too."

Art feigned shock. "Me? Flirting? I don't know what you're talking about." He turned to you with a charming grin. "Do you think I'm a flirt?"

You raised an eyebrow. "A little, but that's your thing, right? I mean, it's not like you're betting on who can get the most milfs phone numbers or anything." Clearly sarcastic.

Patrick shot Art a look, then quickly turned to you with a smile. "Yeah, nothing like that. We just... like to keep things interesting."

Art nodded, but you noticed a brief flicker of guilt in his eyes. It was subtle, but it made you wonder if there was more to their competition than met the eye.

"Well, whatever it is, just don't bring any drama into my section, okay?" you said, playfully tapping your notepad against Art's chest. "I've got enough to deal with without you two causing trouble."

Patrick raised his hands in mock surrender. "No drama, I promise. We'll be on our best behavior."

Art winked. "Scout's honor."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile. Despite the teasing and the occasional competitive streak, you knew they meant well. It was just another summer at the country club, where the days were long, the sun was hot, and anything could happen.

Anything.

---

The Club had settled into its evening rhythm by the time you reached the bar. Fairy lights twinkled overhead, casting soft glimmers on the stone patio. The air was warm and fragrant with the scent of blooming jasmine and freshly cut grass. A live band played classic rock covers, the gentle strum of guitars mingling with the murmur of patrons relaxing after a day of golf and tennis.

Patrick was at a corner table, nursing a glass of whiskey on the rocks. He looked up from his phone and waved you over, a broad smile lighting up his face. He'd changed out of his tennis instructor uniform into a casual blue polo and jeans, his hair still damp from a quick shower.

"Hey, there you are!" he said, using his foot to pull out a chair for you. "I was starting to think you forgot about me."

You shook your head with a grin. "Please, I could hear your bad jokes all the way from the kitchen. Had to come and see what was so funny."

Patrick laughed, setting his phone aside. "You know I'm hilarious. You just pretend not to appreciate my sense of humor."

You took a seat and glanced around. The bar was lively but not overcrowded. A group of older couples was playing cards at a nearby table, and a few teenagers from the tennis program were playing darts in the corner. It felt like the perfect end to a busy day.

"So, what are we drinking tonight?" Patrick asked, gesturing to the menu. "I've got whiskey, but I hear the margaritas are pretty good."

You considered for a moment. "Let's go with the margaritas. I need something fruity after today."

Patrick flagged down the bartender, who quickly mixed up a pitcher of margaritas with a generous splash of tequila. He poured you a glass and handed it over with a mock bow. "Your drink, my liege. May it bring you all the fruitiness you desire."

You raised your glass with a chuckle. "Thank you, William,” you turn towards the brunet “To Patrick, who somehow managed not to break any tennis rackets today. It's a new record!"

Patrick clinked his whiskey against your glass. "And to you, for not spilling any drinks on Mrs. Anderson. She's still mad about last summer's 'mimosa incident.'"

You rolled your eyes, remembering the time you accidentally spilled a tray of drinks on Mrs. Anderson's white dress during a particularly hectic brunch. "Don't remind me. I had to run for cover like I was in a war zone. I thought she’d have my head.”

Patrick laughed, the sound warm and familiar. "You should've seen her face. It was like you'd ruined her entire day. But hey, at least you got to keep your job."

As the two of you shared stories and relived old memories, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the patio. The band transitioned to a slower song, adding a mellow vibe to the evening.

Art arrived a little later, his tennis gear replaced by a button-down snap back and jeans. He had a confident stride and a smile that seemed to draw attention wherever he went. He slid into the seat next to you, his presence bringing a shift in the energy at the table.

"What's up, party people?" he said, his voice smooth and inviting. "I hope you saved some margaritas for me."

Patrick handed him a glass. "Of course, wouldn't want our little Arty to feel left out.”  He added leaning into Art smirking. “What took you so long anyways,  Shelly needed some one-on-one time to work on her underhand? Or what. ”

You smirked. "You really think He’s that charming, huh?” she turns towards Art looking into his eyes “What’s your secret hmm? Is it the cologne?"

Art leaned in with a grin. "It's all about confidence. And maybe a little bit of cologne. But mostly confidence."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Right, because confidence is what you exude. You should've seen Art on the tennis court today. He was so confident he almost hit a kid with a tennis ball."

Art raised an eyebrow. "Almost. That's the key word. No harm, no foul."

The banter continued, the three of you falling into an easy rhythm. Art's charm contrasted with Patrick's laid-back, cheeky style, and you found yourself enjoying the playful back-and-forth.

As the evening progressed, you noticed Patrick watching Art with a hint of unease. It was subtle, like a flicker in his eyes whenever Art made you laugh a little too hard or leaned in a little too close.

---

"All right, we're here. Try not to break anything, okay? Last time you were here, my mom couldn't find her favorite vase for a week."

Art smirked, stepping inside. "That wasn't my fault! How was I supposed to know it was on top of the fridge? Who puts a vase on the fridge, anyway?"

Art dropped his bag in his Patrick’s room and looked around. The place had an eclectic charm—walls lined with tennis trophies, faded concert posters, and family photos. A stack of video games sat beside the TV.

Patrick led the way into the kitchen, grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge. He tossed one to Art, who caught it with ease. "So, what are you in the mood for? I was thinking pizza, but we can order something else if you're not into it."

Art popped open the bear and took a sip. "Pizza sounds good. Just no anchovies, okay? That stuff is nasty."

Patrick laughed, opening his own soda. "You're missing out, man. Anchovies are a delicacy." He grabbed the phone and dialed the pizza place, ordering a large with pepperoni and sausage. "There, something a bit more your speed. Happy now?"

Art nodded, leaning against the counter. "Yeah, that'll work. So, you ready for tomorrow? Two-on-two is serious business. We can't afford to slack off."

Patrick waved a hand dismissively. "Please, I'm always ready. Besides, we've got the advantage. I mean, have you seen the other teams? Half of them can't even hit a backhand."

Art chuckled. "You're so modest, Patrick. What would you do without me to keep you humble?"

Patrick shrugged with a grin. "Probably win more matches.”

Art threw a punch at Patrick's shoulder, and Patrick pretended to wince. They both laughed, the kind of easy camaraderie that came from years of friendship and shared jokes. But there was also a subtle tension in the air, like they were both aware of the unspoken rivalry that had been growing between them.

"So," Patrick said, leaning back against the kitchen island, biting his lip "you and […] seemed pretty chummy tonight. What's the story there? You trying to make a move, or what?" The familiar smirk making its way to his face.

Art raised an eyebrow, his expression guarded. "We're just talking. Nothing wrong with getting to know someone, right?" He finished wetting his lips.

Patrick smirked. "Sure, nothing wrong with that.” He shrugged.  “But you're not just getting to know her. You're flirting, and we both know it." He took a couple steps forward “Basically eye fucking her, to be honest” He only smiled.

Art shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Oh, come on Pat, maybe, She's just fun to be around, you know. No need to be gross." Art gave him a wry smile. "You know me. I just go with the flow. If she likes hanging out with me, who am I to complain?"

Patrick leaned in, lowering his voice. "Or maybe, you think she's interested in you. Is that what this is about? You think you've got a shot?" His eyes scanning arts face.

Art met his gaze, his expression calm but with a hint of challenge. "I don't know, man. Maybe I do. What does it matter to you huh? You think you've got the inside track because you've known her longer?"

Patrick grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I mean, it doesn't hurt. We've got a lot of history. I'm charming, good-looking, and I've got the best jokes. What's not to like?" he goes back to lean on the counter. “Besides, I’ve seen the real her, all of it, kinda gives me a little advantage don’t you think.”

Art halts, stops chewing his gum, straitening himself up. “What’s that supposed to mean Patrick.”

“Exactly what it you think.” He kissed his teeth, kicking off the counter and going back to looking inside the fridge.

Art chuckled, but there was a hint of envy in his laugh. "Well, if you're so confident, maybe we should make it interesting. How about a little bet? See who can win her over first?"

Patrick waved his hand dismissively. "Little Arty wants a bet he’ll lose?” He chuckles. “No games. Just a simple bet. May the best man win."

Art held out his hand, and Patrick shook it with a grin. The bet was sealed, but there was an underlying seriousness in Art's eyes. As they waited for the pizza, the two friends continued their banter, but there was a new edge to their jokes—like the stakes had just gotten a little higher.

---

A week after their doubles match, the annual Oakridge Country Club gala was in full swing, the ballroom bustling with elegantly dressed members and guests. The chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting warm light onto the neatly set tables, while smooth jazz played in the background. You stood near the entrance, surveying the glamorous crowd, your fitted dress drawing approving glances from a few partygoers.

Art was the first to spot you, leaning against a wall with a cocktail in hand, chatting up club regulars. He was dressed in a sharp suit, but he carried himself with a boyish charm. His grin was wide as he motioned for you to come over, his eyes moving from your head to your heels in a way that felt like a visual undressing.

"Wow," he said, raising his glass, "you clean up nice. I was expecting you to show up in your waiter outfit or something. I'm glad you went with the dress, though. Much more... appealing."

You gave him a playful smirk, stepping up to the bar. "Thanks, Art. I do my best to impress." You glanced at his drink. "Are you trying to get a head start on the partying? We haven't even hit the dance floor yet."

He took a sip, his gaze lingering on your lips. "Hey, I like to loosen up a bit before the main event. Keeps things interesting. Besides, you can't blame a guy for wanting to enjoy himself, right? You gonna  help me enjoy my night and keep me company?"

Patrick, who was laughing with a group nearby, walked over just in time to catch Art’s comment. He gave Art a look of mild disapproval, then turned to you with a sly smile.

"Don't listen to him. He's just trying to get you alone so he can talk your ear off about his latest tennis game.” Patrick shrugged, looking at Art with a smirk. "So boring. I was thinking we could have some real fun; you know? A little adventure never hurt anyone." He leaned closer, his voice barely audible over the music. "Besides, I know all the best spots around here. Private spots. You'd love it."

Art shook his head, clearly not amused. "Come on, Patrick. We're here to enjoy the gala, not to sneak off like we're in high school. Why don't we all just enjoy the party and see what happens?"

Patrick grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Art. But if you change your mind,” he turn towards her. “You know where to find me. I'll be the one having a good time." He turned to you with a suggestive wink while walking backwards to god knows where.

Art rolled his eyes, then smiled at you in a more relaxed manner. "Sorry about him, he’s not really allowed to leave the house. He's a good guy, but he doesn't always know when to tone it down. If you want, I can keep him from getting too out of hand. I wouldn't want him to scare you off." He says mocking Patrick as he walked away.

You laugh full heartedly glancing at Patrick, who was already chatting with a couple of other guests, his flirtatious demeanor on full display. " Thanks so for watching out for me. It can get a little overwhelming with him around." You continued smiling.

Art nodded smiling, his expression kind. " I was thinking we could get some food, maybe hit the dance floor. What do you think?" Art suggested, leading the way. "I'm sure Patrick will join us once he's done charming the entire room."

Patrick shot Art a mischievous look but didn't follow immediately. You could tell he was reveling in the attention, his flirtatious behavior attracting more than a few curious glances from the other guests.

The band switched to a slow, romantic melody, and Art extended his hand to you with a charming smile. "Care to dance?" he asked, his eyes warm and inviting.

You nodded, accepting his offer, and he led you onto the dance floor. His touch was gentle yet confident as he pulled you close, swaying to the music with practiced ease.

As you danced with Art, you felt yourself relaxing into his embrace. His presence was comforting, his movements smooth and graceful. You couldn't help but smile as you looked up at him, feeling a somewhat new sense of closeness.

Halfway through the song, Patrick appeared out of nowhere, a cocky grin on his lips. "Mind if I cut in?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

Before you could respond, he swept you away from Art, taking you into his arms with a boldness that made you some type of way. His touch was hot, his body pressed close to yours as he guided you across the dance floor.

"So, you replacing your best friend with that ginger?" he asked, his voice low and suggestive. "Boring you to tears yet?" He raised a brow.

You laughed, unable to resist his playfulness. "Hmm maybe. He's actually a great dancer, unlike some people."

Patrick smirked, pulling you even closer. "Yeah, but can he do this?" With a sudden flourish, he spun you around, his movements fluid and confident. "Do I need to remind you why I’m better.” He paused.

“How, I’m better.”

You chuckled rolling your eyes, enjoying the thrill of dancing with Patrick. He was unpredictable, to say the least, his smile contagious. But as much as you were drawn to him, you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for leaving Art behind.

Patrick reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering you one with a sly grin. "Care for a smoke?" he asked, lighting his own with practiced ease.

You just shook your head with hesitant smile. “I really shouldn’t, Pat. You know I’m trying to quit.”

He looks you up and down with a seductive look.  

“We’ve all got our guilty pleasures, darling.”

As the song came to an end, Patrick took your hand, leading you away from the dance floor and out onto the club’s private beach. The cool breeze off the ocean felt refreshing against your skin, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore was soothing.

You hesitated for a moment, then accepted the offer, taking the cigarette from him and inhaling deeply. The nicotine hit you like a rush of adrenaline, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration as you exhaled a cloud of smoke into the night air.

"So, what do you think?" Patrick asked, his eyes searching yours. "Having fun yet?"

You nodded, feeling a sense of liberation wash over you. "Yeah, I am. Thanks for... you know, stealing me away." You added motioning to the cigarette.

Patrick grinned, leaning in closer. "Anytime, sweetheart. Just say the word, and I'll whisk you away to paradise."

You laughed, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest.

Patrick decided to sit down in the sand, his cigarette glowing in the darkness as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. You sat beside him, savoring the familiar scent of his cologne.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, then shot you a sidelong glance. "You know, I was just thinking about that first summer at tennis camp," he said, his voice low and playful. "I mean, it's where it all started, right? Just a couple of kids swinging rackets and making trouble."

You smiled at the memory. "Yeah, it's crazy to think about how much has changed since then. Who would've thought you'd actually make it big in tennis? Meanwhile, I could barely keep the ball on the court."

Patrick laughed, a warm, hearty sound that cut through the night air. "Yeah, well, I guess I had a little more motivation to stick with it. You were off climbing trees and playing in the woods, and I was stuck with a bunch of coaches yelling at me to hit harder."

"Hey," you replied with a smirk, "it's not like I was useless. I remember showing you all the best spots to hide when you wanted to skip practice."

Patrick nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I remember. You were the queen of avoiding responsibility. If it weren't for you, I'd probably have become a strait-laced tennis prodigy. Instead, you dragged me into the wilderness to make forts and find weird bugs."

You both chuckled, reminiscing about those lazy summer days when tennis camp was more of a suggestion than a requirement. But then Patrick's expression turned sly, and he leaned in a bit closer.

"Speaking of weird things from our past," he said, his voice dripping with playful insinuation, he nudged you. "You remember that bet we made? The one about if we were both green by the time you turned 16, we'd, you know, be each other's first?"

Your face grew warm at the memory. It had been a silly bet between two best friends who figured they'd never find anyone else in their small circle. But the fact that you followed through with it made it more than just a joke.

"Yeah," you replied, pretending to be nonchalant, "I remember, Pat we’re not that old. It was a dumb bet, but I guess we kept our word, didn't we?"

Patrick nodded, a cheeky grin spreading across his lips. "We sure did. And you know, I wasn't expecting it to be so... memorable. I thought we'd just laugh about it later, but it was kind of nice. You know, like a rite of passage or something."

You laughed, trying to deflect his innuendo. "A rite of passage? Yeah, right. More like a hilarious disaster. I mean, you had no idea what you were doing."

Patrick raised an eyebrow, his grin growing wider. "Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad. Besides, you were just as clueless. At least I managed to keep my cool, mostly."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help but smile at his cockiness. "Mostly, huh? If I remember correctly, you tripped over your own shoes and nearly fell face first."

Patrick groaned, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Okay, maybe I was a little clumsy. But you have to admit, it was an experience neither of us will forget. And hey, we did it together. That's gotta count for something, right?"

You nodded, feeling a mix of nostalgia and fondness. "Yeah, it does. I'm just glad it didn't ruin our friendship. It could've been awkward, but it wasn't."

Patrick leaned in, his gaze locking with yours. "Of course it wasn't. We were best friends. We still are. And besides, even if it was a bit awkward, it was worth it. You know, just to say we did it." He flicked the ash from his cigarette, then added with a wink, "And hey, I was your first. That's something not everyone can say."

You laughed, pushing him lightly on the shoulder. "Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head. You still have a long way to go before you become a pro. But if you need any advice on how to avoid tripping over your own shoes, I'm here for you."

Patrick grinned, taking a final drag from his cigarette before tossing it into the sand. " If you ever want to make another bet, I'm always up for it. " He Looks at you seductively, his eyes full of mischief. " I think if you were to give me another chance, you’d find that I’ve improved quite a bit. " He gives you his signature smirk.

You scan his face trying to find sincerity in his words, not sure how you’d feel if he was. “What are you trying to get at Patrick?”

“Nothing at all.” He raised his hands in a surrender, cigarette in mouth looking away. “I’m just saying, I feel like I deserve a redemption arc,” He takes his cigarette putting out in the sand. “I wasn’t the most…giving you can say.” He looks back at you, under his brows. “And I just want to show you that I’ve changed, for the better.” He offers a smile.

You just nod your head in fake agreement. “Uhh, how much have you had to drink tonight pat?  Is it time to call you a cab?” You questioned with a week smile.  

“Oh, shut up, I’m dead sober.”  He said leaning in.  He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Besides, what's life without a little adventure?"

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his touch. It was a simple gesture, but there was something in the way he did it that made your heart skip a beat. Patrick had always had a way of pushing boundaries, but tonight, he seemed more deliberate, more intent.

"Adventure?" you replied, your voice slightly breathless. "Are you planning something?"

Patrick's smile grew, his eyes locking with yours. "Maybe. But you know me—always full of surprises." He stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on your waist. "But I promise, it'll be a good one."

You felt a rush of heat at his touch, the closeness between you stirring something deep within. Patrick leaned in, his lips just inches from yours. "So, do you trust me?" he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "No I don’t, Patrick, because I know you. Why? What are you up to?"

Patrick's gaze grew more intense, his eyes fixed on yours. "I just wanted to try something." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, a teasing touch that sent a jolt of electricity through you.

The kiss deepened, the heat between you building as Patrick pulled you closer. His hand slid around your waist, holding you firmly as he kissed you with a newfound intensity. The sound of the waves seemed to fade away, replaced by the pounding of your own heart.

Patrick's other hand cupped your cheek, his touch gentle yet assertive. His kiss was slow and deliberate, each movement a carefully orchestrated dance that left you breathless. As his lips moved against yours, you felt a rush of desire, a connection that seemed to transcend words.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with emotion. He looked at you, his lips slightly parted, as if he was trying to read your thoughts.

“Show me.” You said looking him deep in his eyes barley a millimetre away from his lips.

“Show you what darling?” He question with a smile gracing his lips

“How you’re better than Art.”

That’s not what he was expecting at all. Maybe a ‘show me how you’ve improved.’ But certainly not you using his own words against him, That’s for sure.

That didn’t stop Patrick's smile from getting bigger though, as he moved his hands all over you, bringing you in for another wet and sloppy kiss. He slowly laid you down into the sand using his teeth to slide up your dress around your waits.

He slowly kissed your stomach stopping at the hem of your thong. Moving it to the side, he slides one of his digits up and down your slit.

Looking up to you with a sly smile, he lets out a contented sigh. " Give me some of this sweet pussy." With the excited flattening of his tongue, he dives right in, right there, on the beach. Before you even having a chance to fully lay down, Patrick slides his arms beneath your legs and pulls you in. 

As you begin to grind into him and yearn for more of his tongue, you play with one of your tits. Suddenly too shy to look him in the eye, you reach down and tug on his hair. You can feel your cheeks getting hot with shame at how quickly you folded for him.   “Tongue fuck me, please, Pat. When did you get so good at this?”

 he consumes you. his hands are playing with your ass and thighs. He kneads the skin and spreading you out. He trust his tongue into your entrance and explores your pussy.  Less than a minute later, your walls start to twitch around his tongue. He takes in all your cum. When he looks up back at you, he just gives you a sly smirk. 

Patrick rolled onto his back beside you, his chest heaving slightly from the intensity of what just happened. You try to get your breathing back to normal when suddenly you let out a random laugh.

Patrick turned his head, raising an eyebrow. "What's so funny?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, but his face still wet from your essence.

You shrugged, trying to stifle your laughter. "I don't know, it just hit me—how did we end up here? One minute we're at the gala, and the next we're... well, doing this." You gestured at the beach, and your unruly appearance.

Patrick grinned, rolling onto his side to face you. "Maybe it's fate," he said, his voice soft and playful. "Or maybe it's just because I couldn't resist pulling you away for a little... private time." He winked, his cheeky grin only growing wider.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no denying the warmth that spread through your chest. "Or maybe it’s because you and Art have a weird little bet going on, and for some reason, I’m in the middle of it." you replied, a teasing edge to your tone.

Patrick frowns sitting up to look at you properly. " You know about that?" He’s confused.

You let out a chuckle. "Patrick, I’m not a dumbass, like i said, i know you. And i know Art, you guys have been total try hards for the last week, sure, you’re just a whore and will flirt with anything that has a vagina, but even Art was over doing it." You swatted at his shoulder, trying to hide your smile. "Patrick, seriously," you said, though your tone lacked any real reprimand. "You always push your luck, you know that?  You leaned in a little closer, your eyes locking with his.

Patrick's grin softened, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. "Yeah, well, sometimes you need a little excitement," he replied, his hand resting on your hip, a gentle reminder of his presence. "And you can't deny that you like it when I take charge. Right?" His fingers traced a light pattern along your hipbone, his touch both playful and suggestive.

You sighed, the subtle tension between you becoming more palpable. "Maybe," you replied, your voice low and teasing. "But don't think I'll always let you get away with it. Sometimes, you need to earn it."

Patrick laughed, a deep, rich sound that seemed to carry on the breeze. "Oh, don't worry," he said, his eyes narrowing with that familiar mischievous look. "I'll work for it. You just let me know when you want me to turn on the charm." He leaned in again, his lips hovering near yours, the warmth of his breath a tantalizing invitation.

You closed the gap, letting his lips meet yours in a brief, soft kiss. It was playful but laced with an underlying intensity, a promise of more to come. When you pulled back, you saw the surprise in his eyes, followed by that trademark grin.

"Consider it a preview," you said, giving him a gentle nudge. "But don't get too cocky, or I’ll make sure you lose this bet."

------------------------

Thank you for reading! Please leave comments, likes, and reblogs; all are appreciated! Also, feel free to send requests!

[gladiatorcunt]

oreo tiger milk tea

cw: afab reader, suggestive content (18+ mdni): strap mentions and implied cunnilingus, ooc soft!tashi (she cares about you more than tennis), don’t think too hard about this

you hum and stir the shrimp, trying to remember how long you need to cook them for. you think the recipe said 4 minutes, so you shrug and hope for the best.

the giant flatscreen tv in your living room drones on in the background, you’re just waiting for tashi’s taped interview. her match already ended, you’re still heartbroken that you couldn’t be there but you cheered her on from your brand new sectional.

“yeah, my partner has been such a huge supporter. I’m so grateful to have them, and all my fans.” she says, blowing a kiss towards the camera.

it’s a run of the mill media response, but it gives you butterflies nonetheless.

you smile down at the sizzling shrimp like an idiot, taking it out and arranging them on the two bowls of rice on the table.

your legs are still sore and it takes everything in you to make it to your chair in one piece. tashi likes to joke that fucking you with her strap is all the work out she needs, that and smothering your face with her pussy. she didn’t keep you up as late last night, knowing that she had to be back on an emergency flight soon.

“hey, babe, what are you watching?” she teases as she peeks around the corner, having changed out of her airport clothes into sweats.

you grin and tilt your head up for a kiss, “my gorgeous wife’s interview, obviously.”

she rolls her eyes fondly, giving you your kiss. it’s slow and drawn out, her trip wasn’t long enough to call for a messy fight with teeth. plus, all the “home videos” tashi keeps on her phone are the perfect solution to be away from each other and horny.

“we’re not even married yet, stupid.”

“and what if I said that I'm pregnant with your baby?”

tashi gives you the most loving ‘what the fuck are you high on’ look, “then i’d say that i’m suprised it took this long.”

“so no shotgun wedding?” you pout, trying your hardest not to burst out laughing.

“don’t act like you don’t want a big wedding, you big baby.” she grins and pecks the tip of your nose.

you beam back at her and shrug, pulling her by the wrists to come sit down at the table next to you. you’re still so awestruck by the fact that you’re living in a multi million dollar home with your superstar fiancé.

the shrimp and rice is devoured with numerous compliments to the chef. tashi takes her sweet time wiping her (and your) face clean and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. you can’t help but let your eyes fall to her ass as she walks away.

“nice ass, Tash’ ” you say as you come up behind her and wind your arms around her torso.

you take a moment to sway in the kitchen, absorbing the faint traces of shower water and left over sweat under her orange and jasmine perfume.

“yours is nicer.” she hums, grinding back against you in languid circles.

“if you say so.”

“i do say so.”

your underwear is cutting it close to getting damp, sue you for being weak for your beautiful woman. the teasing rhythm doesn’t even phase you, you slide your fingers along the soft fabric covering her hips and pull her closer. it doesn’t escalate into frenzied dry humping, the warmth and unhurried friction of her ass cheeks against your mound is intoixcating enough.

you do her a favor and close the dishwasher. she casts a look over her shoulder, challenging you to make a move. you smirk and pick her up by her thighs, pushing her to jump up on the counter.

tashi lays down with the most smug smile a person could possibly wear, “you just cleaned the counters, baby, you better not make a mess.”

you stick your tongue out, pulling her pants down and getting close enough to tear her panties off with your teeth. she spreads her legs, giving you a clear view of her pussy. you gently blow air onto her clit and she sighs, rolling her shoulders back.

“yeah yeah, tash’. i’ll get it all in my mouth this time, i swear”.

because you know if you do, she’ll be taking YOUR strap.

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 10 | Newborn Miracle

summary: the time has finally come, you and chris are going to become parents. Both of you are filled with joy and nervousness at the same time since this is a big step both of you have to make now and you’re ready more than ever for the adventures that lay ahead of you.

warnings: none, just child birth but besides it’s just chris becoming a proud father

authors note: this idea is so adorable I love the concept of babydad!chris and I need more people to write about it, so this is your sign to go do that rn 🫵 luv yall silk and hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

The sun had now began to rise, casting a golden color across the sky as I sat nervously in the passenger seat of Chris’s car, my hand clutching the hospital bag like it was a lifeline. Today was the day we had waited for, the day our lives would change forever. After months of preparing ourselves, endless conversations and debates about baby names and painting the nursery a soft shade of orange we were about to meet our little one. Chris was driving with a focused gaze I hadn’t seen before, his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel.

Every so often he would spare glances at me, his blue eyes shining with excitement. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, his voice being a mix of joy and disbelief at whats going to happen today. I turned to him, my heart racing as I speak. “I think so. I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” I replied, feeling butterflies fluttering in my stomach. The thought of actually becoming a parent was almost hard to believe . When we finally arrived at the hospital, the adrenaline kicked in.

We rushed through the automatic doors, our hearts pounding all together. The bright lights and the familiar smell of sanitary welcomed us as we checked in and were hushed towards the maternity section. The atmosphere was filled with anticipation but not just ours but from families around us, each with their own maternity story. After what felt like forever, it was time for me to be called in. Chris held my hand tightly as we walked together into the delivery room. My heart raced as I settled onto the hospital bed and feeling the cool sheets under me.

Nurses huddled around while preparing equipment for the delivery while Chris stood by my side, whispering soft words of motivation. Hours passed with the soft rhythm of contractions guiding us through the whole experience. Chris was never far from me and his presence felt like a warm blanket of comfort. He kept running his hands through my hair, his calming voice reminding me that we were in this together. “You’re doing amazing,” he softly whispered, his faith in me growing by the second. Finally, after what felt like an ongoing battle of will and strength, the moment arrived.

I could feel the overwhelming urge to push, and with each contraction, I used every ounce of strength I had left. In those intense moments, Chris’s eyes became my own. “You’ve got this, ma,” he reassured me, and I leaned into that support. With one final push and an intense surge of energy I didn’t know I had, we heard the most beautiful sound-our baby’s first ever cry. It was like music to our ears.

Suddenly, everything else faded away around us, the pain, the noise, the world outside. In that instant, all that mattered was the life that had just entered into our world. The doctor gently handed our baby to me, and my heart twisted with joy. I looked down and there they were, our little bundle of happiness in soft white blankets. Chris’s breath caught in his throat as he came closer with his eyes wide, filled with emotion all kinds of emotions. “Can I hold them?” he asked, his voice trembling with excitement. “Of course,” I smiled, shifting so he could take our baby.

Chris cradled our little one against his chest, and I watched as he radiated with pure love. He kissed their tiny forehead, an expression of shock shadowing his face. “You did it. You brought us this miracle,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion coming straight from the heart. Chris looked down at our baby as if they were the most precious treasure in the world. “I want to do skin-to-skin,” he said and I could see the excitement radiating from him. The nurses smiled approvingly and helped him gently remove his shirt, placing our baby against his bare chest.

The warmth of the moment hugged us as Chris’s skin touched our child’s delicate body. He looked at me, letting the little one into his now vulnerable heart. “Can you believe this?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. Our little one squirmed, their little hand reaching for where Chris’s heartbeat lies. I could see a connection forming, a bond that would last a lifetime. Tears filled my eyes as I watched the two of the most important people in my life together.

It was a moment of pure beauty, one I will cherish forever. Chris looked at me and grinned, as his face radiated with joy. “We’re parents,” he said, still star struck, “and this is just the beginning.” In that room surrounded by the warmth of new beginnings, we held each other close, both over the moon and overwhelmed by all of it. Our family was here, and we were ready for the wonderful adventure ahead.

@hearts4werka

Guestlist!

| - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

[goddessofvalyria]

RIDE OR DIE pt.1 | Aemond Targaryen x fem!oc

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

Summary: Aemond Targaryen is the owner of a famous strip club, the Blue Pearl. One night he visits the club and asks for the best girl, unaware of the consequences of his choice…

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, the fem!oc is named Maddy with long brown hair and blue-green eyes, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, SMUT, sexual tension, sex, sex, sex, Modern Aemond in Modern AU.

English is not my first language, be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 4122

The Blue Pearl is buzzing with its usual electricity, the low hum of conversation mixing with the sensual rhythm of the music. Tonight, though, there's a different kind of tension in the air. Word has spread quickly among the dancers that Aemond Targaryen —the elusive, powerful owner of the club—has made an unexpected appearance.

The dancers steal glances toward the VIP section, where Aemond Targaryen sits, his presence commanding the room without a word. He's dressed in an immaculate black suit, his silver-blond hair slicked back, the eye patch covering his left eye only adding to his enigmatic allure. He surveys the club with a cool, detached air, but there's a sharpness in his gaze, a sense of control that radiates from him.

Madame Sylvie, the woman who runs the girls, is quick to act. She approaches Aemond with the confidence of someone who’s been in this business for years, yet with the respect that his position demands. "Mr. Targaryen," she greets him, her voice smooth. "What can we offer you tonight?"

Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver as he responds, his voice low and authoritative. "The best girl you have."

Madame Sylvie nods, not missing a beat. "Of course, her name is Maddy"

She knows exactly who he wants, who the best is. Without another word, she gestures for Maddy.

Maddy is the club’s jewel. With long, flowing brown hair and mesmerizing green-blue eyes, she’s the sexiest, most sought-after girl at The Blue Pearl. Her beauty is unmatched, but it’s her confidence, the way she moves, that truly sets her apart. Men pay top dollar for just a few minutes of her time, and tonight, she’s about to perform for the boss himself.

As the song "Ride or Die Pt. 2" begins to pulse through the speakers, Maddy steps into the private room where Aemond is waiting. The space is dimly lit, the flicker of red led casting a warm glow over the luxurious surroundings. She’s dressed in a stunning set of lingerie—an expensive bra and thong adorned with Swarovski crystals, loose hair, high heels amd each movement sending a shimmer of light dancing across her skin.

Maddy knows the stakes are high tonight. Aemond Targaryen isn’t just any client; he’s the owner, the man behind the empire that is The Blue Pearl. But she doesn’t let it show. With a sultry smile, she begins to move, her body swaying to the rhythm of the music. Her dance is a seductive blend of grace and raw sensuality, every step calculated to entice, to captivate.

Aemond watches her with an intensity that makes her skin tingle. He’s silent, his expression unreadable, but his eye never leaves her. There’s a predatory edge to the way he looks at her, as if he’s assessing every detail, every movement. Maddy can feel the weight of his gaze, the way it seems to strip her bare, even more than the delicate lingerie she wears.

She twirls and arches her body, the crystals on her outfit catching the light, reflecting the opulence of the room. As she drops down low, her hands sliding up her thighs, she locks eyes with Aemond. For a moment, the world outside the room ceases to exist. It’s just the two of them—the dancer and the boss—caught in a dance that’s as much about power as it is about pleasure.

Aemond’s expression remains stoic, but there’s a subtle shift in his posture, a slight leaning forward as if he’s drawn closer by an invisible force. Maddy notices, and it fuels her confidence. She knows she has his attention, knows she’s living up to the reputation that Madame Sylvie has built around her.

The song reaches its peak, and Maddy’s movements become more fluid, more intense. She’s a vision of temptation, her body moving in ways that are both hypnotic and provocative. She ends the dance by crawling slowly toward him, her eyes locked on his, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

As the last notes of the song fade into silence, Maddy rises to her feet, standing before Aemond with a poise that belies the heat of the moment. She doesn’t say a word—she doesn’t need to. Her performance has said everything.

Aemond finally speaks, his voice as cool and composed as ever. "Well done, Maddy" he says, his tone carrying a note of approval that’s rare from him.

Maddy smiles, a small, triumphant curve of her lips. "Thank you, Mr. Targaryen."

Aemond stands, his tall frame towering over her as he reaches into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a thick envelope, placing it on the table beside her with a finality that suggests their encounter is over. But as he turns to leave, he pauses, looking back at her with that same intense gaze.

"I’ll be seeing you again."

With that, he’s gone, leaving Maddy standing alone in the private room, the soft glow of the red lights still flickering around her. She exhales slowly, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Aemond Targaryen might be the boss, but tonight, she had been the one in control.

As the door to the private room closes behind Aemond, Maddy takes a moment to compose herself, the adrenaline from the dance still buzzing in her veins. The thick envelope filled with money he left behind is a reminder of the power she holds, but it’s the lingering tension in the air that captivates her thoughts. There was something in the way he looked at her, a flicker of something more than mere approval.

Just as she’s about to leave the room, her phone buzzes in her clutch. She pulls it out, surprised to see a number she doesn’t recognize. Instinctively, she knows who it is.

"Maddy," comes Aemond’s low, controlled voice when she answers. His tone sends a shiver down her spine.

"Mr. Targaryen," she replies, letting her voice drop to a husky purr. "Did I leave you wanting more?"

There’s a pause on the other end, a silence heavy with intent. "Come to my office" he commands, but there’s a softness in his voice that wasn’t there before. A hint of something more personal, more vulnerable.

Maddy smiles, a slow, knowing smile. "Are you asking, or are you telling me?"

Another pause, longer this time. "I’m asking," he finally says, the admission sounding like it costs him something. 

She feels a rush of satisfaction. "I’ll be there in five minutes."

The walk to Aemond’s office feels longer than usual, each step echoing with the unspoken tension between them. When she reaches the heavy, oak door, she hesitates for just a second before pushing it open. Inside, the room is dimly lit, much like the private room, but there’s a different energy here—something more intimate, more charged.

Aemond is standing by the large window that overlooks the city, his back to her. The moonlight casts a silver glow over his form, highlighting the sharp angles of his shoulders and the precise lines of his suit. He doesn’t turn around when she enters, but she knows he’s aware of every move she makes.

Closing the door behind her, Maddy saunters across the room, her hips swaying slightly with each step. She knows how to use her body, how to command attention, and right now, she intends to use every ounce of that power.

"You wanted to see me?" she asks, her voice silky smooth as she stops just a few feet behind him.

Aemond finally turns to face her, his expression unreadable, but there’s a tension in his posture, a tightness in his jaw that betrays him. "I wanted to talk" he says, but his voice lacks its usual firmness.

Maddy tilts her head, letting her hair cascade over one shoulder. "Is that really all you wanted, Aemond?" she teases, deliberately using his first name, stripping away the formalities.

He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze locked on hers, as if searching for something he can’t quite find. The intensity in his eyes makes her heart skip a beat, but she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she takes a step closer, her hand reaching out to lightly brush against his chest.

"You were watching me so closely during the dance," she whispers, her fingers tracing the edge of his lapel. "I could feel your eyes on me, like you were trying to memorize every move I made. Did you like what you saw?"

Aemond’s breath hitches, and for the first time, she sees a crack in his composed exterior. "Yes," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I did."

Maddy smiles, a seductive curve of her lips as she closes the distance between them. She can feel the tension radiating off him, the way his body is taut with restraint. Her hand slides up to his neck, fingers lightly grazing the skin just above his collar. "Then why don’t you show me?"

He looks at her with a mix of longing and hesitation, the usual confidence in his gaze replaced by something more raw, more exposed. "Maddy," he begins, but his voice falters. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "Please."

She raises an eyebrow, her smile widening. "Please, what?"

There’s a vulnerability in his expression now, a need that he can’t hide, no matter how hard he tries. "Please... kiss me."

The request is soft, almost desperate, and it catches her off guard. She hadn’t expected him to surrender so easily, but there’s something disarming about it, something that tugs at a part of her she didn’t know existed.

But Maddy doesn’t let the moment slip away. Instead, she leans in slowly, letting the anticipation build as her lips hover just inches from his. She can feel his breath on her skin, warm and unsteady, and she knows she has him completely under her control.

When she finally closes the gap, her lips brushing against his, it’s soft at first—tentative, almost tender. But then Aemond responds, his hands coming up to grip her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens. There’s a hunger in the way he kisses her, a desperation that surprises her, but she matches it, letting herself get lost in the heat of the moment.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, and she feels him shudder beneath her touch. The power shift between them is palpable, the dynamic from earlier now reversed. He might be the boss, the man who runs The Blue Pearl, but right now, he’s the one begging for more.

When they finally pull apart, both of them breathless, Maddy looks up at him, her heart pounding in her chest. Aemond’s eye is dark with desire, his usually controlled demeanor completely shattered. 

"Is that what you wanted?" she whispers, her voice laced with both seduction and something softer, something she hadn’t intended to show.

Aemond nods, his grip on her waist tightening slightly as if he’s afraid to let her go. "Yes," he breathes. "But it’s not enough."

Maddy’s smile returns, a slow, seductive curve of her lips. "Then I guess we’ll just have to see where this goes" she murmurs, leaning in to kiss him again, this time with all the intensity she had held back before.

Because in this game of power and seduction, she knows she’s already won.

୭̥⋆*。

The next evening arrives with an unexpected twist. The Blue Pearl is closed for the night, its usual lively energy replaced by an eerie stillness. No patrons, no music, just the empty halls of the club shrouded in darkness. But for Maddy, the night is far from over.

Madame Sylvie calls her earlier in the day with a specific request. "Maddy, Mr. Targaryen wants you tonight," she says, her voice leaving no room for negotiation. "He’s willing to pay handsomely for your time. It’s just one more private dance."

Maddy hesitates, glancing around the cramped apartment she shares with her older sister and their sick mother. The bills are piling up, and the money Aemond Targaryen offers could make a difference. With a deep breath, she agrees, knowing this isn’t just about the money—it’s about something deeper, something that has been building between them.

As the evening comes, Maddy prepares herself, slipping into a simple, yet provocative outfit—nothing but black heels and a delicate thong. Her long brown hair cascades freely down her back, a sharp contrast against her bare skin. Tonight, the stakes feel higher, the tension thicker.

When she arrives at The Blue Pearl, the silence inside is almost deafening. The club’s usual pulse is replaced by an intimate, almost surreal atmosphere. The only light comes from the dim glow of the overhead fixtures, casting shadows that dance across the empty floor. 

Aemond is waiting in the center of the main room, seated in a leather chair with an air of calm that belies the tension simmering just beneath the surface. He’s dressed in a dark suit, his sharp features highlighted by the faint light. His presence fills the room, commanding attention even in the silence.

Maddy approaches him with deliberate slowness, the click of her heels the only sound echoing through the space. When she stops in front of him, she sees the way his gaze rakes over her body, the hunger in his eye unmistakable.

Without a word, the music begins—a slow, sensual beat that fills the room, creating a private world for just the two of them. Maddy starts to move, her body swaying to the rhythm, every motion deliberate and controlled. She knows what he wants, knows the power she holds over him, and she uses it to her advantage.

Her dance is a blend of elegance and raw seduction, every movement designed to entice. She can feel Aemond’s gaze on her, the way it follows her every curve, every turn. There’s a tension in the air, a charged energy that makes her heart race. But she doesn’t falter. Instead, she loses herself in the dance, her body a perfect instrument of temptation.

As the song reaches its midway point, Aemond shifts in his seat, his hand subtly gesturing for her to come closer. There’s a command in his motion, but also a plea—an unspoken request that she can’t ignore.

Without hesitation, Maddy steps forward, her eyes locked on his as she climbs into his lap. She straddles him, feeling the heat of his body through the fabric of his suit. Her hands rest lightly on his shoulders, her face just inches from his. The tension between them is almost unbearable now, a taut string ready to snap.

Aemond’s hands find her waist, holding her as if she might disappear at any moment. His voice is low, almost a whisper, but the desperation in it is unmistakable. "Please, Maddy… kiss me."

There’s something in his plea, something vulnerable and raw that cuts through the air. For a moment, Maddy just looks at him, seeing not the powerful owner of The Blue Pearl, but a man stripped bare by his own desires. She hesitates, feeling the gravity of the moment.

Then, without another word, she leans in and presses her lips to his. The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, but it quickly deepens, fueled by the pent-up emotions between them. Aemond responds eagerly, his grip on her tightening as if afraid to let her go.

The world around them fades away, the music, the empty club—all of it disappears, leaving just the two of them lost in the moment. Maddy can feel the intensity of his need, the way it mirrors her own, and she gives in completely, letting the kiss consume them both.

When they finally pull apart, both are breathless, their faces flushed with the heat of the moment. Aemond’s eye is dark with desire, his control shattered, replaced by something far more primal.

Maddy smiles, a slow, sultry curve of her lips as she leans into whisper in his ear, her voice barely more than a breath. "Is this what you wanted, Aemond?"

He nods, his voice hoarse as he replies, "Yes, but I want more."

Her smile widens, and she kisses him again, this time with all the intensity she’s held back. Because tonight, there are no rules, no boundaries—only the raw, unfiltered connection between them. And in this moment, they both know there’s no going back.

Maddy is excited, on top of him she feels the center of her legs moist, the wet thong and Aemond's fingers, exploring her naked body. Aemond moves her hair behind her back, she on top of him is a divine vision. Maddy moves her hips over those of her boss, she feels the hard erection in his pants. She starts to unbutton his shirt, she kisses him on the neck, Aemond's chest is hard and with defined muscles, his toned arms. Between her thighs she is soaked, it almost hurts her, she continues to kiss him while Aemond with both hands squeezes her breasts and stimulates her already sensitive nipples. Maddy moans under his touch, she whispers his name and he encourages her to do so by increasing his movements.

Aemond sighs, he is so excited that his masculinity hurts. Maddy looks at him with hungry eyes, moves her hands to his belt who nods and ends up taking off his boxers and pants. His erection is big, hard, veiny and his balls are sore and full. Maddy wraps her hand around his length and moves it gently, slowly she gets up from him kneeling in front of him.

"Look at me, Mr. Targaryen" she whispers persuasively, then she licks him, takes him between her lips, all the way to her throat. She sucks him all the way down, between her legs she feels so wet it's hard to bear. She wants to put a hand between her thighs and pleasure herself, the man under him is simply extraordinary, beautiful, dangerous. Maddy squeezes her thighs together, rubbing them. Aemond notices this and even though he is lost in pleasure, he signals her to get back into his arms. Maddy nods, Aemond brings his hands to her hips and slides her thong off. "You're so wet" he whispers, but then he gets up. "Sit on the chair" he orders, she does as he orders. Aemond kneels in front of her and then he bury his face into her wet thighs.

She can’t stop it, it feels too good.

She can’t help but sob under him, watching him desperately as his hips begin to grind against her face, his nose hitting your bundle of nerves each time. Without warning, his long index finger slides inside her, eliciting a small cry of pleasure, mixed with a little pain from the sudden stretch. His finger begins to pump in and out of her gently, his lips trying to ease her pain and apparently it works.

“Aemond, Aemond, oh, Aemond!”

Aemond makes her come on his lips and fingers, Maddy's legs tremble with pleasure. "Sorry" she whispers embarrassed, but Aemond retorts. "You have nothing to apologize for, pretty girl" he stands up, Maddy stands up and looks at him: naked, with his hair loose, the body of a God.

Aemond offers her his hand, Maddy stands up, his hair covering her body in such a sensual way. Aemond sits on the chair, invites Maddy to climb astride him. "Ride or die, remember pretty girl?" he teases her, takes his erection covered by a condom in his hand and Maddy slowly climbs into his arms, lets herself go down on him. He is big, invasive, fills her up to her ass. She rides him, places her hands on his chest, Aemond tightens his hands on her thighs. She is wonderful, heavenly, she is simply his.

The way her pussy grips his cock and tightens around him makes him lose his mind, hitting deeper and deeper inside her until, finally, he hits that spot that makes her scream his name and moan loudly. Maddy begins to see stars with him hitting that spot over and over again, making her completely drunk on him. She feels an incredible knot in her belly as she moans under him louder with every thrust he gives her.

"So fucking good, so fucking tight for me" he praises her.

"Oh god, Aemond" Maddy whispers against his neck holding him tight before her pussy tightens around him. "From today, you will perform only for me" Her own words and the feeling of her nails scratching his back send him over the edge itself, burying his face in her neck, biting her as he comes and fills the condom, releasing his hold on her.

The once-empty club now feels like the most intimate place in the world, their connection deeper than either of them expected.

The soft light from the overhead fixtures casts a warm glow over them as they lie together on the plush seating in the center of the main room. Aemond holds her close, his arm draped around her, his breath still ragged from their lovemaking. Maddy, nestled against his chest, feels a strange mix of contentment and curiosity. 

For a while, they just lie there in comfortable silence, but eventually, Maddy’s gaze drifts to the patch over Aemond’s left eye. She hesitates for a moment, then softly asks, "Aemond… will you take off the patch?"

Aemond tenses slightly, his body going still beneath her. It’s a vulnerable request, one he’s not used to. He’s quiet for a moment, and she can feel the conflict within him. But then, with a slow exhale, he nods and reaches up to remove the patch.

As the patch comes away, Maddy’s breath catches in her throat. Where his left eye should be, there’s a brilliant sapphire, glowing faintly in the dim light. The gemstone is beautiful, mesmerizing, yet also a stark reminder of something painful.

She reaches up to touch his face gently, her fingers tracing the edge of the sapphire. "What happened?" she asks softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Aemond looks at her, his expression more open than she’s ever seen it. "My nephew… when we were younger, he assaulted me. It was a cruel game, a show of power. This…" He gestures to the sapphire. "This is what was left."

Maddy’s heart aches for him, for the pain he must have endured. But more than that, she sees the strength it took to survive, to wear that sapphire as both a reminder and a shield. "Aemond," she whispers, "you’re wonderful. You don’t need to hide this from me."

Aemond’s eye searches hers, looking for any hint of pity or disgust, but all he finds is acceptance. It’s a rare thing for him—someone seeing beyond the scars, beyond the wealth and power, to the man underneath.

In that moment, something shifts between them. Aemond, who is always so controlled, so guarded, lets down his defenses completely. "Maddy," he begins, his voice softer than before, "would you go out with me? A real date, just you and me."

Maddy blinks in surprise, taken aback by the simplicity and sincerity of the request. "Aemond, I… I’m not rich. I don’t have anything to offer you."

Aemond silences her with a gentle kiss on her lips, pulling back just enough to speak. "I don’t care about that, Maddy. I care about you."

Her heart flutters at his words, and she feels a warmth spread through her chest. She’s spent so long believing that her worth was tied to what she could offer, what she could earn, but here is Aemond, the man who could have anything he wants, choosing her for who she is.

Maddy searches his face, looking for any sign that this is just a game, but all she sees is sincerity. Slowly, she nods. "Okay," she whispers, "I’ll go out with you."

Aemond’s face breaks into a rare, genuine smile, one that lights up his entire expression. He leans in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss, this time filled with a softness and affection that’s different from the hunger they shared earlier. It’s a kiss that speaks of promises, of possibilities, of something real and lasting.

As they pull away, Aemond rests his forehead against hers, his hand gently cupping her face. "You are so dangerous and beautiful" he murmurs.

Maddy smiles, her own hand reaching up to cover his. "You're so sweet."

In that quiet moment, surrounded by the remnants of their passion and the stillness of the club, they both realize that something new has begun—something neither of them expected, but both are willing to explore.

And as Aemond kisses her again, this time with all the love and tenderness he’s kept hidden for so long, Maddy knows that this is only the beginning of their story.

[moamidzyism]

tipsy (c.yj)

☆。.:*·ﾟwc 829 fluff + suggestive ౨ৎ // repost ୨୧ bf!yeonjun x fem!reader, established relationship, drunken making out, public display of affection, mention of alcohol [masterlist • reblogs + feedback appreciated]

event masterlist

going out with you was always interesting for yeonjun, it didn’t happen often, but when it did, he was always astounded by how you so effortlessly transformed into the life of the party when you were with your friends.

positioned in his section of the club, he watched as your best friend beelined her way to you with another two shots in her hand. you took the one from her, downing it with ease, seemingly unaffected by its potency. casting the plastic shot glass aside, you continued to sway your hips carelessly to the rhythm of the song that was currently playing, an alluring grace radiating in the way you moved.

yeonjun, nursing his second drink of the night, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of possessiveness as he eyed the other men attempting to get close to you on the dance floor, trying to grind up against you. however, he knew you well enough to understand that you were always firm in turning down their advances, gracefully slipping away from their unwelcome grips on your waist, giggling with your friends.

if it was any other person, they might feel jealous in situations like these, but yeonjun found comfort in the knowledge that you were his, and that made all the difference.

and that fact was reconfirmed for him when he catches your eye. you wave at him from the middle of the dance floor, having just distanced yourself from another persistent and incredibly desperate guy. he returns your gesture with a subtle smile, and in response, you whisper something into your friend’s ear. your friend grins mischievously and nudges you in your boyfriend’s direction.

with a slight blush on your cheeks, you navigate the dance floor until you reach yeonjun’s section. taking refuge on his lap, your arms wrap around his neck for support. the faint scent of your perfume intoxicates him further as he tightens his embrace, providing you with extra support.

“hi,”

“hello to you too,” your boyfriend replies, leaning closer to you, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your exposed skin.

“i see you’ve been keeping an eye on me.” you tease.

“couldn’t help it.” he confesses with a soft chuckle. “have you seen yourself? you’re too beautiful.” he kisses you softly. “literally every guy in this club wants you.”

“don’t want you to be mad, junie.” you say against his lips.

he pulls away from you, a confused expression plastered on his face. “why would i be mad at you?”

“because those guys wanted to dance with me.” you shyly respond.

“but look where you are now?” his lips trail along your jawline. “why would i be mad at you?”

“just making sure.” you close your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder for a moment, relishing the sensation of being close to him.

“did you want to leave?” you ask after a while.

“do you want to leave?” he counters, he fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“no, but you look bored.” you admit, a hint of concern in your voice.

“but you’re having so much fun with your friends.”

“i think i might have more fun with you at home.”

“hmm?” he hums, a knowing smile spreading across his lips.

“yeah.”

you say goodbye to your friends, who give you encouraging smiles, while yeonjun calls a taxi. you walk outside hand in hand. the cold air sends chills down your spine, but yeonjun quickly pulls you towards him to warm you up. 

once you two are situated in the cab, you can’t keep your hands off him. you’re practically sitting on his lap as you sloppily press open mouthed kisses on his face, letting your tongue explore every inch of his jawline, moving down to his neck.

“baby, behave.” he gasps when he feels you fumbling with the zipper of his pants. he makes eye contact with the older cab driver through the rear view mirror and quickly swats your hands away.

“i want you so bad,” you whine, not caring for the other person in the car with you, who was trying hard to keep his eyes on the road.

“i know, but if you behave when we get home…” his voice trailed off, but you knew what he was implying.

“that’s not fair.” you pouted.

“we’ll be home in no time.” he tried to convince you, and he ended up being right. you leaned against his chest and closed your eyes, and after what felt like five minutes, the car stopped outside your building. you opened your eyes to see yeonjun pulling his wallet out of his pocket to pay the driver.

you exit the car, clinging onto yeonjun’s arm as you follow him up to your apartment. before he could even open the door fully, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. “baby, slow down.” he chuckled.

“you said once we get home.” you mumble between kisses. “we’re home.”

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[iovebarca]

Hello!! I was wondering if I could request Marc guiu X reader? Maybe they could be shopping? Grocery shopping, Clothes shopping, really anything! It’s totally okay if you can’t write this, I understand! And don’t pressure yourself to write it, take your time and have fun!well that’s all, thank you if you do write this, have a good night :))

A Dress and a Kiss - Marc Guiu

Authors note: Finally had the time to write something😭 I hope I did your request well !!!❤️

Warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, just fluff!

WC: 800+

Summary: You and Marc spend the day running errands and shopping together. You surprise him with a beautiful dress and share a tender moment when you reveal it to him at home.

You and Marc stroll hand in hand through the bustling streets, the sun casting a warm glow over the city. Today is a day for errands, but with Marc by your side, even grocery shopping feels like an adventure.

As you enter the grocery store, you grab a cart and begin weaving through the aisles, Marc trailing behind you. With each item you toss into the cart, you exchange playful banter and stolen glances, reveling in the simple joy of being together.

"Hey, do we need more eggs?" Marc asks, holding up a carton with a mischievous grin.

You laugh and shake your head, swatting his arm playfully. "No, we're good on eggs. But grab some milk while you're over there."

Marc nods and heads off to the dairy section, leaving you to navigate the maze of shelves on your own. But it's not long before he's back by your side, a carton of milk in hand and a goofy grin on his face.

"Got it," he announces proudly, depositing the milk into the cart with a flourish.

You roll your eyes affectionately and continue your shopping, enjoying the easy rhythm of your time together.

After checking out at the grocery store, you and Marc make your way to the nearby clothing boutique. As you browse the racks of clothes, Marc offers his opinions on various outfits, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he helps you find the perfect pieces.

"That dress would look amazing on you," he says, holding up a flowy sundress in your favorite color.

You smile at his suggestion, grateful for his input. "You think so?"

"Definitely," he replies, his gaze soft and sincere. "But honestly, you could wear a potato sack and still look beautiful."

You laugh at his cheesy compliment, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "You're too sweet baby."

As you continue to shop, you spot a gorgeous dress tucked away on a display rack. It's perfect for a special occasion, and you can't help but feel a flutter of excitement as you imagine wearing it.

But when you pick it up to inspect it further, you realize that Marc is hovering nearby, trying to catch a glimpse of the dress.

"Hey, no peeking!" you scold playfully, holding the dress close to your chest to shield it from his view.

Marc pouts in mock disappointment, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Aw, come on, just a little peek?"

You shake your head with a grin, tucking the dress securely under your arm. "Nope, it's a surprise. You'll have to wait until I wear it."

Marc laughs and relents, knowing better than to argue with you when you're determined. But as you continue to shop, he can't help but steal curious glances at the hidden treasure tucked safely away in your arms.

After a day of errands and shopping with Marc, you return home with a secret treasure tucked away: a beautiful dress you couldn't resist buying. As you step through the door of your shared apartment, excitement bubbles within you, eager to unveil your surprise.

"Close your eyes and wait right here."

With a chuckle, Marc obliges, closing his eyes and standing still as you slip away to change into your new purchase. As you carefully unzip the bag and slide the dress over your head, you can't help but feel a surge of anticipation. This dress is more than just fabric and seams—it's a symbol of your love and the excitement of sharing special moments with Marc.

Once you're ready, you take a deep breath and step out into the room, the skirt of the dress swishing softly around your legs. "Okay, you can open your eyes now."

Marc's eyes flutter open, and as he takes in the sight of you standing before him in the new dress, his breath catches in his throat. "Wow," he breathes, his gaze roaming over you appreciatively.

You twirl around, the skirt of the dress swirling gracefully around you, and a smile spreads across your face at Marc's awestruck expression. "What do you think?"

"Wow- I think you look absolutely stunning," Marc says, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

But before you can respond, he's crossing the room in quick strides, his hands reaching out to pull you close. "And I think I'm a very lucky man."

In that moment, bathed in the gentle moonlight, you lean in and press a tender kiss to Marc's lips. It's a kiss filled with love and gratitude, a silent expression of everything you feel for him.

His arms wrap around you and you melt into his embrace, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin.

"I love you too," you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you at the simple truth of those words.

[sherewrytes]

ℂℝ𝕌𝕊𝕀ℕ', 𝓒 𝓼𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻

The soft hum of city life buzzed around you as you adjusted the strap of your Diesel purse on your shoulder. The night air was cool, tinged with the faint scent of freshly baked pretzels from a nearby food cart. Neon signs flickered, casting vibrant colors onto the sidewalk as you made your way to the entrance of The Vibe, an exclusive club in the heart of downtown L.A. Your heart pounded with excitement and a hint of nervousness. Tonight was a big night for Connie, your boyfriend of six months, as he was set to perform his new single for the first time.

The bouncer nodded at you, recognizing you immediately. Being a top fashion model for Ony’s girlfriend’s new and upcoming fashion label, Xera, had its perks. You smiled back, offering a polite nod before slipping inside. The interior of The Vibe was a kaleidoscope of flashing lights and pulsing music, a perfect blend of chaos and harmony. You scanned the crowd, spotting familiar faces and a few industry moguls. Connie’s performance tonight was more than just a gig; it was a potential launchpad to stardom.

As you made your way to the VIP section, you couldn't help but reflect on how far you and Connie had come in such a short time. You were once just a graphic and web designer, content with your creative world behind the screen. Then Ony had introduced you to his girlfriend, Delle Ceasar, and suddenly, you were thrust into the glitz and glamour of the fashion world. Meeting Connie at one of Xera’s fashion shows had been serendipitous. His charisma, talent, and genuine nature had drawn you in from the moment you laid eyes on him.

"Y/N!" a familiar voice called out, snapping you from your reverie. You turned to see Ony making his way towards you, a grin plastered on his face. His arm was draped over the shoulders of his girlfriend, Delle, who wore one of her latest Xera creations. They looked like the ultimate power couple.

"Hey, Ony! Hey, Delle!" you greeted them, exchanging hugs. "Y’all ready for Connie’s big night?"

"Absolutely," Ony replied, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "This is just the beginning for him. And for you too, Y/N. Y’all like the ultimate dream team."

Delle nodded in agreement. "You’ve been his rock, Y/N. He’s lucky to have you."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thanks, y’all. I’m just glad to be here for him."

As the night wore on, you found yourself by Connie’s side backstage. He was pacing, a bundle of nerves and energy, his usual confident demeanor slightly shaken. You placed a hand on his arm, stopping his frantic movements.

"Hey, babe," you said softly, looking into his eyes. "You got this. I believe in you."

Connie stopped, taking a deep breath. "Thanks, Y/N. I just… this is huge, you know? don’t wanna mess it up."

"You won’t," you assured him. "You’ve worked so hard for this. Just go out there and do what you do best. I’ll be right here, cheerin' you on."

He pulled you into a tight embrace, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "What did I do to deserve you?"

You laughed, the sound light and filled with love. "You just be you, Connie. That’s more than enough."

The moment finally arrived. The lights dimmed, and the crowd’s chatter hushed to a murmur. You stood in the wings, your heart pounding in time with the opening beats of Connie’s new single Mister Misfit. He stepped onto the stage, the spotlight catching the gleam of determination in his eyes. As he began to rap, the words flowed effortlessly, his voice commanding and raw. The audience was captivated, swaying and nodding to the rhythm.

You watched, pride swelling in your chest. This was Connie’s moment, and he was seizing it with everything he had. The connection you felt with him was undeniable, a bond that had only grown stronger over the past six months. As he finished his performance, the crowd erupted into applause, and you couldn’t help but let out a cheer of your own.

Connie looked over, his eyes finding yours in the sea of faces. He smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that spoke volumes. This was just the beginning, not only for his career but for the journey you were on together.

Connie walked off the stage in the nightclub straight backstage to you and scooped you up in his arms. "Thanks for being here Ma. If you weren't I'd choke up there." You giggled as her spun you around. You say Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Ony and his bf walking up to greet Connie on his performance. Connie put you down to dap up both Eren and Ony

"Got to say man Con' I was a lil worried about this new single since it's a bit different than your usual shit. Most people don't dabble with new sounds this early on." Armin said to Connie.

Armin came from big family of the largest record company Paradia Records were all his friends were signed to with more than favorable record deals.

Connie rolled his eyes, taking the blunt from Eren's hand to spark it and take a drag "Yah man, told you and your old ass fam I know my shit when it comes to music" Armin laughed knowing Connie was right.

Everyone left backstage and headed to the VIP section of Mikasa's family nightclub The Vibe to turn up.

After the show, you found yourselves cruising through the city in his blacked-out Corvette, the night alive with possibilities. "Differences" by Ginuwine played softly from the speakers, a fitting soundtrack to the evening. Connie reached over, entwining his fingers with yours.

"Thank you for believin' in me, Y/N," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I couldn’t have done this without you."

You squeezed his hand, looking at him with all the love you felt in your heart. "And I couldn’t imagine bein' anywhere else. We’re in this together, Connie. Now and always."

The car ride was smooth, the city lights whizzing by as the music filled the silence. Connie glanced at you, his eyes soft and full of unspoken promises. "You know, when I was out there tonight, all I could think about was you. How you’ve been there for me through all the grind, all the late nights. You my ride or die, Y/N."

You smiled, your heart swelling with emotion. "And you mine. Ain’t nothin’ we can’t handle together."

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Remember that time you stayed up with me all night, helpin’ me write those lyrics? Man, you had some bars! I was like, damn, my girl got talent."

You laughed, remembering the night vividly. "Well, I do what I can. We make a good team, don’t we?"

"The best," he agreed, his grip on your hand tightening for a moment. "I ain’t never had nobody like you, Y/N. You different."

The words of Ginuwine's "Differences" seemed to echo his sentiment, the lyrics weaving a tapestry of your journey together. As the car cruised down the highway, the cityscape morphing into quieter suburbs, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. This was your life now, a mix of hustle and heart, dreams and determination.

"You know," Connie said after a while, his voice soft, "I been thinkin’... we should celebrate tonight. Just you and me. Get away from all this for a minute. How about we head to that little spot by the lake? The one you love so much."

Your eyes lit up at the suggestion. "That sounds perfect. Just us, some good music, and the stars. Ain’t no better way to celebrate."

Connie smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Then it’s a date. Let’s get outta here, ma."

As you left the city behind, the road stretching out before you, you felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Life had a funny way of bringing people together, of creating connections that were both unexpected and extraordinary. With Connie by your side, you knew that no matter what the future held, you were ready to face it head-on, together.

The night was still young, and as the two of you cruised towards the lake, the stars shining brightly above, you couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning. A story of love, dreams, and the unbreakable bond that tied you and Connie together.

Lemme know if you want this to be a multific

[sirenmoth]

Monster Mash - Satyr

CW: Outdoor sex, Gentle sex, voyerism, thigh grinding, thigh riding, spanking, hand job, cum as lube

Monster Mash Masterlist

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The garden at the far end of the property was beautiful, different flowers grew wind and luscious of different sizes and colours combined with various trees where the birds liked to nest. It's a sanctuary for the Satyr, who usually spent his time here away from the chaos of the manor, sometime you would join him in this bliss. In a small wooden cabin that was barely big enough for two, hidden under a large oak tree and some forget-me-not flowers.

You always say it looks like a fairytale cottage. A place in a dream.

The collections of flowers, both wild and planted, laid in large and small mismatch patches around the garden, creating a natural feel, mixed with the trees of various types, both big and tall and small and wide, casts shadows in all the right places for a midday nap. A moon-gate archway sat at the entrance of the garden, giving it the final tough of a whimsical fairytale dream. Sitting to watch the birds and butterflies, the early morning insects or the nighttime fireflies is always your favourite pastime, a break from being tossed around like a toy between your monster lovers, not that you minded the life you live.

The manor sat in the middle of the large property, to the north of the large patch of land is a wide open pasture, the Centaur has his own barn and stable combo to go with the field he can run around in, and to the south was a massive lake-ocean for your Siren and Merman, the cool saltwater body complete with a sand beach and underwater caves and caverns. To the east is the Naga's burrow, made of rock and mud and sand, despite that it was still warm and homely, the Satry's cabin and garden was to the west, a border separating the four sections as a mutual resect for each other's territory.

The both of you at on the porch, on a wooden bench that overlooked the wild overgrowth, your partner played his panpipes all while occasionally tapping one of his hooves to the rhythm he was creating.

It was peaceful, calm, tranquil, Everything you could've asked for, relaxing in the rays of the sun, listening to the birds above in the trees sing and chip their songs in tune with the creature next to you was emitting. You felt at peace, tugging the oversized woollen blanket tighter around your shoulders, wearing liminal or no clothing was the better option when you never know when you're going to be bent over and stuffed next, plus most of your lover wore liminal or no clothing.

Closing your eyes, leaning back onto the woven cushions that decorates the bench, resting your head on the Satyrs left shoulder carefully as to not disturb his melody, a short sounding like heaven right now.

The music from the pipes stop, followed by a soft chuckle, "Not falling asleep on my, are you?" the creature next to you laughs, setting the pipes down on the table in front of him and pulling you into his lap, facing him and forcing you to rest your head on his chest.

"No, I'm just resting my eyes." You mutter, moving your arms up and around his neck, allowing him into your blanket cocoon. The wool blanket was enormous and dwarfed you, dragging along the ground and trailing behind you every time it draped it over you, it drowns you in its softened fabric that was hand-woven together with such care and was a gift from your orc from one of his many travels. You feel the Satyrs' hands hold your waist, leisurely stroking your skin in feather-like touches. Nuzzling into his neck, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of his neck, you move to straddle his left thigh, feeling his plush yet coarse fur underneath you. The Satry locks his arms around your waist and interlocking his fingers together behind your back to keep you in place, the two of you sit and enjoy the last of the birdsongs and late-day warmth.

His hands disconnect and move to your ass, slowly kneading the flesh in his hands in slow movements. Flinching after a practically hard squeeze, rock your exposed clit against his thigh you're straddling, the fur catches your bundle of nerves. Burrowing your face into the Satyrs neck as he continues to squeeze and knead the globes of your asschecks, his blunt nails leaving crescent marks in their wake as you whimper from the combined sensations of his hands and fur bumping against you.

"You like this? Grinding against my leg, getting my fur all wet with your slick?" He teases, landing a hard slap to your right butt cheek, rubbing over the now redden mark left behind where the Satyrs hand made contact. Moving your head down, still keeping your forehead pressed against his skin, arms still around his neck, you spot an appearing damp patch of now clumping fur from where you've been sitting, the sight alone makes you moan out loud softly. The woollen blanket slips down a bit from your shoulders, pooling around your waist and his thighs, the ends still held tight in your hands. The Satyr laughs, roughly squeezing the flesh in his hands at your hip and rear, guiding you to grind gently against him, forcing you back and forth and down onto the wet clutch of fur over and over and over.

Tangling your fingers though his hair, the Satyr bends his neck forward to leave butterfly kisses on your neck as his nails dig deeper into your skin. A sudden breeze of cold air rushes through the garden, rustling the tree leaves and sending shivers down your spine, causing you to remember how exposed you are for all to see. The wind didn't seem to bother the goat-hoofed man, simply returning the sheet of coloured strands of woven wool back onto your shoulders and securing it in place, neatly smoothing down the fabric before returning his hands back under the cloth to return them to their previous places.

"Can't have my sweet songbird getting cold now, can I?" The Satyr whispers in your ear, "Not before I've had my fun with you." The leg you're currently straddling starts to lightly bounce, causing you to gentle rock forward and back. His hoof tapping a hollow rhythm agasint the wooden planks of the porch decking, possiblely denting the wood. Running a hand down his torso and midsection, tracing the happy trail and following it down towards his sheth hidden amonsgt the short hair, rubbing a hand over it in time with your movments

The Satry buries his head further in the crook to your neck, muffling his groans as you play with his balls, massaging them in your hand, keeping on his shoulder for leaverge, toying with his emerging cock. Stroking up and down, thumbing over the leaking tip and smearing his warm pre-cum over your hands and down his dick, using it as lube to speed up your movemnts. You both move in tandem, each time you rock your hips, you move you hand up, dragging your thumb over the tip every few stroke to collect the fresh white fluid spilling out before moving your hand back down, occasilny playing with the Satrys hanging sack.

The Satyr dig his fingernails in further into your skin, fresh bruises and deep crescent marks appering that are sure to cause a few bets and competitons between your monster lovers that will last for weeks. You moan after he bounces his leg faster, the wood under his tapping hoof creaks and groans at the pressure of the Satry exsecntric movments, the thoughts of a dent in the boards is now proven right when you hear a faint crack. An abrupt, sharp thrust forward and the stinging feeling of a hand coming in sharp content with flesh, making you jump and thighs to tighten around his in pleasure.

Another and another and another.

One right after the other, forcing you to flinch and squirm against his hold, the imprint of his fingers darkening the more they dig in to keep you still. The Satyr moves his head from your neck to lock his lips with yours, tongue dancing with yours as you moan and groan and whimper, exploring deep inside your oral cavity, sloppily, as you both let yourselves get lost in the waves of pleasure and each others embrace, the sounds of the birds and wildlife bleeding into the background of your little bubble, the noise ringing in your ears as your blood roars in your ears, mixing with your raging heartbeat in your chest.

Your orgasm creeps up on you, thighs clamping around his furry thighs as you shake, soaking the Satyrs hair further as you detach your spit-covered lips from his, head thrown back and mouth open in a silent scream, hand still working along his cock until he joins you in pure orgasmic bliss, shooting his load over where his skin meet his fur and your hand, that's still slowly pumping his dick until he's shooting blanks. Both sitting, basking in the late-day sun just peeking over the horizon bleeding oranges and pinks and reds along the sky that makes your skin glow, the Satyr moves his hands around your waist again to re-interlock his fingers behind your back, pulling you closer towards him, not caring about the mess on his torso or on his thigh.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, one hand still slightyl covered in his cum, the woolen blankent cocooning you again from the chill of the early night air. The Satry humming a gentle lullaby to soothe you into a peacful sleep, to which you happily accept, safe in his arms and in your shared sanctury.

[hypnogold]

Nightclub Pulse

The club, known as Pulse, was infamous for its wild nights and energetic crowds. Every weekend, the place packed wall-to-wall with bodies moving in rhythm to the thumping bass. Dylan and his group of friends had been coming here for months. For them, it was a ritual—a way to unwind from the grind of daily life. They never missed a night, confident in their status as the regulars who knew everyone and owned the dance floor.

But something was different this night. Dylan noticed the subtle shift the moment they entered. It wasn’t the music or the lights; those were the same, pounding away with their usual intensity. It was the people. There was a group of guys standing at the far end of the room, near the entrance to the VIP section. They were tall, athletic, and intimidating, dressed in identical outfits—hoodies pulled low over their faces, and over those hoodies, shiny metallic golden jerseys with a distinctive AC Milan crest.

Dylan felt an odd tension in the air as his eyes lingered on them, but he quickly shook it off, heading with his friends toward the bar. “Just another crew,” he muttered to himself. But deep down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that these guys were different.

Tyler, the leader of this mysterious group, was no ordinary clubgoer. He had been coming to Pulse for months, but not for fun. Tyler had a mission, and that mission had started when he first received the golden jersey. The story of the jersey wasn’t common knowledge. Only a select few knew the truth—that the jersey had power, a hypnotic allure. It wasn’t just a soccer kit. It was a tool for control, and Tyler was its first convert.

Months ago, Tyler had been like any other guy—successful, driven, popular. But that all changed when one night, he found the golden jersey waiting for him in the locker room after a late-night soccer game. At first, he laughed, thinking it was some sort of prank. But when he put it on, everything shifted. The moment the fabric touched his skin, his mind had quieted, and a voice filled his thoughts: "Obey. Serve. Recruit."

From then on, Tyler wasn’t just himself. He had a new purpose—to build a team, one person at a time. The golden jersey was his to command, and with each new recruit, his power grew. The jersey had become more than just a symbol—it was his weapon, turning each person into an obedient follower, ready to serve.

Now, at Pulse, Tyler’s eyes scanned the room, searching for new recruits. He spotted Dylan almost instantly, standing near the bar with his friends. Tyler knew that Dylan was the type of guy who loved being in control, the life of the party. But Tyler also knew how to break someone like him, how to use the jersey’s power to make him submit. Tonight, Dylan would join the team.

Tyler moved through the crowd like a predator, his crew of golden-jerseyed followers close behind. They moved in unison, their hoodies casting shadows over their faces, their eyes blank but filled with a silent command. They were part of the team now, their will erased, their minds focused only on serving Tyler and the jersey.

Dylan, oblivious to the approach, took a sip of his drink, laughing with his friends. But before he could react, Tyler was next to him, his hand resting lightly on Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan turned, startled at first, but then he froze. Tyler’s gaze was locked on him, his eyes cold and unreadable, but it was the jersey that held Dylan’s attention. The shimmering golden fabric seemed to catch every light in the club, reflecting it in a way that made it impossible to look away.

“Hey, bro,” Tyler said, his voice calm and steady. “You look like someone who belongs with us. We need guys like you on the team.”

Dylan furrowed his brow. “What team? I’m good, man,” he said, trying to shake off the odd feeling creeping up his spine.

But Tyler tightened his grip on Dylan’s shoulder. “No, you’re not. Trust me, you’ll be better with us.”

Before Dylan could react, Tyler reached into his bag and pulled out another golden jersey. It gleamed under the lights, catching Dylan’s eyes again, and for a moment, he couldn’t think straight. The noise of the club seemed to fade into the background, the laughter of his friends distant. All Dylan could focus on was the jersey.

“Put it on,” Tyler whispered, stepping closer, his voice now soothing and commanding. “It’s easier if you don’t resist. Just let it happen.”

Dylan’s mind raced, but his body seemed to move on its own. He reached out, taking the golden jersey from Tyler’s hands. As soon as the fabric touched his fingers, a warmth spread through his body. He pulled the jersey over his hoodie, feeling it tighten against his chest. It fit perfectly, as though it had been made for him. And when he pulled his hood up over his head, something inside him clicked.

Tyler moved behind Dylan, his hand now resting firmly on his shoulder. “Good. You’re with us now,” he whispered, his voice filling Dylan’s ears, his mind. “You obey the team. You serve the gold.”

Dylan’s eyes fluttered, and when he opened them, his vision was different. His thoughts were quieter now, more focused. The golden jersey felt like it was part of him, like it had always been. His lips curled into a lazy smile as the spirals began to form in his eyes, spinning slowly but steadily.

Tyler grinned, stepping back to admire his newest recruit. Dylan was now part of the team, his mind bent to serve. But Tyler wasn’t done. Dylan’s friends were still standing at the bar, unaware of what had just happened.

“Go to them,” Tyler commanded, giving Dylan’s shoulder a final squeeze. “Bring them to the team.”

Dylan nodded slowly, turning toward his group of friends. His walk was different now—more purposeful, more controlled. He approached them with the same calm confidence Tyler had used on him. “Hey guys,” he said, his voice steady, “you need to try this. Trust me.”

One by one, his friends looked confused, but as Dylan pulled out the extra golden jerseys, their resistance faded. Each of them, entranced by the shimmering fabric, accepted the jerseys without question. As they pulled them over their own hoodies, Tyler stepped in, standing behind them, touching their shoulders and whispering the same words that had transformed Dylan.

"Obey the team. Serve the gold."

Each time, the effect was the same. Their eyes glazed over, spirals forming as their will was erased, replaced by obedience. Soon, all of Dylan’s friends stood next to him, their minds wiped clean, their bodies moving in perfect unison.

Tyler watched with satisfaction as his team grew, the golden jerseys multiplying. The night wasn’t over yet, and the club was still full of potential recruits. With Dylan and his crew now part of the team, Tyler knew they would help him grow the team even more.

Pulse, once a place for fun and freedom, was now Tyler’s hunting ground. One by one, the guys in the club would fall, slipping into golden jerseys, their minds bent to his will. And soon, there would be no one left to resist.

The golden team would take them all.

[redsummermoon]

Tangled

Charlie Dalton x reader CW: use of Y/N, female reader, reader with long enough hair to braid [1.2k words] 

The room was dim, the soft glow of the TV casting a warm, flickering light across the couch where Charlie and Y/N sat. They had been watching a movie together, though Charlie could tell Y/N’s attention was fading by the second. Her eyelids fluttered with each passing minute, her head tilting slightly to the side as she fought to stay awake.

Charlie smiled to himself, glancing over at her. “Hey, you okay over there?” he teased lightly, nudging her leg with his foot.

Y/N blinked and sat up straighter, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep. “Just a little tired.”

"A little tired, huh?" Charlie chuckled, shaking his head as he shifted on the couch. “Y/N, you look like you’re about to pass out any second.”

Y/N rubbed her eyes and gave him a sheepish smile. “I’m good, I swear. I’m still watching.”

“Really?” Charlie raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with playful skepticism. “What just happened in the movie, then?”

Y/N opened her mouth to answer but hesitated, her brow furrowing. “Uh... there was... a scene with...” She trailed off, realizing she had no idea what had just happened. “Okay, fine, I have no idea.”

Charlie laughed softly, his voice filled with affection. “Come here.” He opened his arms wide, inviting her into his embrace. “You look like you need to relax.”

Y/N hesitated for a second, then shuffled closer, nestling against him. “But you’re still watching the movie,” she murmured.

“I am,” Charlie admitted, wrapping his arms around her as she snuggled closer. “But I can watch the movie and hold you at the same time. Multitasking, you know?”

Y/N let out a soft sigh, her body relaxing into his warmth. “You sure it’s okay if I just sleep on you for a bit?”

Charlie smiled, his heart swelling as he looked down at her. “Obviously. You’re the love of my life, Y/N. Of course you can.”

She looked up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded but filled with affection. “I love you, Charlie,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I love you, too,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Now go to sleep. I’ll be right here.”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, and within moments, her breathing slowed, her body sinking further into Charlie’s chest. He could feel her weight against him, the soft rise and fall of her breaths as she drifted off.

As the movie droned on, Charlie’s attention began to wane. His mind wandered from the plot on the screen, and the steady, comforting weight of Y/N against him made it hard to stay focused. He shifted slightly, trying not to wake her, but his hands grew restless.

He glanced down at Y/N, still sound asleep on his chest, her breathing soft and rhythmic. Her hair, which had fallen across his arms, gleamed in the dim light from the TV. Without thinking, he gently took a few strands between his fingers, twirling them absentmindedly. The texture was soft and each strand slipped smoothly between his fingers.

His eyes drifted back to the screen, but his hands seemed to have found their own distraction. Charlie shifted positions again, making it easier to use his hands to braid. He began weaving her hair, slowly at first, like his hands were testing the waters. His fingers deftly separated sections, crossing them over one another with surprising ease. The rhythm of braiding felt comforting, almost meditative, as he worked his way through the soft locks.

The strands of her hair intertwined, his hands working methodically yet gently, careful not to tug too hard and disturb her. He kept an eye on her face, watching for any signs that she might stir, but Y/N remained perfectly still, her body curled into him, peaceful and content.

As he continued braiding, Charlie’s focus on the movie faded away. His mind was now fully engrossed in the task before him, his fingers moving with skill. The small braid grew longer, and Charlie couldn't help but admire how delicate it looked, nestled against the rest of her hair.

He smiled to himself. There was something calming, even intimate, about this quiet act. He wasn’t trying to impress her, wasn’t even sure she’d notice when she woke up, but the simple act of playing with her hair felt meaningful, a subtle way of showing his care without needing words.

As Y/N stirred, she felt a faint, gentle tug in her hair, so soft it almost seemed like part of her dream. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of the room, and she realized that Charlie’s hands were still tangled in her hair. He wasn’t watching the movie anymore. Instead, he was looking down at her with wide eyes, caught in the act.

“Oh,” he stammered, his face flushing a little. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. I was just…”

Y/N groggily sat up, her hand instinctively reaching for her hair. “What were you doing?” she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.

Charlie scratched the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “I, uh... may have braided your hair.”

Curious, Y/N got up and shuffled over to the mirror on the wall. When she saw the braid, her eyes widened in surprise. The intricate waterfall braid cascaded down the side of her head, woven with delicate precision. She touched it gently, marveling at how perfect it looked. “Charlie… did you really do this?”

He nodded, looking almost embarrassed. “Yeah. I have a younger sister,” he explained. “She always wanted her hair braided like the other girls in her class, but my mom never really knew how. So I figured it out for her.”

Y/N turned from the mirror, looking at him with newfound wonder. “Really?”

Charlie chuckled softly. “Yeah, she’d sit in front of me, all impatient, waiting for me to finish. I got pretty good at it after a while. It’s been a long time since I braided anyone’s hair, though. But… I don’t know, playing with your hair kind of reminded me of those days. It’s relaxing.”

Y/N’s heart melted at his words. She crossed the room back to him, her eyes soft with affection. “That’s the sweetest thing,” she cooed, her voice warm and teasing. She took his face in her hands, her fingers lightly brushing his cheek. “Thank you for braiding my hair, Charlie.”

Before he could say anything, Y/N leaned down and kissed him, slow and gentle, her gratitude clear in every touch. Charlie blinked in surprise, then closed his eyes, sinking into the kiss, his hands resting softly on her waist.

When they pulled apart, Y/N was smiling at him, her heart full. “I love it,” she whispered. “You’re amazing.”

Charlie grinned, a little shy but clearly pleased. “I guess I could start braiding your hair more often then. If you want?”

Y/N laughed softly, running her fingers through the braid one more time. “I would love that, Charlie.”

[unsoundedcomic]

Does (did?) Duane ever cast out loud? Would there even be a reason to outside of demonstrating to his students? I would imagine casting silently would be habit for him due to the advantages.

Sure. He cast aloud in his first fight against Quigley, to mislead him. Sometimes he casts aloud if he finds the language of the spell beautiful and just wants to say it and hear it. Sometimes he wants to sing it, which is a style of casting some wrights utilise to keep track of more complicated spells that have several different functions within them. Assigning each section different melodies, pitch, and rhythm can help a wright keep track as the spellsong progresses.

[u6is]

"you cut your hair but you used to live a blonded life"

part 1

warnings: profanities, drug-use

— kylian mbappé x reader: angst

The lights of the club swirled in a dizzying array of colours, casting shadows that danced with the music.

It was a typical Friday night in Paris.

Your friends had claimed a table in the corner, your laughter bubbling up like a geyser of joy. You clinked your glasses together, the sound of ice cubes chiming like a celebratory bell. The whiskey burned a warm path down your throat, loosening the grip of the week's tension.

There was something unique about tonight.

Through the throngs of partygoers, the VIP corner, a bastion of opulence in stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the main floor. It was where the elite came to play, cordoned off by velvet ropes and stern-faced bouncers. Inside, the football players were celebrating their latest victory, and the air around them charged with excitement.

They were the kings of the city for the night, and everyone knew it.

The strobe lights painted the room in brief snapshots of reality, a visual symphony that only made the music feel more alive. You felt like a bird released from its cage as you moved through the crowd, your movements fluid and unrestrained. Your arms stretched out, as if you could touch the stars above.

You are as unbound as a bird in flight, weightless and free.

Kylian Mbappe, the soccer star everyone talked about, stood in the VIP section, his eyes scanning the dance floor. His restlessness was palpable, even from afar. He craved the pulse of the city's nightlife, the unscripted moments that made each night unique.

He slipped out from the VIP section, a playful grin tugging at his lips, and vanished into the sea of faces. The whispers grew louder as people recognized him, but he was already lost in the rhythm, just another soul seeking the essence of the night.

Suddenly, a flash of color caught his eye.

You, with your hair dancing in untamed delight, your eyes sparkling with the reflection of the disco lights.

He felt the music in your soul.

He approached you with the same swiftness he used on the field, weaving through the tightly packed bodies as if they were mere obstacles. As he reached you, the music dropped to a whisper in your ears as he leaned in to be heard over the din. You felt a rush of excitement as you recognized him, but you played it cool, not wanting to reveal the racing of your heart.

You two spoke, completely absorbed in the sound of each other's voice. His eyes never leaving yours, and for a moment it felt like the whole club had stopped moving.

It was an ordinary Friday night in Paris, yet that night held a quiet magic all its own.

It began so swiftly, your bond with him, like a spark that caught fire. What started with a simple meeting at a party spiralled into something more, something fast.

One moment, you were in the stands of a grand stadium, cheering for him, his invitation still ringing in your ears.

The next, you found yourself in the warmth of his arms, tucked away in the peace of his home, just you and him, lost in the stillness.

The bond grew stronger with each shared experience. In the quiet moments, you'd catch glimpses of his vulnerability, a side the world didn't get to see behind the glitz and glamour of his soccer career. He spoke of his love for the sport, his fears, his dreams, and the weight of expectations that sat upon his shoulders like a crown. You, in turn, revealed your passions, the dreams that kept you awake at night, and the fear of not making a difference. Together, you found solace in the understanding that everyone had their battles, even those who seemed invincible on the field.

"I want to dye my hair white."

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his spontaneity.

"White?" you repeated, trying to picture his iconic buzz cut in such a stark color. He nodded eagerly, a childlike excitement lighting up his face.

"Yeah, like the moon. It'll be perfect for the next game."

The following evening, he arrived at your small apartment, a stark contrast to the opulent mansions he was used to. He brought with him a box of hair dye and a determination that was contagious. You led him to the bathroom, which was a cozy space filled with the scent of your favorite lavender candles and the faint sound of the neighbor's television. As you mixed the solution, the anticipation grew. The air was thick with playful tension as he perched on the edge of a stool, you nestled between his legs.

You painted the dye onto his buzz cut with a gentle touch, each stroke a silent promise of support. He leaned back into your touch, his eyes closed, a contented smile playing on his lips as the conversation flowed like a river between you.

He spoke of the pressure to perform, the weight of the nation's hopes and dreams, and you shared your fear of being forgotten in the hustle of the city. The strokes grew slower as you both lost yourself in the comfort of the moment, the world outside fading away.

The laughter grew louder as you accidentally smudged some of the dye on his forehead, creating a streak that looked like a rebellious warrior's paint. He playfully grabbed the brush, threatening to return the favour. The air was thick with the scent of chemicals and the sweetness of your shared laughter as you danced around the bathroom, dodging his playful swipes.

Each kiss stolen felt like a victory, a secret shared only by the two of you in the sanctuary of your little apartment.

The game came and went, a blur of excitement and nerves as Kylian took to the field with his new white hair. The crowd erupted when he scored, the flashes from cameras creating a constellation around him.

Days later, the vacation invite came, a simple text message that felt like a ticket to the stars.

"I've got a week off, and I want to spend it with you," he wrote.

"How does a getaway to the Maldives sound?" Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the tropical paradise.

A week in the sun with the man who had captured your heart, it was like a dream you hadn't even dared to dream.

You replied with an enthusiastic "Yes!" before you could overthink it, your thumbs dancing across the screen.

The Maldives was a world away from the cobblestone streets of Paris, a place of azure waters and endless skies, where the only thing that mattered was the sound of the waves and the warmth of the sun.

The private jet, the endless horizon outside the windows, it was all so surreal. Kylian sat beside you, his hand in yours, his thumb tracing circles on your skin as if to reassure you that this wasn't just a fleeting dream.

The resort was a symphony of bungalows floating on the water, a serene sanctuary that whispered secrets of tranquility to the soul. Each step closer to your destination felt like a step closer to paradise, a place where the chaos of the world was a distant memory.

As you stepped onto the pristine white sand of the Maldivian beach, the heat of the sun kissed your skin, and the scent of the ocean filled your lungs with a salty embrace.

Kylian looked at you, his eyes reflecting the same excitement and disbelief.

"This is all for us," he said, gesturing to the horizon. "A whole week of just us and the sea."

He took your hand, leading you to your private bungalow, the gentle sway of the wooden walkway beneath your feet. The moment you stepped inside, your breath was stolen by the sight of the vast expanse of turquoise water beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room was adorned with tropical flowers, a romantic gesture that made your heart swell.

As the sun began its descent, painting the sky with strokes of pink and orange, you found yourself drawn to the beach. The warm sand felt like a lover's caress beneath your feet as you made your way to the water's edge. He followed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Without a word, you both waded into the warm embrace of the ocean. The waves kissed your legs, beckoning you further. He pulled you closer, his hands resting gently at your waist, the water rising to your chests.

Your foreheads met, the only barrier between the silent whispers of your thoughts. The horizon was a canvas of light, the setting sun a fiery ball of passion that mirrored the intensity of the moment. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore served as a gentle soundtrack, a natural symphony that drowned out the noise of the world. The salty kiss of the ocean spray mingled with the sweetness of his breath as you both floated in the embrace of the sea.

For the first time, he broke the silence with the words you'd hoped to hear.

"I love you."

They hung in the air, suspended in the warmth of the moment, echoing the rhythm of the waves. Your heart raced, a crescendo of emotions crashing over you like the tide. The world around you seemed to still, the very fabric of reality bending to the power of those three little words. You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt, but found only the truth reflected back at you.

You felt the warmth of his love like the sun on your skin, a gentle reminder of the bond that had grown between you amidst the chaos of the city.

His confession was a soft melody in the symphony of the waves, a declaration that resonated through every fibre of your being.

"I love you, too, Kylian." You murmured your voice a tremulous whisper that seemed too small to hold the weight of your feelings.

His smile grew brighter, lighting up his entire face, as if the stars had descended to kiss him.

The days in the Maldives passed in a blur of bliss. Each sunrise painted a new picture of beauty, a backdrop for your burgeoning love. As you watched the sunsets melt into the horizon, leaving behind a canvas of pinks and purples that stained the sky. The nights were filled with stargazing, the constellations above whispering ancient secrets as you lay entwined in the soft embrace of the beach. The world had shrunk to the two of you, and everything else was just noise.

But eventually, the vacation had to end. You both returned to the city, to the bustling streets of Paris that seemed so much more alive with the vibrancy of your newfound love. Kylian's schedule picked up again, training sessions and games taking up the bulk of his days, but the nights remained yours.

His touch was a gentle reminder of the warmth of the sun you had left behind, his whispers in the dark a sweet symphony that lulled you to sleep. You watched him from the stands, his white hair a beacon of light as he ruled the soccer field, his every move a declaration of his love for the game.

The parties grew grander, the crowds more suffocating. His teammates' laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses became the soundtrack of your life together. Each night was a passionate dance, a celebration of victory and friendship that swirled around you like a tornado of glamour.

Kylian was adamant about keeping your relationship a secret.

His smile was for everyone, but his love was for you alone.

He'd sneak glances at you from across the room, his eyes speaking a language that no one else could understand. You felt like the keeper of a precious stone, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world, cherished only by the two of you.

Yet, as the weeks turned into months, the bars of the cage grew heavier. Each time you watched him leave for training or a game, a pang of sadness gripped your heart.

You were a spectator in his world, a silent cheerleader whose love could only be whispered in the shadows.

The night of the Ligue 1 final, the tension was palpable, a living creature that breathed in the air of the stadium. You watched from the VIP section, your heart racing with every step he took on the field. The crowd was a sea of noise, a symphony of hope and passion. And there, in the stands, were his parents, proud and stoic, watching their son play the game that had made him a star.

When the final whistle blew and his team emerged victorious, you felt the urge to celebrate with him, to share in the joy of his triumph. Yet, when you approached his parents to introduce yourself, Kylian's mother looked you up and down, her eyes cold and assessing, her smile forced. It was a look that spoke volumes without a single word.

You felt like an outsider, a mere shadow in the glaring spotlight of their family's success. Kylian was swept away in a tide of congratulations, leaving you to navigate the social current alone.

The sting of his mother's dismissal remained with you long after the game, a bitter taste that lingered like an unfortunate aftertaste. When you brought it up, Kylian was just apologetic but firm.

"They just need time," he'd say, his eyes full of hope and a hint of desperation. "They're protective."

Same thing happened, the excuses grew old, and the distance between you and your friends grew wider. Each time you suggested Kylian meet them, he'd find a way out. Training, games, press conferences, and the endless string of responsibilities that came with his stardom. The walls of his world grew higher, and you found yourself feeling like you were the only one making sacrifices.

The quiet moments of your solitude grew into a crescendo of doubt.

Was this really what you wanted? To be the hidden lover of a man whose every move was public property?

The silence in the car was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of the city outside. Kylian's eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, his jaw clenched in a way that spoke of his own internal war. You knew he felt it too, the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air like a thick fog.

"You never told them, did you?" you finally said, your voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "You never told your parents about us." The anger simmered just below the surface, a pot ready to boil over at any moment. Kylian's grip on the steering wheel tightened, but he didn't look at you.

He had, in fact, spoken of you to his parents. But his mother, with a dismissive shrug, simply urged him to stay focused on his game, reminding him of all they had sacrificed for his success. To her, your bond was fleeting, a mere ripple in the tide of his life—nothing more than a momentary distraction.

"What does it matter?" he replied, his voice gruff with frustration. "They'll come around."

You couldn't hold it in anymore. "What matters is that I'm not some secret you hide from the world! It's like I don't even exist outside of these stolen moments." The words hung in the air, sharp and accusatory.

He sighed heavily, his eyes never leaving the road. "You know it's not like that."

But you didn't know. You felt like a shadow in his life, a secret to be kept hidden from the glaring lights of the world. The anger grew hotter, a fire in your chest that threatened to consume you. "Then tell me what it's like," you demanded. "Make me understand why I can't be a part of your fucking life without hiding!"

Kylian's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and his breathing was shallow.

"I am at the peak of my career!"

His voice was sharp, frustration cutting through every word. "I told you about this whole privacy thing," he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "And you agreed! You said you were fucking fine with it!" The tension in the air was almost tangible, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

"Not with your parents, at least!" you shot back, your voice rising as anger flared within you. The words left your lips before you could stop them, sharp and unyielding, matching the tension that filled the car. You stood your ground, meeting his fiery gaze, unwilling to back down from the storm brewing between you.

His voice rose, laced with frustration he couldn’t contain. "God, you’re so damn clingy sometimes," he snapped, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "I can’t just drop everything for you, alright? I have a career to think about—I don’t need you acting like a stupid bitch about it."

"Stupid what?" you interrupted, your voice rising as you turned to him, disbelief flashing in your eyes.

"Yeah, you heard me," he shot back without thinking, his frustration spilling over. "Stupid ass bitch."

Your breath caught, his words hitting harder than anything he’d ever said to you before. "Stop the car," you said, your voice shaking with anger.

"Stop the car!"

"Yeah, I’ll stop the fucking car!" he barked, slamming on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt by the side of the road.

Without hesitation, you flung the door open and stepped out into the cold night air, slamming it shut behind you. The sound echoed, and for a moment, the silence was deafening. He sat there, gripping the steering wheel, his heart sinking as the weight of his words crashed down on him.

Realization hit like a tidal wave, and he threw the car into drive, creeping slowly to match your pace as you stormed down the street.

He kept the car rolling beside you. “You’re really gonna walk out on the car like that?"

You didn’t stop, didn’t even look at him. “Fuck you!” you shouted, your voice trembling with anger and hurt.

“Come on, babe,” he called out, his voice softer now, laced with regret. “I can’t leave you like this. Let me take you home.”

You stopped in your tracks, turned to face him, your eyes blazing. “Leave me the fuck alone!” you screamed, each word sharp and cutting. “I don’t wanna see you anymore!”

He stopped the car, watching helplessly as you walked away into the dark, your words echoing in his mind. He sat there, paralyzed by regret, knowing he might’ve just lost the one person who truly mattered.

For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

The darkness wrapped around you like a shroud, the only light the flicker of the streetlamp outside your window, casting shadows on the walls like a silent movie of your tumultuous thoughts. His words echoed through the empty space, a symphony of doubt and anger that seemed to grow louder with each passing moment. How could he treat you like this?

The realization hit you like a cold shower.

The man who swept you away under the dance floor's glow,

Who held you close in quiet rooms, where whispers grow,

Who heard your first "I love you" by the Maldives’ gentle tide,

Was absent in the leathered luxury where his ego would abide.

Now, stats and numbers steal his tongue, your dreams left unsaid, a stranger in the driver's seat, where your heart once led.

Kylian had become a star, and in doing so, had forgotten the gravity of the simple moments that had brought you together.

The quiet moments of shared laughter had been drowned out by the roar of the stadium, and the gentle strokes of his hand had been replaced by the firm grip of his ambition.

Kylian blamed himself. He let his anger consume him, a wildfire burning through reason and restraint. When he finally told his mother about you, he hoped for understanding, maybe even support. Instead, her words cut deep, embedding themselves in his mind like code in a machine. From that moment, he felt programmed to meet her expectations.

Be the best, Kylian.

Her voice echoed endlessly in his head. It wasn’t a choice anymore; it was his identity, the role he was born to play. The weight of their pride, the legacy, bore down on him, suffocating his own desires.

He wasn’t just Kylian; he was their Kylian, the greatest thing they had ever created, and he couldn’t let them down.

But in trying to be perfect for them, he wondered if he was losing the parts of himself that mattered most. The parts that belonged to you.

Weeks turned into months, and the silence between you and Kylian grew louder. The only bridge between you now was his messages, desperate and pleading.

"I’m sorry, baby. Can we talk? Please?"

Your replies were short, distant.

"I can’t. I’m busy."

Winning Ligue 1, another trophy to add to his collection. But the victory was hollow.

The nights were the worst—endless hours spent scrolling through your Instagram. There you were, smiling again, surrounded by friends. That radiant face he had first seen in the club, now only a memory behind a screen. Not in his arms. Not his anymore.

"I’ll never mess up again, I swear. Just… call me."

Your reply came, cold and final.

"We’re over. Stop contacting me."

His thumb hovered over the screen, disbelief washing over him. He dialed your number, hands trembling, but each ring dragged into silence. No answer.

"Did you block me!?" he typed, panic seeping into his words.

Still nothing.

"Answer me!"

But his words only reached the empty void of delivered.

That’s when the rage bubbled to the surface. His fists clenched as the realization struck like a thunderbolt—you were gone. Truly gone. The medals and trophies that lined his shelves seemed to mock him now. All lost in the suffocating shadow of his parents’ expectations.

Kylian slammed the phone onto his desk with force, the ache in his chest unbearable. No victory could fill the void you left behind.

And as your presence faded further into the past, he realized the cost of trying to be perfect. It was too high. He had lost you. Forever.

The party lights flickered, reflecting Kylian’s distorted thoughts as he drove recklessly through the streets. Fueled by anger and a dangerous cocktail of drugs, his mind spiraled into chaos. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t see past the image burned into his mind—you, smiling in someone else’s arms.

While scrolling through your friend’s Instagram story, he spotted you with a man, his arm draped casually over your shoulders, and you were smiling.

That picture had pushed him over the edge, and now, nothing else mattered.

Parking haphazardly outside the party, he stormed in, his eyes darting frantically through the crowd. And then he saw you—ascending the stairs with the man from the photo. His fists clenched, his pulse pounding as he watched from the shadows. When you reappeared alone, heading to the bar, he seized his chance.

He approached swiftly, his grip firm on your arm.

“What are you doing here?” you snapped, irritation clear in your voice.

“I’m trying to talk to you, but you blocked me. Why would you do that?” His words were sharp, almost desperate.

You yanked your arm free. “I blocked you because we’re done, Kylian. There’s nothing to talk about.”

But he didn’t back down. “Did you fuck him?” His tone was cold, accusatory.

“What?” You stared at him, stunned.

“You heard me. That guy upstairs. Did you fuck him?”

The confusion on your face deepened. “Who—Alex? Are you serious? He’s one of my best friends. He’s gay.”

“That’s bullshit.” His voice rose, disbelief clouding his judgment.

“It’s not! And the drinks I was getting? They’re for my friends. You’d know that if you ever bothered to ask or get to know them!” Your frustration boiled over.

“You only care about yourself!” you added, your voice trembling.

“I only care about myself?” His anger flared, but you didn’t wait for his retort. Turning on your heel, you started to walk away.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” he growled, grabbing your arm again, pulling you into an empty room.

“Let go of me!” you shouted, your voice breaking.

Kylian’s grip loosened for a moment, his expression flickering between fury and regret. “Baby, just listen to me. Please,” he pleaded, his hands shifting to your shoulders.

“I’ll tell my parents. I’ll tell my friends. I’ll tell the world. I don’t care. Just come back to me.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “No,” you sobbed. “I can’t. Look at you!”

You saw it in his eyes—bloodshot, clouded, a haze of intoxication stealing the clarity they once held.

"You think I want a life with you? Just look at yourself!" Tears streamed down your face as your voice cracked with emotion.

“What do you mean, look at me?” His anger reignited, his voice sharp and cutting. “I’m here, aren’t I? I'm here for you, bitch."

Your gaze met his, hollow and disbelieving. “Stop calling me that!"

His anger surged again, and before he could stop himself, words he didn’t mean escaped his lips.

“You’re such a selfish bitch!”

Your slap echoed through the room, sharp and startling. You didn’t wait for his reaction; you pulled away, trembling, your tears blurring your vision.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” you choked, your voice filled with fear and heartbreak.

Something shifted in Kylian’s eyes then—realization, maybe. His hands fell to his sides, his body frozen in place as you stepped back, wiping the tears from your face.

As you walked away, his chest felt hollow, his world unravelling. As the drug coursed through his veins, it claimed his body in a haze of surrender, weaving a spell that blurred the line between control and chaos.

He watched you disappear into the crowd, the weight of his actions crashing down on him. For the first time, he saw it clearly—you weren’t just leaving. You were gone. And it was entirely his fault.

—

Years passed, but time never dulled the weight of his regret.

When you left, he stripped himself of the colors you gave him. The bright white streaks that once danced through his hair—your touch, your light—faded like the ghost of a dream. He dyed it back to black, the shade of before, as if erasing every trace of you could silence the ache.

Kylian had it all—his name immortalized in football, his dream club in Madrid awaiting his arrival. Yet, in the silence of his nights, the triumphs felt hollow.

Sometimes, when the ache grew unbearable, he’d find himself scrolling through your Instagram. There you were, in Germany now—living the dream you used to whisper to him about, the life he should’ve supported. A home and a man who held you the way he never could. A picture-perfect, framed in a happiness he no longer dared to imagine for himself.

But it was the Maldives photo that truly broke him. It stayed tucked away, a relic of the love he lost. In it, you stared straight at him, your eyes warm and alive, as if seeing straight into his soul. He could barely look at it without choking on the memory of the first “I love you” whispered under that endless sky.

On the loneliest nights, when the roar of the crowd faded and his medals gleamed like mocking ghosts, he clutched that photo and prayed.

Not for forgiveness—he didn’t deserve that—but for you. For your happiness.

And maybe, just maybe, for you to haunt him.

"Come out and haunt me."

Lying alone in his cold, empty room, he whispered those same words into the void, hoping they might somehow reach you.

Haunt him with the sound of your laughter. With the light in your eyes. With the love he destroyed but never stopped yearning for.

But they didn’t. They never would. Because you were gone, and he was alone.

Because even in the echo of his greatest victories, it was your absence that screamed the loudest. And he knew—he would carry that hollow ache, that haunting memory of you, for the rest of his days.

this fic is deeply inspired by Waves (2019), directed by Trey Edward Shults.

the film brings me a sense of comfort, and the inspiration to write this story about kylian is exactly what i needed 😣

part 2

[jinxedruby]

Whumptober Day Seventeen: Nowhere Else to Go

Featuring Wild and Sky. The conclusion to day twelve: underground caverns (the one where Sky and Wild get trapped in a cave)

AO3

First part | <- Previous part | Next part ->

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The torchlight skipped across the walls, the jagged edges of the rocks casting harsh, flickering shadows. Wild’s danced among them, stretched across the ground and up a wall. He and Sky plodded along the tunnel, gravel crunching underfoot. Wild glanced back at Sky, suppressing the wince of pain the motion tried to cause. His headache had persisted despite the potion, but Sky didn’t need another reason to worry.

Sky met his gaze, looking up from where his eyes had been fixed on Wild’s back. A ghost of a smile flickered across Wild’s face. Sky’s lips twitched in an attempt to return it. Wild looked back ahead of them, narrowing his eyes against the vertigo. The edge of the torchlight inched along the cart tracks that traveled into the darkness. The old metal stood warped and broken in some places, sections of the rail missing. The thick layer of dirt and gravel on the ground covered the tracks completely at some points. Wild had tripped over hidden rails more than once.

As they walked, the light fell onto an interruption in the rhythm of jagged stone. A wooden archway supported the walls and ceiling of the tunnel, the wood gray with dust and age. A few more stood past it, planks lining the wall on one side. As they drew closer, Wild heard Sky let out a shaky breath. He glanced back again, but Sky just waved him onward. Wild chewed his lip, examining the supports as they passed through. They’d been walking for some time now. Wild hoped for Sky’s sake that they’d find another way out soon.

The light of the flame fell onto a silhouette. Wild stiffened, halting in place. Sky walked into him with a gasp, placing a hand on Wild’s shoulder to steady himself. Wild’s eyes never left the large figure just ahead of them. The figure’s head nearly brushed the ceiling of the cave, broad arms positioned to one side and holding a long blade that gleamed orange in the glow of the torch.

The Yiga blademaster took a step forward. Wild finally snapped to action. He yanked his shield out, reaching for his sword in the same motion. Two arrows whistled from the darkness behind the blademaster. One grazed the side of Wild’s neck, ripping through his hair. The other slammed into the flesh just above his right collarbone. He staggered back with a yell through clenched teeth. Sky immediately bolted in front of him. The blademaster lunged, mask bright in the torchlight. Sky tossed the torch to his left hand and whipped his sword out, blocking the blademaster’s strike in one smooth motion.

Wild went to grab his sword only for burning pain to tear through the arrow wound. A short cry leapt from his throat, right arm hanging uselessly by his side. Quick, sharp clangs rang through the cave as Sky fought against the blademaster. Their swords flashed orange with each swing, the shadows jumping and whirling as Sky moved with the torch. Wild freed his hand from one strap of his shield, leaving it hanging from his arm. He wrapped his hand around the shaft of the arrow, swallowing back a whine. He tensed his arm, preparing to rip the arrow out when he heard a familiar hiss of air behind him. He gasped around a curse, spinning around and yanking his shield up. Two jolts verberated through the wood as arrows struck it. Wild peeked over the top of the shield, scanning the darkness for the Yiga archer. The air whistled and he ducked behind his shield again, two more arrows stabbing into it. Habit had him reaching for his sword. Agony once again prevented him from lifting his arm at all.

Sky’s shadow danced along the edges of his vision, springing from wall to wall. Wild heard a low grunt and glanced over his shoulder. Blood speckled the Master Sword, the blade extended at the end of a swing. The Yiga blademaster staggered back, a hand pressed to his bleeding thigh. Sky surged toward him and he vanished in a plume of smoke and paper slips.

He reappeared directly beside Wild.

Wild’s eyes widened and he twisted. The Yiga struck in a large arc before him. Wild barely caught the katana on his shield. The force of the blow and awkward positioning knocked him off balance. He staggered back into the cave wall, jagged rock digging into his back. The Yiga didn’t even have to move forward to strike again, the confines of the cave keeping them close. Wild tried to brace. The katana crashed into his shield with the force of a boulder, knocking him to the ground. He landed on his right shoulder and nearly screamed as the arrow jerked in his flesh. He dragged himself onto his elbow, jaw tight against the fire in his wound. The blademaster appeared above him. Before Wild could react, a blur of white streaked past him. Sky intercepted the blow aimed for Wild’s neck, locking the Yiga in combat once more.

Wild hauled himself to sit up against the wall, breathing hard. Dirt caked the front of his tunic, mixing with the blood flowing from the wound in a muddy mess. Whistles preceded more arrows that he barely caught on his shield. He tried reaching into his pouch to find a potion, but he couldn’t lift his right arm high enough and his shield occupied his left. He heard the archer teleport to his right again. He lunged to his feet with a pained grunt, spinning around and doing his best to cover Sky’s back. The world kept spinning for a moment even after he stopped, heart thudding rapidly in his chest. He spared a glance down at his tunic. Blood poured from where the arrow protruded, drenching his tunic all the way to his belt. Arrows cracked against his shield and he stumbled back. He threw a desperate glance around, wracking his brain for something they could do. They were in a mine, there was nowhere to go, it carved straight into the mountain with only a few branching paths too far away for them to escape down.

An arrow struck the ground just beside his foot. He belatedly skipped to the side, head throbbing in time with his heart. The wooden planks his foot landed on gave out with crunching snaps. His foot plunged into a hole beneath them. He sucked in a sharp breath, scrambling to regain his balance. He managed to catch himself before falling in. His gaze darted down to see a square hole cut into the wall and ground, rotted planks having plugged it up until Wild broke it. Darkness filled the pit and he couldn’t tell how deep it went. He nearly found out as he flinched back from an arrow striking the wall inches from his face. He yanked his shield up, hunching over and praying the archer wouldn’t think to shoot his exposed legs.

A sharp yelp had him whipping his head around. Sky staggered back, blood soaking one sleeve. The blademaster pressed forward, slashing at Sky. Sky dropped into a crouch, katana sweeping over his head. He lunged and drove the Master Sword through the blademaster’s middle. He yanked it free a moment later, darting sideways and letting the blademaster’s body collapse to the ground. He stilled for a second, breathing hard. His eyes flicked up and met Wild’s.

An arrow skewered Wild’s calf. He shouted as the muscle seized and pain overtook it. His knee buckled and he stumbled back. His heels slipped off the ground and into the hole. His stomach jumped into his ribs. Sky’s eyes went wide. He sheathed his sword and dove in the same movement. He caught a fistful of Wild’s cloak as Wild’s back hit the rock wall. He skid down it, reached for Sky with his good hand. A panicked thought of You’ll pull him in shot through his mind. But Sky didn’t let go. Wild plummeted and Sky fell with him.

The arrow in Wild’s calf caught on something and tore from him, taking a chunk of flesh with it. Wild started to scream. The back of his head colliding with the wall cut him off. Time skipped a few seconds and he forced his eyes open again to see Sky falling headfirst above him, reaching for him with both hands. The abandoned torch fell alongside him for a moment before spinning off the wall, bouncing off another, and again and again, losing ground and casting them into darkness. Wild felt Sky’s arms wrap around his chest. He yelped when Sky’s hand knocked against the arrow still in his shoulder. Sky yelled something, words snatched away by the wind pummeling Wild’s ears. Warmth pressed against him as Sky managed to pull him into a bear hug.

“Sailcloth, sailcloth, Cook!” Sky screamed into his ear over the wind.

Wild’s eyes widened at the realization. He flailed his left arm, frantically trying to find the cape fluttering behind Sky. His fingers brushed against it once, twice, but he couldn’t get a grip on it. Panic seared his veins, boiling in his capillaries. Gonna die, gonna die, played on loop in his head. He ground his teeth together. With a shriek, he forced his right arm to lift. Agony exploded in the wound, tingled in his fingers. He slapped the air, found the cape. He snatched two fistfuls of it. He yanked both toward his head. The cape snapped open like a balloon. The force of it nearly tore the cloth from Wild’s hands. His shoulder screeched in time with his voice as his and Sky’s legs whipped downward. His shoulders burned and Sky let out a choked sound as the sailcloth went taut around his neck. One arm vanished from around Wild’s back as Sky grabbed the sailcloth. Their descent rapidly slowed, the wind fading from a roar to a whistle in Wild’s ears. Then something clapped against their boots and they plunged into water.

The arrow tore from Wild’s shoulder and he screamed bubbles into the black water. His mind blanked with pain. He didn’t even think about swimming to the surface until he felt Sky’s arm tighten around him and the chosen hero’s knees knocking against his own as he kicked. Wild stroked through the water with his good arm, the movement hindered by his shield. Each motion hitched as he fought the urge to gasp. Their heads broke the surface and Wild sucked in a breath while Sky spluttered and coughed. Sky’s leg knocked against Wild’s wounded calf. Wild yelled, slipping under the surface again, water flooding his mouth. Sky hauled him back up a moment later, Wild hacking the water out of his throat.

“Shore, there’s a- a- rocks over- over there,” Sky managed between coughs. The sound ricocheted around them.

Wild blinked the water out of his eyes, forcing both legs to kick despite the pain. He could see Sky’s dark silhouette beside him, one arm lifted from the water to point. Wild followed the gesture to see a faint gray outline of rocks. He kicked weakly, gargling as the muscles around his wounds flexed. Sky did most of the work, dragging them forward through the water. Wild’s head buzzed, black specks flickering at the edges of his vision. Water kept sloshing over his head, filling his ears with the dull roar of blood rushing through them. He tipped his head back as they moved, trying to keep his face above the surface. A different kind of muffled roar rose in his ears. Sky shouted as Wild’s movements slowed and he sank again. He barely felt the hand yanking at the collar of his cloak.

The yanking increased along with gravity. Water poured down his face and he coughed reflexively. The dragging didn’t stop, a rough surface scraping painfully against his hands and legs. Hacking again, he managed to get his feet under him, pushing himself forward and away from the water. The pulling stopped and he crumpled onto his side, gasping shallowly.

“Cook?” Sky’s voice registered somewhere behind the muffling. Hands swept across his neck and chest. “Cook, wh-what’s wrong? What’s wrong? I can’t- I can’t see well.”

“Arrows,” Wild slurred, lingering on the r. He pawed at his hip, struggling to prop himself up on one elbow and free his Slate from beneath him. “I’ve… an elixir.”

“Arrows?” Sky repeated, voice tinged with panic. “Where?

“G-gone.” Wild made the mistake of trying to reach for his Slate with his bad arm. He let out a cry and fell to the ground again. A hand pushed at his shoulder and rolled him onto his back. He felt the Slate pull off of his belt. He tried to blink the blackness out of his vision. Sky held the Slate in both hands, eyes wide and brow furrowed as he tapped frantically on the screen. Wild reached up and hit the Slate in an uncoordinated motion, nearly knocking it from Sky’s hands. He heard the familiar sound of it coming to life, its light illuminating Sky’s face and making the chosen hero wince. Wild blinked, hearing muffling as he watched Sky try to navigate Wild’s inventory. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, the seconds seeming to flit by faster each time he blinked.

Glass pressed to his lips and he pulled his eyelids apart. Sky, out of focus and dim, held an elixir to Wild’s mouth, voice rumbling in the air. He tipped the potion back and Wild swallowed as quickly as he could. Instead of the bitter elixir he expected, a taste like sugar water swirled down his tongue. A soothing sensation washed over him, thrumming through his veins and congregating in his wounds. Only when he’d drained the entire bottle, did he have the wherewithal to recognize it as a fairy tonic. The calming sensation faded, curling in his wounds before dissipating and taking the pain with it. Wild peeled his eyelids apart to see a still blurry Sky kneeling over him.

“Cook,” Sky said, voice shaking. The muffling in Wild’s ears subsided slowly. “Cook, can you hear me?”

Wild nodded. Cautiously, he tried lifting his arm. He let out a sigh of relief as he could with only a dull ache. Sky sighed as well, sitting back on his knees. Wild started to sit up and Sky hurried to help him. The world spun around him, nausea prodding beneath his chin. He closed his eyes as he sat up all the way, letting out a slow breath. Once the dizzy spell mostly passed, he slowly looked around them.

They sat on a rock outcropping sloping out of the water. It extended far in each direction, following the wall of the cavern. Pale light glimmered off the surface of the water, winking and wavering with the ripples and slow current.

“Underground river?” he said. Unlike in the mine, his voice echoed through the cavern.

“Seems like it,” Sky said in a strained voice. He started to glance around before grimacing and returning his gaze to Wild. Wild’s brow furrowed. There’d been no light in the mine. How could they see? He leaned forward, looking around Sky. His eyes widened.

“Sky,” he breathed.

Sky blinked. He turned to follow Wild’s gaze. Far down the river, a circle of white light stood atop the water’s surface. Sky huffed a disbelieving laugh. He turned back to Wild, a cautious but hopeful smile edging onto his face.

Despite the still uncomfortable fluttering of his heart and persistent lightheadedness, Wild mirrored the grin. “Let’s get out of here.”