#The Rhythm Section Cast

[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."

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[51voices]

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.

[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.

[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.”

[multi-fandomfuckboy]

Stranger Than Fiction

Part 23: Study

Billy Hargrove x Reader (Slowburn)

Part 1,... (Masterlist)...Part 24 (Coming Soon)...

AN: Got it done! This is a LONG one so strap in. Word Count: 6068 Warnings: Language, Suggestive themes

You remain next to Billy for the next two hours. He explains the first section of material to you in a way that makes the whole thing sound like a classic tragedy. You start to see different events as small pieces that fit into the whole flow of the story, when you take a step back it makes thematic sense. It’s interesting to hear Billy speak in a tone other than flirtatious or angry, but when he’s tutoring you he almost sounds professional. After recovering from the initial shock of Billy Hargrove agreeing to tutor you in exchange for free meals, you have to admit he is a pretty good teacher.  

Like when it’s clear you don't understand a portion of the chapter he takes the time to explain it within the context of the larger story. And to make sure you’re actually grasping the material he intermittently asks you to explain portions in your own words. The two of you fall into an easy rhythm of work, only falling into hushed silences when Billy thinks he hears movement outside his bedroom. You eventually find yourself interested in learning what happens next. Just like anticipating the next chapter of a story. 

When you can hardly get through a sentence without yawning, Billy closes the textbook.

“Alright, no use in studying if you can barely keep your eyes open.” he mumbles, setting the book on his night stand. Glancing at the time you internally curse, it’s already past 11, listening for a moment you note that the rest of the house is completely silent. 

“I should get going anyways.” you say, pulling yourself away from Billy. You hadn’t noticed that during the course of your study session you ended up sitting thigh to thigh on the bed, with the book spread between you. Your side feels cold without him next to you.

Scooting to the edge of the bed you gather your bag from the floor and move to stand.You're stopped by Billy’s hand gently grabbing your wrist. Your heart leaps slightly as his fingers hold you in place. 

“You can stay if you want.” Billy offers. Your eyes dart to his face, prepared to see his smirk. Instead you are met with his tired gaze, no hint of teasing in his eyes. He rubs a hand over his face, looking as exhausted as you feel. You’re reminded that along with school, Billy also had basketball practice today. You’re filled with guilt knowing that you’ve kept him up so late helping you. 

“No, it’s okay.” you say, fully standing. Billy keeps his light grip on your wrist. You know you could pull away if you tried. You’re overly aware of how warm his hand feels against your skin. You chuckle, trying to ignore how your heart is racing. “Is this your lame attempt to get me in bed with you?” You ask jokingly. Billy immediately stands, his grasp moving up to your elbow.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” The seriousness of his tone stuns you for a moment. Or maybe it’s just hard to focus on anything other than the way he’s gazing down at you, the dim light of the lamp casting shadows over his sharp features. Your heart leaps into your throat at the feeling of his thumb gently grazing the skin inside your arm. Swallowing thickly you search his expression. He looks tired, but his blue eyes are clear. He’s not joking. “It’s the middle of the night. Walking home alone isn’t smart.” He explains, his eyes staying on yours. 

For a moment you let yourself imagine staying. Imagine crawling into his bed, under his sheets, knowing that they undoubtedly smell so much like him. Think about Billy only feet away on the floor. Think of being in that space that is so entirely him, surrounded by him. You feel heat creep up your neck, unable to stop a few thoughts from pouring into your mind. 

“I-it’s fine Billy, really.” You look away first, unable to hold his penetrating gaze with the thoughts currently wreaking havoc on your mind. “I walk home alone all the time.” you try to minimize his concern, forcing yourself to take a step away from him letting his hand fall from your arm. Turning from him, you grab the empty food container and shove it in your bag.

Billy sighs, rubbing his hand over his face again.

“That doesn't make it any safer Loca.” he insists, sounding slightly more irritated. 

“I’m sorry, I must have missed the part where you became concerned with my safety.” you quip, rolling your eyes. “With how you drive, I didn’t know you even knew the meaning of the word ‘safe’.” You tease. Glancing over your shoulder you see the slight upward twitch in his lips.

“I don’t think you have room to talk about my driving. I was lucky that I didn’t have to replace my clutch after you drove my car ONCE.” He shoots back, following you as you head for the window. You can't stop the small smile that pulls at your lips.

“I guess playing it safe isn’t either of your strong suits.” you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder. 

“I guess so.” Billy relents, allowing you to flip the lock on the window and pull it open enough for you to slip out. “Still though…” Billy starts, taking your arm again. This time he pulls it towards him slightly, grabbing a pen from his night stand. “Call this number when you get home.” he instructs, cradling your hand in his as he scribbles a number onto your palm. The feeling of the pen moving swiftly over your skin tickles, sending a shiver down your spine. “Let it ring once and then hang up, just so I know you got home.” He tells you.

“Got it.” you confirm curtly. You curse your body's reaction to his touch. To make it worse, when he finishes writing he brings your hand closer to his face, blowing gently on the ink to make sure it dries. Something swirls deep in your stomach at the action. The feeling of his hand gently holding yours, his warm breath fanning across your palm.

You don’t want it to stop. It’s so quiet between you, it seems like your heart is pounding in your ears. Thankfully Billy doesn't seem to notice the quickening of your pulse or the blush you know is creeping over your entire face. 

“That should be good.” he assesses, keeping his eyes on your palm. With your hand still in his, he swipes his thumb over the ink to check it. The swirling in your stomach quickly tightens. You pull your hand out of his. 

“Thanks.” you manage to get out, hastily moving to the window, hoping to escape into the darkness before Billy notices how flushed you are. You can’t be sure but you think Billy chuckles lightly as you rush to swing your legs out the window. Placing your palms on the sill to lower yourself to the ground, your toes search for the top of the plastic crate in the dark. You nearly topple off of it as you finally drop down. 

“Hey!” Billy whisper-yells down to you, leaning out the window slightly. Looking back to him, you can barely see the smirk pulling over his teeth. “I like my eggs with a little tabasco.” he says with a wink. 

You open your mouth to snap back that you’re not a servant, but he clicks his tongue wagging a finger at you. 

“Hey now sweetheart, a deal is a deal.” he reminds you, seeming to delight in this new aspect of your relationship. 

“Fine.” you grit out, reminding yourself that he is, in fact, doing you a favor. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” you grumble. 

“See you then Loca.” He grins, closing the window as you walk into the dark. 

The journey home is quick. You seem to be buzzing with electricity. Hyper-aware of the number inked onto your palm. You pick up your pace, trying desperately to stop your mind from wandering back to Billy’s hands on you. He’s been so different since that night, somehow gentler with you. How could someone like him possibly be so gentle? 

The memory of Steve’s battered face flashes through your mind. You walk faster.

When you get home you immediately head to the phone dialing the number scrawled on your hand. It rings once and you hang up, just like Billy told you. Then you stumble to your room falling onto your bed, you pass out on top of the covers. 

---

The next morning you're woken up by your mom coming home. She comes into your room to check on you because you’re normally up when she comes home. Seeing that you just slept in a bit, she gives you a quick hug and heads to bed.

You make breakfast, packing an extra portion for Billy (not forgetting the hot sauce). Then get started on lunch. You’re not sure what Billy likes to eat so you stick with the basics, packing him exactly what you normally eat. You double his though, rationalizing that he needs more energy because he’s bigger than you and has practice after school. 

Finishing with that you turn your attention to getting a few things prepared for dinner. Billy mentioned meatloaf, so that’s probably a good place to start. You skin and dice potatoes, for mashed potatoes. You snap the green beans, setting them in a bag. Finally you pull a pound of ground beef from the freezer placing it in the fridge to thaw. 

By the time you finish, Steve is already pulling into the driveway. 

His arrival draws your attention to a gaping hole in your plan to pass history with Billy’s help. There is no way in hell Steve is going to let you be alone with Billy for more than a second. Your mind spins as you pack your bag, placing Billy’s portioned food at the top. 

As you exit the house and head to Steve’s car, he gives you a sleepy smile that sends a wave of guilt through you. There is no way you can tell him. You know he still has nightmares, it’s one of the many reasons he stays at your place so much. You can’t place this on his mind, he’ll go crazy with worry. 

You shove these feelings and all thoughts of Billy into the back of your mind, opening the passenger door. You set your bag on the floor as you slide into your usual seat.

“Morning.” Steve greets you, a yawn cutting off the end of the word.

“Tired?” you ask, buckling your seatbelt. Steve only shrugs, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“Yea, my parents are both home.” he offers in explanation. You understand the meaning behind his words. He once told you during one of your late night conversations that his parents are hardly ever home at the same time. But when they are it’s like a silent war is being had. Neither of them speaks to the other, only interacting through passive aggressive comments and actions taken to provoke the other. Steve told you that his parents never fight, but he wishes they would. Just for once have them say exactly what is bothering them to bring air into the vacuum or their marriage. He explained that the tension between them puts him on edge most nights they are home and it makes it difficult for him to sleep. 

You give him a sympathetic smile.

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t get much sleep either.” you say, leaning back in your seat. Steve chuckles as he backs out of the drive. 

“Yes, of course knowing that you’re suffering always makes me feel better.” He jokes. You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly. 

It’s so comfortable between you. You enjoy being with Steve. For some reason it’s reassuring to know that through everything the two of you have been through, he still manages to laugh. And somehow make you laugh with him.

“Are you still having those dreams?” he asks. Glancing at him, you catch the worry in his expression even though he keeps his eyes on the road.

“Yea.” you confirm. “It gets harder to remember them though. I just wake up with this weird feeling, like my mind has been somewhere else all night.” you try to explain. 

Steve knows about the dark dreams that have prevented you from getting a full nights sleep since you woke up in the hospital. There have been many nights where you have woken Steve up after coming out of one of your dreams. He’s theorized that they have something to do with what happened the night Eleven closed the gate. Like maybe you have some connection with the upside down. Neither of you like talking about it though.

“If you want, I can try to sneak out and stay over tonight.” Steve offers, pulling into his usual spot in the school parking lot. It’s a nice offer and you almost accept it reflexively, but your eyes land on a familiar blue car two spots down. 

“That’s okay Steve, I don't want you to get in any trouble with your parents home.” you say, gathering your bag into your lap so you don't have to look him in the eyes when you lie to him. You hear him sigh.

“I doubt they would even notice. They are currently in a “not fight” about my mom buying a persian rug.” You feel another pang of guilt, you hate having to keep Steve out, but there is no way you can study with Billy AND stay home with Steve. 

“It will be okay.” you reassure him. “Plus you are always complaining that the cot isn’t as comfortable as your bed.” you remind him. 

“Well, it’s not.” he grumbles, reaching into the back for his bag behind your seat. “But I do sleep better at your place.” he adds. You look at him, seeing that he’s still twisted in his seat, his arm stretched behind you to feel for his bag. In this position he’s somewhat leaning into your space. He pauses when your eyes meet. 

“I sleep better with you there too.” you admit. “But it’s better in the long run if you don’t get in any trouble.” you explain, keeping your eyes on his. This close to him you can see the slight flush in his face at your words. His throat bobs as he swallows, his gaze flickering over your face before he blicks quickly, finally grabbing his bag and sitting back in his seat.

“Yea, you’re probably right.” he relents.

“And I need a break from your snoring.” you tease, trying to hide your smile when Steve scoffs.

“You must have confused me with some other guy that sleeps on your floor, because I sleep like an angel.” he snaps, looking only slightly offended. 

“Whatever you say.” you say, opening your door to climb out into the frigid December air. Steve follows your lead, both of you heading towards the entrance. 

“I’ll have you know that I have never once gotten a complaint from any of the girls I’ve slept next to.” Steve defends himself. 

“I’m sure they just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” you continue, unable to hide your smile at his displeased expression, his brows furrowing in indignation. 

“I do NOT snore.” he insists.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure one day you will find the nicest girl… who can sleep through a fire alarm.” Steve finally breaks, a smile splitting across his face. He slings his arm over your shoulders to pull you roughly into his side. You laugh, only stumbling half a step as he jostles you slightly.

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” he groans, keeping his arm over your shoulders as you walk through the parking lot. You chuckle at his antics, resisting the initial urge to pull away. You know now that Steve is a very physical person. It’s how he shows affection, with a hug, or a pat on the back, a gentle touch here and there just so you know he’s there with you. It was jarring at first to have someone touch you so casually, but the more it happened the more you came to associate the gentle touches with Steve showing you what good friends you are. 

On cold mornings like this, you can’t say you mind the warmth of his arm over your shoulders.

A prickling sensation creeps over your skin before you enter the building. Glancing around, your eyes fall on Billy. He stands next to his car, unmoving, as students file past him to get into the warm building. His eyes are locked on you, watching you with such intensity you wonder what exactly he sees in your expression. The first bell rings, but he remains leaning against his car, waiting. 

You suddenly stop, ducking from under Steve’s arm. He immediately turns to you, a question in his eyes. 

“I forgot something in your car.” you explain before he can ask. You take a few steps back, trying to keep your smile casual. 

“I’ll go with you.” Steve says, taking a step towards you. 

“No, it’s okay” you insist, waving him off continuing to walk backwards. “I’ll be quick, you’re going to be late.” you warn. As if to emphasize your point, the second bell rings. “I’ll see you at lunch.” you reassure him, turning to walk back to the car leaving no room for discussion. You glance over your shoulder a moment later to make sure Steve has gone to class. Luckily he has.

You walk in the opposite direction of the flow of students into the building. By the time you reach Steve’s car the parking lot is practically empty, except for you and Billy. You walk past Steve’s car, heading straight to Billy’s. He watches your approach, his expression so carefully bored. A look you’re sure he’s perfected. 

“Looking pretty cozy with Harrington this morning.” he says, looking down his nose at you. You ignore how much like his father he looks when he does that. You roll your eyes, slipping your bag off your shoulder to pull out his packed food. 

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Hargrove?” you ask, extending the containers of food out to him. Instead of taking them, Billy smirks, taking a step towards you. A predatory gleam fills his eyes causing your pulse to spike as you take an impulsive step back. Following you back, Billy’s arms bracket around you as your back connects with the cold metal of his car.

“Jealous of what? Harrington?” Billy asks, his smirk growing wider into a wolfish grin. You hold the containers of food between your bodies like a physical barrier. He leans in closer, watching you so closely you swear he can see the thoughts racing through your mind. “How can I be jealous when I know it was my window you were sneaking into last night.” His voice is low and he’s so close you can smell the peppermint of the gum he’s chewing. 

“Do you want the food or not?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. You do your best to keep your voice calm, irritated by your body’s response to being this close to him. In an attempt to make room so you can breathe properly, you push the containers into his stomach. Billy just chuckles, it’s like pushing against a solid wall. 

Seeming to take mercy on your nerves, Billy lowers his arms, taking the containers in his hands, but does not take a step back. 

“I don’t want to be late for class bringing you food every morning.” you tell him. “From now on, meet me outside the bathrooms behind the gym before first period.” you say, doing your best not to inhale the smell of his cologne too deeply. 

“Why there?” he asks, looking down at the containers in his hands. “Scared your boyfriend will see you with the competition?” he asks. It sounds like a joke but there is something sharp under his tone.

“Steve’s not my boyfriend, he’s just protective.” you explain, avoiding his question. Billy’s eyes return to yours, pinning you there, he searches your eyes like he will find an answer there. You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I need to get to class.” you say, struggling not to shift under his gaze. 

“Alright, fine. I’ll wait by the gym tomorrow.” he confirms, finally taking a step back. You sling your bag over your shoulder walking away quickly, before you can give in to the small part of yourself that wants to stay pressed between him and his car.

---

When you get to history you see Billy has occupied the seat next to you again. You're not too surprised, it makes sense that he would want to sit next to you during the subject he’s tutoring you in. He seems to keep an eye on you through most of the class, leaning over to look at your notes every so often. 

When the bell rings to excuse class you pack up your things preparing to head out but before you can stand, Billy steps into your space. He places one hand on your desk and the other on the back of your chair. Your head snaps up to him as he leans down close to your face. 

“Bring your notes when you come over tonight, I have a few ideas that might help you retain what you write.” he tells you. His tone is serious, but to anyone watching the two of you it would look like he’s coming onto you. You glance around, seeing a few pairs of eyes on you as your classmates exit. You grit your teeth, giving him a shove which is enough to get him to take a step back giving you space to stand.

“You’re enjoying this too much.” you say, turning to leave, knowing he’s following behind you. 

“What’s the matter? Scared people will think you like me?” you can hear the grin in his voice.

“People already think I’m a freak, liking you would just make me look like a masochist.” you explain, making a beeline for your final class. Before you can escape into the classroom, Billy’s arm darts out blocking you. You whip your head to him, glaring at his cocky smile. Your look doesn't seem to phase him as he leans in, practically whispering in your ear.

“I’ll see you tonight.” you grit your teeth, knowing he’s just trying to mess with you. That knowledge does not help the heat pooling in your gut at the feel of his breath against the shell of your ear.

Then he's gone. Taking a deep breath you begin to mentally prepare yourself for whatever is waiting for you tonight. 

---

All the mental fortitude in the world could not have prepared you for that night. 

Billy is all business. From the moment he helps you crawl through the window to the second he ends your study session. Not one joke or jab intended to make you blush. It’s like he flipped a switch and now his main goal in life is to cram as much history into your brain as possible. You’re partially thankful for that, not sure if you could fully focus with him flustering you. 

He doesn't argue when you leave this time, just telling you to call the house again so he knows you’re home. 

Wednesday follows the same routine. You meet Billy by the gym before school to give him his food and he’s all charm, invading your space and doing his best to make your face so warm it could serve as a space heater. Then that night he’s back to being professor Billy. 

It’s so intense you’re almost sure you’re dealing with two different Billy’s. But you can’t argue with the results. By class on Thursday you actually feel like you’re retaining the information being thrown at you. Granted after three nights of staying up late with Billy you’re having a hard time staying awake in all your classes.

After school on Thursday you finish dinner, say goodbye to your mom and pack your bag to head over to Billy’s. Stepping outside you notice the exceptionally crisp chill in the air. Glancing at the sky you see what look like storm clouds rolling in. 

You start walking, knowing that it shouldn't take you too long to get over to Cherry Lane. You keep an eye on the menacing clouds closing in and hope that you will be inside by the time the storm is on you.

Unfortunately snow starts to fall 10 minutes into your journey. It’s alright at first, big fluffy flakes that want to stick to the ground, easily handled by your winter jacket. It doesn't stay that way for long though, soon the flakes turn to rain mixed with sleet as it freezes in the cold atmosphere. You try to run but the combination of snow and rain mix into a dangerous concoction that makes the asphalt slick, threatening to take you down every other step. 

You move as quickly as you can, but by the time you reach Billy’s window your hair is plastered to your head, the ends beginning to turn stiff as the water freezes again. Your jacket has kept your torso protected but your jeans are soaked and you lost feeling in your hands and toes a while ago. 

Billy meets you at the window, like he was waiting for you. He takes one look at your shivering form before he hauls you through the window, not even giving you a chance to attempt the climb. He grabs your arms and lifts you easily into the room. You can’t even feel the relief of being out of the rain, the cold having numbed most of your body.

“Fuck!” Billy curses, pulling you further into the room as he closes the window. His eyes scan over your in a quick assessment. “Your fucking lips are blue.” he says, he looks pissed but his voice is low and calm.

You try to stutter an explanation but the violent chattering of your teeth cuts you off. Billy doesn't seem to need an explanation, he immediately starts moving. First he grabs a towel from the back of his door and drapes it over your head, hastily twisting your hair into it and piling it on top of your head. He grabs the zipper of your jacket but pauses, his eyes meeting yours, you're shaking so hard it makes it hard to focus on him.

“We need to get all the wet clothes off and put on dry ones.” he explains. His face is so intense, his eyes searching yours, looking for a sign that you understand him. “Focus on your breathing, I’m going to help you change, okay?” he asks, his brows pulling together. You know that he’s right, you’re likely to freeze to death at this rate if you don't get out of what you're wearing. 

You manage a nod. He moves quickly, unzipping your jacket and pulling it off your frigid frame. He tosses it in the corner of the room, quickly grabbing the hem of your shirt and lifting it over your head. You’re thankful that he’s helping you because looking at your numb fingers you can barely move them. You don't have the presence of mind to be embarrassed about standing in front of him, shaking, in just your bra, but when he darts behind you to grab a dry sweatshirt your chest tightens. There is a slight pause in his hurried movements and you can feel his eyes on the scars that cover your back. You close your eyes tightly, you have never really let anyone see them, even in locker rooms you keep your back to the wall as much as you can to hide them. You can barely stand to look at them yourself. 

Billy pulls the dry sweatshirt over your head, helping you get your arms into the sleeves. You keep your eyes closed, not able to look at him as he unties your shoes, pulling them off of your numb feet with your socks. Quickly unbuttoning your jeans, he peels them off, helping your step out of them and into dry sweatpants. 

Being out of the wet clothes helps, but you're still shaking uncontrollably. Opening your eyes again, you see Billy reassessing. His brows are pulled together and his lips are pressed into a firm line while he thinks. Seeming to come to a decision he grabs your arm gently pulling you towards the bed.

“You need to get warm again, get under the blankets.” Billy tells you, there is no room for argument in his tone. You want to protest but another wave of violent shaking urges you forward. You don't fight him as he guides you under the blankets. Burrowing under them, you try to curl tightly into a ball to generate heat but Billy pulling back the blanket again confuses you. You glance up in time to see him strip off his shirt before sliding under the sheets next to you. 

Your heart pounds as his arms wrap around you immediately, pulling you against his now bare chest. 

“I-I-I’m F-Fin-n-” you try to say, but the moment his warmth starts to seep into you all thoughts of pulling away leave your mind. 

“Jesus christ, you feel like ice.” Billy grumbles, beginning to move his hands over your back and arms to generate more heat. 

He’s so warm, all you can do is pull yourself closer, your hands curl against his side pressing into his skin. He hisses, the muscles in his stomach contracting away from your touch, only for a moment before he pulls you tighter against him. Your face is pressed against his chest, tucked under his chin, some of the sensation returns to your nose. You borrow your face into him, taking a shaky breath.

Billy continues to run his hands over your shuddering form for what feels like an eternity. All you can focus on is breathing in and out as he gently warms your body with his. Every so often you can hear him grumbling to himself. 

“What were you thinking… fucking crazy…I swear to god if you get hypothermia for a fucking history test I will never let you live this down… “ the last one actually makes you chuckle, though it sounds more like a groan with your teeth gritted together. 

When the shaking finally stops you are left with a feeling of utter exhaustion. You can finally feel your fingers and toes again but your eyelids feel unbearably heavy. You keep them closed as you take slow steady breaths. You are still pressed against Billy, your legs tangled with his under the sheets, your cheek resting against the muscle between his shoulder and chest. 

Being this close to him stirs something low in your gut, seeming to add to the warmth he’s already generating in your body. You have to resist the urge to wiggle against him. He smells so good, like the forest after rain. You know that it’s most likely his cologne but something about it is so undeniably him, and you can’t get enough of it. You unconsciously tilt your head closer causing your lips to gently graze the column of his throat. 

You feel him tense under you, his breath catching slightly. You find his reaction to the slight touch interesting. Normally he’s the one making you flustered, so his physical reaction is surprising. This is the closest you’ve ever been to a boy. But there is something inside you urging you to do it again. To press your lips against the thundering pulse in his neck. To see what kind of reaction that would get out of him. 

It feels like you're in a dream, surrounded by Billy, in his bed, his arms around you holding you close. You’re so tired of bad dreams, you just want this good one to last a little longer. Without thinking you press closer, your lips gently kissing the smooth skin of his throat.

Billy inhales sharply, his arms going taunt around you. You feel his hands fist into the material of his jacket you’re wearing. When he doesn't push you away, you move your head slightly, your nose grazing along the curve of his jaw. You notice that he tilts his head back slightly, allowing you to place another light kiss to the skin under his ear. His breathing is shallow, you can feel it from where his chest is pressed against yours. Your insides feel molten, pulsing heat through you.

“You should stop.” Billy whispers, his voice is gruff breaking the silence. It shocks you back to reality, breaking whatever spell processed you to act so boldly. Your eyes snap open as the embarrassment and shame slam into you all at once.

“I’m sorry.” you rush to sit up, Billy’s arms falling away from you. “I dont know what- I just- fuck.” you scramble out of the bed, unable to even look at Billy. He was just trying to keep you from freezing to death and you go and practically molest his neck without warning. The embarrassment feels like it's going to swallow you whole and the worst part is there is no escaping. Your only option is back out the window and from the looks of it the rain is still coming down in sheets. 

You run a hand through your hair, pulling at the roots slightly. Your mind spins in circles, making it difficult to take full breaths and the room feels like it’s closing in around you. 

“Fuck!” you curse under your breath. Your stomach twists unpleasantly and you feel nauseous. What does Billy think of you now? You took advantage of him just now. What could you have possibly been thinking? He literally had to tell you to stop. What kind of monster acts like that?

“Hey, hey, don’t freak out or anything, I didn’t mean it like-” his voice sounds muted in your ears. You still can’t look at him, keeping your back to him. “It’s okay, just calm down, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Billy insists. You wish you could believe him, but nothing about what you did was okay. 

“I’m so sorry.” you say again. 

“It’s okay. Seriously, it’s fine. Let’s- Let’s just study okay?” He suggests, sounding slightly out of breath.

“What?” you ask. How could he suggest studying after all that?

“You still have an exam tomorrow. Or did the part of your brain that stores lost causes get freezer burn?” he asks pointedly. You see him grab a shirt from the floor out to the corner of your eye. Glancing back at him you watch him quickly pull it over his head. Meeting your eyes evenly he lifts a brow. He doesn't look bothered by what just happened, his face is a bit flushed but other than that he looks unphased. You expected anger, maybe even teasing, but he looks completely serious. You swallow back your initial panic. If Billy is okay with acting like nothing happened then… so are you.

“Grab the textbook and some paper.” Billy instructs gesturing to his desk with one hand. While you grab the book and paper you hear the rustling of sheets as Billy moves to sit up. Heading back to the bed you sit next to him, being sure to keep your distance, noticing that he’s pulled one of his pillows over his lap. Guilt stabs at your mind, knowing that it's likely to keep you off of him. You bite the inside of your cheek and swallow down the apology that rises up in you again. 

Billy clears his throat.

“Alright, go to the section we covered in class today. It’s definitely going to be on the exam and I want to make sure you totally grasp the timeline.” he explains, easily slipping into his teaching mode. 

He goes over the material, teaching you calmly, just like any other night. If it weren't for the fact that when you finally leave you're still wearing Billy’s clothes, you would have sworn you imagined the whole thing.

AN: I warned you guys it was going to be long! Let me know if you guys liked this! Reader was feeling a bit bold, leave a comment about what you think and what you want to see in the story going forward!

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[coricoping]

CATS: The Jellicle Ball Summary

Sourced from my (admittedly imperfect) memory. I love this production, and this is an abridged summary of my memory of the events of the show. Specific/detailed character thoughts will be saved for their own posts, same with thematic deep dives. If there is any character/theme/question y'all want my thoughts on first, I can move them to the top of my queue of thoughts. That being said: on with the show!

Tumblr decided to post early, so this is just Act 1. I will add Act 2 as a reblog when I finish it

Pre-Show

The set for this show is really well done. Talked to one of the workers during intermission, and the whole thing (seating, stage, and all) is completely modular and movable. Floor levels are also all adjustable. It really inclines itself to audience interaction, both with the runway structure and the individual tables at the cabaret level seats.

Junior Labeija handles the pre-show announcements (put your phones away once you've googled me, cheer your heart out, don't film, etc)

Overture

Hearing this live for the first time made me cry

The DJ's introduction is great, he has a collection of queer and black artists' vinyls that he pulls out, followed by a Cats vinyl filled with glitter

The eyes (projected up onto the back wall/window panel) have the white cat solo animated inside of them

Shadow outline of a dancer (I think Primo/Tumble on the night I saw) starting out w/ ears and a tail doing classic Cats-style choreo blending into a removal of the ears/tail and a shift to ballroom choreo

Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats

Did the thing I love for this song where there are clear and well-timed spotlights on every cat as they sing their line, w/ everyone else in darkness

Cast appears throughout the audience (Tugger was behind me at his start, I think) before gathering into the area around the stage

Get onto stage for the Mystical Divinity section

The group catwalk is absolutely gorgeous, this show has great choreo

The Naming of Cats

The perfection of this song for a queer viewing of Cats cannot be overstated, and will likely be its own post eventually

Munk as an MC leading this number is lovely to me

"Man over there" is given to Macavity, as the first clear indication to his altered role in this version

There are spotlights on every cat whose name gets said in the song, not just Bombalurina, which makes me happy

White Cat Solo

Gets its own segment because Baby is that good. She is dance captain for this show and you can see why

The white outfit here is gorgeous, kinda sad she changes out of it later

Pink lighting is doing good work making this section feel ethereal

Was way closer to the vibes of the original than I was expecting from a vogue choreo. There were a couple moves I saw as clear references to the original

Invitation

Emcee Munk continues to be amazing, the rhythm of this was very satisfying

"COME OUT tonight"

They bring in guest judges to sit until Old Deut arrives

Gumbie Cat

Jenny is a tired single mother of three kids who cannot for the life of them get organized

Puerto Rican drag queen Jennyanydots has my heart, as does her stylist

The "sits and sits and sits" line here is not used to imply that Jenny is lazy, it is very explicitly saying that she has a lot of sex (as acted out jokingly by her choreo)

Cassandra is adorable here, both while dancing and after she realizes she's won

Category Is: Virgin Vogue. A category for people in their first year of doing vogue (or similar). Won by Cassandra of House Dots, other competitors are Tumblebrutus of House Dots, Electra 007, and someone I am currently forgetting

The Rum Tum Tugger

I think I've made my love for this setup for Tugger clear before, and will continue to do so in the future, so this is gonna be little moments I liked/noticed

There are some line/blocking switch ups. Bomba gets the "terrible bore" line (said reclined on the stage as Tugger leans over her) along with her standard. Victoria is the girl flirting with Tugger on his "No" drop

Tugger flirts with everyone here. His competition, the other cats, the audience, etc.

Everyone but Misto, who is off to the side mocking his riffs

Sillabub is the one to faint during the ending bit

Category Is: Realness. Ability to pass as a (in this case) a cishet man in a variety of categories (pretty boy, thug, schoolboy, executive, etc). Won by Tugger, other competitors are Tumblebrutus and Mungojerrie

Grizzabella the Glamour Cat

I really like the interpretation of the Jellicles' relationship with Grizz in this show. They aren't angry at her, more...distressed? It seems like her being around is making everyone worried both about her and for her, so they react differently

Munk tries to give her money, she refuses

She comes in holding a trophy that is clearly old, showing that her glory days were a while ago. She also looks like she's likely been homeless.

Demeter's voice is gorgeous here, and she looks really conflicted about Grizz

There is a Demelurina vibe to this whole show, which I started noticing here

I have a lot of thoughts on Grizz and her relationships with the Jellicles here, which will probably be a post pretty soon after this one.

Grizz tries and fails to convince the judges to allow her to compete, and is far more determined/steely in this first appearance than usual.

Sillabub. Making them a giant Grizzabella fan was such a good choice. This is one of the most sweet and genuine through-lines of the musical. They're so genuinely remorseful and excited to see Grizz, but still back off when Demeter warns them.

Bustopher Jones

I know I gave Jenny my heart earlier, but it's been stolen. Nonbinary Bustopher Jones as played by Nora Schell is, I think, the ideal Bustopher. This is what this character was meant to be, for me

Oh gods the costumes. Tugger has a sparkly leopard print jockstrap. Bustopher has a full bustier situation covered in a bedazzled Union Jack. Mistoffelees and Demeter both have lovely sheer situations going on. This is amazing, and I've been informed is even better if you're bi

Nora Shell has pipes, y'all. Their voice is so strong and clear

This number has almost no true choreography, it's just the competitors showing off how hot they are (posing, strutting, stripping, grabbing their asses and shaking them at the judges, etc)

The amount of offense Tugger takes to losing is hilarious to me

Category Is: Body. Usually divided into Femme Queen and Butch Queen, but competed as an Open-to-All for this show. How good does your body look, and how well can you show it off? Won by Bustopher Jones, other competitors are Tugger, Demeter, and Mistoffelees.

Macavity Scare 1

Flashing lights and sirens

Demeter is so done with this. I have rarely heard a clearer "bitch really?" tone than I did in her calling Macavity's name here

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer

Making them come from Jersey is amazing, top tier choice paired with some amazing accent work

Costumes are again amazing, Mungoteazer have a lime green/neon pink color scheme going on here

They spend a long time behind some changing racks, and I spent that whole time watching Munk as he got more and more annoyed with every passing second

I really love the dancing in this song, they get very up in each other's faces

Y'all, they steal the trophy when they lose. It's perfect

Category Is: Tag Team Performance. Vogue performance done as a pair. Won by Victoria and Tumblebrutus, stolen by Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer.

Old Deuteronomy

Munkustrap: a professional, on his shit, announcing his House Father right

Tugger: unprepared, eating a snack, oh god why is he giving me the mic

I love the setup for the duet here, Tugger is so surprised to be picked and is both nervous and honored. They sing into the same mic y'all

Andre De Shields, what more do I need to say?

His presence, his voice, the note he held for a solid 30 seconds, he deserves that throne

Jellicle Ball

Macavity again! In his dressing gown, with his bags of stolen stuff, looking like a deer in headlights when the spotlight catches him

The dancing continues to be absolutely gorgeous

Grizzabella is up on an audience balcony for this number looking tragic

The Jellicle Moon is a disco ball and it brought me so much joy

Munk has a killer egyptian look, including full-size wings

There are giant complicated cat face wigs and a giant hat made of hair

Category Is: Bizarre. Fashion category judged on the quality and strangeness of the outfit. Munkustrap was the only competitor, and Old Deut chopped him

Category Is: Hair. Not a category I actually know, but clearly in this show is judging based on the size, design, and quality of wigs. Won by the House of Dots, as sole competitors

Probably other categories I didn't notice clearly enough to remember

Memory

Grizzabella comes on and everyone walks off annoyed, except for Old Deut who comes and hides behind a riser. He's right in front of me, so I'm watching this number over his shoulder

Grizz recreating her dance moves is painful for my heart, as usual

Tempress has a gorgeous voice

Sillabub re-enters and looks so starstruck, then runs off again

Comes back with a sparkly dress to offer to Grizz

Grizz sees the dress, starts crying, and runs away. She grabs her coat, but leaves her scarf

We go to intermission on the image of Sillabub holding the scarf to their face and crying