#I am thrilled to finally share these thoughts!

[melancholicmelanin]

Compress/Repress | Chapter 1: Sins of The Father

pairing: art donaldson x black!oc x patrick zweig, tashi duncan x black!oc (platonic)

summary: all was quiet at the Duncan household. The boys were safety tucked into bed, mom and dad lay side by side with their last argument buried under the pretense of peace. Meanwhile, Tashi finally had a moment alone—in front of the family computer, the one her parents had strictly forbidden her from using. But tonight, like many, she couldn't resist the pull of her secret Facebook account.

wordcount: 14k

warning(s): minor challengers spoilers (if any?), mild cursing, a non american writing americans, self edited and no beta.

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OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA – September 27, 2005

The dining room radiates with a cosy warmth, emanating from the outdated light fixture that hangs low above the table. The yellowed glow gives the room an intimate feel, as if time has stopped and this moment is frozen in it. The walls are adorned with a collage of memories - photographs capturing moments of love and laughter, alongside colourful drawings etched into the plaster by tiny hands.

A mismatched collection of plates holds steaming dishes of homemade food, each one a gift from a distant family member. The utensils are a mismatched collection of spoons accumulated over the years, contributing to the quaint and disorganised ambiance. As everyone takes their assigned seats, the room hums with lively conversation and constant movement - a true reflection of this close-knit household.

Kevin, the patriarch of the family, sits at the head of the table with his wife, Chrystal, gracefully settled on his right-hand side. Across from her is their eldest son, Demetrius, who may only be thirteen years old but holds himself with a confidence beyond his years in the presence of his father.

Next to Demetrius is Kenan, the youngest of the family and the cause of their current laughter. He eagerly shares a story about an incident at school, causing raucous laughter among his relatives, showcasing the antics of middle schoolers.

Within arm's reach sits Tashi, the only daughter in the family. Her lanky frame slumps slightly over the table as she listens intently to her brother's story, a small smile playing on her lips as she attempts to immerse herself within the present moment.

The table buzzed with excited chatter as the family asked further questions, their voices overlapping in a symphony of confusion and amusement. But tonight, Tashi's mind was elsewhere, drifting between the infectious joy of her family and the alluring pull of Chandler Prescott's end of summer party.

The rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the enticing possibility of what could have been. She could almost feel the pulsing beat of the music and see the glittering lights that awaited her at the party, pulling her towards them like a moth to a flame.

Despite the warm atmosphere and company of her family, Tashi couldn't shake off the longing for something more exciting and exhilarating. Tashi's eyes constantly darted around the room, taking in every detail with precision. Her gaze shifted from her brothers to her parents, her brows furrowed in deep thought.

How in the world am I going to make it to that party? She pondered, carefully weighing the consequences of each crazy idea that popped into her head.

‘I could try sneaking out, she contemplated,’ a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

‘My room is conveniently located on the other side of the house,’ Tashi pondered further.

‘Dad just fixed that stubborn window just in time for summer.’

Tashi let the idea simmer in her mind, savouring the thrill of rebellion. But as quickly as the excitement came, a flicker of concern crossed her features as she realised one crucial detail - ‘how the fuck am I gonna get there?’

Tashi's mind raced with possibilities, each one more outlandish than the last. She could bike there, but the party was on the other side of town, and she'd arrive sweaty and dishevelled. Maybe she could convince one of her friends to pick her up, but most of them weren't invited to the exclusive gathering anyways.

As she pondered her limited options, her fingers absently traced the delicate curves of the golden crucifix around her neck, a habit ingrained in her from countless hours spent at bible study. The smooth metal warmed against her skin, offering a sense of comfort and familiarity amidst the chaos of indecision.

The nickname "The Duncanator" echoed in her mind, a reminder of her prowess and her simultaneous struggle to fit in at school. Sure, she could serve an ace that would make even the toughest opponent’s quake in their tennis shoes, but that same intensity that made her a force to be reckoned with on the court seemed to intimidate her classmates.

The few friends she had were mostly fellow athletes who understood the dedication and drive required to excel in sports. But this party was different. It was hosted by Chandler Prescott, the most popular boy in school, and attending could be her chance to finally break into the inner circle of cool kids.

Tashi let out an exasperated sigh, her delicate fingers tracing the intricate details of her crucifix necklace. She glanced at the clock on the microwave, the red digital numbers flashing 7:15 PM. The party was supposed to start at 8 and she still had so much to do.

With her back pressed against the wall, Tashi was left with one last option, an idea that had already been exhausted at this point. Gathering the courage to voice her thoughts, Tashi mustered up the bravery to confront her father once again, maybe the presents of her mother can assist her this time. Her heart raced with adrenaline as she knew time was running out.

"Dad, I know your mind's made up, but this is the last party of—" As Tashi spoke, a loud clattering noise broke the silence. All eyes turned towards Mr. Duncan, whose spoon had slipped from his hand and landed with a loud clang on his plate. Tashi's heart sank in her chest, mirroring the sudden drop of the spoon. The room was now filled with tension and all attention was on Mr. Duncan as he nervously clasped his hands together in what seemed like a prayer.

Kevin's face contorted into a scowl as he fixed his gaze on his daughter. "Do we have to go through this again?" he exclaimed in frustration.

Tashi's voice was insistent, her eyes flashing with excitement. "It's the last party before summer break is over, Dad," she repeated, not wanting him to interrupt her declaration again.

Tashi's heart raced as she imagined all the fun she would have at the party, surrounded by loud music and non-stop dancing. She couldn't let her father spoil it for her. Mr. Duncan's voice was strained, his left hand pressed against his forehead in a futile attempt to ease the mounting frustration.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Tashi?" he asked wearily, as if he had repeated this same request countless times before.

The wrinkles on his brow deepened with each passing moment, a physical manifestation of his exasperation. The tension in the room was palpable, thick like molasses and just as sticky. Tashi sat across from him, head down and shoulders slumped, knowing she had disappointed him once again. She couldn't bear to meet his gaze, unable to shake off the feeling of defeat that washed over her at his words.

Mr. Duncan's voice rose with each word, the tone becoming more urgent as he spoke. "I will not allow my daughter to stumble home in a drunken state from some white kid's party". The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, emphasising the gravity of the situation.

The mood instantly shifted as silence fell over the table and every move made by his family was influenced by his authoritative voice. The clinking of silverware against plates sounded like scratches on a record as Kenan's giggles were drowned out by the tense atmosphere. Frowns appeared on the faces of the boys as they looked to their mother for an explanation.

"Who do you think the cops are going to target when they shut that damn thing down?" He continued, his stern tone silencing any possible objections from his daughter.

Tashi could feel her mind racing, searching for the right words to say. On one hand, she could appease her father with a response that she knew he wanted to hear. “You’re absolutely right, Dad. I should prioritise getting enough sleep for practice tomorrow.”

But deep down, she knew that would be dishonest and not truly reflective of her current state. Taking a deep breath, she made the difficult decision to be honest with her father and give him a piece of her mind. She squared her shoulders and let it out, "I doubt they would even catch me; I don’t think Officer Moores has been to the gym since the fucking—"

She’s cut off mid-sentence again, reminded of where exactly she was. This wasn't another afternoon with Jasmyn and Destiny, gallivanting about Oakland with nothing better to do then shit talk people from school. No, this was her father's house, and she had to abide by his rules. The air felt stifling and suffocating, like a cage closing in on her. She yearned for the carefree days spent with her friends, but she knew she had to play by her father's rules in his domain.

"Watch your language, young lady. How do you expect me to let you out of this house when you talk like that in front of me?" Mr. Duncan's authoritative voice straightens Tashi’s posture by the mere sound of it, further adding to her frustration and resentment. Tashi's eyes flashed with defiance, her grip tightening on the edge of the table.

"But Dad, you don't understand! This isn't just any party. It's the end-of-summer bash, and everyone who's anyone will be there.” Demetrius' brow furrows even deeper as he grasps the meaning behind Tashi's words. He remembers his sister's recent preoccupation with her overflowing wardrobe of not quite cute clothes. As a clueless teenage boy, he had brushed it off as typical big sister behaviour. Little did he realise that Tashi was planning to attend a party, which explained her sudden desire for the perfect outfit.

“I've worked so hard all year, both in school and on the court. Don't I deserve one night of fun?”

Tashi's words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of a year's worth of hard work and sacrifice. Her mother's eyes filled with pride and understanding, gleaming like polished gems in the soft light of the room. On the other hand, her father's eyes were clouded with ignorance and disappointment, a storm brewing behind them as he sat stoically in his chair.

It was a familiar scene for the family, one that only added to Tashi's growing resentment towards her father's strict rules. She could feel the tension thickening between them, like a tightly coiled spring ready to snap at any moment. And yet, despite it all, she continued to prove herself as the strongest player in the state, her name quickly gaining traction in the tennis world. Her mother watched in awe and admiration, wishing her father could see and appreciate their daughter's undeniable talent and determination.

Despite Kevin's attempt to maintain a stoic facade, his clenched jaw and visibly tense muscles betrayed any sign of guilt. Mr. Duncan's expression was one of clear disappointment as he observed Tashi's childish behaviour at the dinner table. Kevin's knuckles turned almost white, a clear difference to his brown skin, as he braced himself to address Tashi's immature inclinations. The once jovial atmosphere now hung heavily with tension, the air thick and charged with unspoken words. It was a stark contrast to the pleasant atmosphere just moments before, a dramatic shift in mood that could not be ignored.

"Fun? You call hanging around a swarm of reckless, intoxicated teenagers, fun? I've seen the destruction and chaos these parties can bring, Tashi.”

The words emphasised dripped from Kevin's tongue with disdain as he raised his hands in exasperation. His gaze shot out the window, towards the direction of the Prescott's upscale neighbourhood. Tashi could see the anger and frustration etched on Kevin's face, his jaw clenched tightly as he spoke. The sound of his words cut through the air like a sharp blade, leaving no room for argument.

"Our family will not become gossip fodder simply because you sought a moment of fun."

His gaze bore into her with unwavering intensity, his protective nature surging forth. Kevin was resolute in ensuring his daughter's reputation remained untarnished, particularly with the scrutiny from giants like Nike and Adidas. After enduring numerous trials, the future seemed promising for the Duncans, and no stupid party would derail their progress.

The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Chrystal placed a gentle hand on her husband’s shoulder, attempting to soften his hard exterior. Kevin's muscles remained rigid under her touch; his jaw clenched tight as he stared out the window at the setting sun. The fading light cast long shadows across the living room, mirroring his hooded eyes as he laid with his thoughts post outburst.

Chrystal released a deep, shaky breath as she tried to navigate the tumultuous waves of emotions crashing within her in response to her husband's words. She glanced over at her daughter, who sat slumped and defeated, and made the decision. Mrs. Duncan knew that this could be the last summer they would have together before things became chaotic and out of their control. With determination in her heart, she would negotiate with her husband to give their daughter a chance at experiencing joy and freedom before the weight of a full-time athlete settled upon her shoulders.

"Darling," she began, her voice soft and melodious, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze.

Crystal pleaded, her voice filled with longing and hope. "Perhaps we should reconsider," she said, her eyes focused on Kevin.

"Tashi is growing up so fast, and this party could be a wonderful opportunity for her to socialise with her classmates."

But Kevin's mind was already made up, his stubborn nature once again prevailing over reason. Chrystal could see the determination in his steely gaze and knew that there was no use arguing further. The disappointment weighed heavy on her heart as she resigned herself to another missed opportunity for their daughter.

"My decision is final, Tashi."

Mr. Duncan's voice echoed through the room, reaching every corner and piercing the silence that hung heavy in the air. His stern gaze shifted to Tashi, whose fidgeting hands had now stilled and were gripping tightly onto the hem of her skirt. The table, made of dark mahogany wood, seemed to creak under Mr. Duncan's weight as he leaned forward, his eyes locked onto Tashi's.

"I expect you in bed, getting enough rest for practice tomorrow," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Tashi could feel her heart pounding against her chest as she nodded, understanding his expectations. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on her shoulders as she realised the gravity of Mr. Duncan's words and the importance of Tashi maintaining her consistency.

Tashi nodded silently, her father's expectations bearing down on her like a heavy weight. In all her years living under the strict rules of Kevin Duncan, Tashi had never felt so suffocated. Her father, who had been her coach for many years, had ingrained in her that following the straight and narrow path both on the court and in real life would lead to success and reward. But as she stood there now, it was clear that this belief was nothing but a facade. Today, with crushing disappointment, Tashi realised that it was all just a load of bullshit.

“Now, you kids need to get ready for bed."

Kevin chimed in, his voice breaking through the tense atmosphere that had settled over the family. The dim lights in the living room cast shadows across his face as he leaned back in his chair, trying to diffuse the tension with a light-hearted tone.

"Kenan, I better hear some vigorous teeth brushing up in that bathroom. And Demetrius, don't forget to floss!"

His words were met with half-hearted groans and eye rolls from the two children, who reluctantly got up from their spots on the couch and headed towards the hallway.

“Yes, sir.”

The voices of the boys strained as they struggled to release the words, unsure if they should speak in that tense moment. This caused Kevin's expression to falter for a brief second, as he realised his impact on the family. Just moments before, they had all been laughing at the youngest member's tales from school, but now not even the most talkative person in the house could utter a single word. The atmosphere had shifted from one of lightness and joy to one of tension and unease.

The sounds of shuffling feet and murmured goodnights filled the air as the boys followed Tashi’s lead and headed upstairs to their rooms. The hallway was dimly lit, casting shadows along the walls as Tashi trudged towards her own room at the end of the hall. As they are about to reach their shared room, Demetrius and Kenan stalk at their door taking one last look at their sister. Tashi closes the door to her bedroom with a heavy sigh, throwing herself onto her bed.

Tashi’s room was a reflection of her disciplined but quietly personal world. The walls were painted a soft lavender, calming but with enough energy to keep her focused. Above her bed hung a large poster of Serena Williams in mid-swing, the fierce determination on her face a daily source of inspiration. Tashi admired Serena—her strength, her focus, her ability to balance success with the weight of expectation. The poster faded at the edges, a sign of how long it had been there, a constant in Tashi’s room and her life.

Her desk, positioned neatly under the window, was cluttered with tennis gear, notebooks, and textbooks, all piled in organised chaos. A calendar hung beside it, every square meticulously filled with her tight schedule—practices, study sessions, and tournaments. Each date was marked in different coloured ink, from practice drills to strategy meetings with her father. She was constantly balancing schoolwork and tennis training, and the calendar was her anchor in the whirlwind of her days.

Across from the desk, her bed was made with precision—crisp white sheets tucked neatly under a soft lilac duvet. Plush pillows were carefully arranged at the head of the bed, though the space wasn’t untouched by the subtle messiness of teenage life—a few clothes tossed on the chair, a pair of sneakers casually kicked off by the door.

Shelves lined the wall, filled with trophies, tennis balls, and framed photos of her with friends, her brothers, and, of course, her father. Her room was functional but still held onto a certain charm, with fairy lights strung along the headboard and a few stuffed animals from childhood tucked neatly into the corner of the bed—small reminders of a softer, less regimented time.

Though every inch of the room was curated to reflect Tashi’s commitment to tennis and her busy life, there were subtle touches of her own personality—the lavender scented candle on her nightstand, a few dog-eared novels she’d never had the time to finish, and the carefully framed picture of her mom, the quiet presence in her life. It was a room that felt like a mix of who she was and who she was becoming—structured yet still searching for balance.

As she stared up at the ceiling, her mind racing with frustration and disappointment, she thought about how she ended up in this predicament.

‘So much for making this the best summer ever.’

Why couldn't her dad just trust her? She was a responsible teenager, always on top of her schoolwork and dedicated to tennis. All Tashi wanted was one night to let loose and get to know some people before senior year next fall. Since freshman year, she had never quite fit in at her school.

With daily tennis practices and matches consuming most of her time on top of the already heavy workload, Tashi didn’t have much time to socialise with her classmates outside of school. And recently, as she watched groups of laughing teenagers splashing in the water and playing beach games on social media, she couldn't help but feel like an outsider once again.

It didn’t help that nobody seemed to care about tennis, except for Jasmyn and Destiny who were eager to learn all they could about the sport - especially when it came to the cute athletes.

Tonight's party held the promise of liberation for Tashi, a chance to shed her reputation as nothing more than 'the girl who fucks herself with a racket all day'. After publicly confronting Chandler Prescott for spreading that disgusting rumour, she had hoped to gain some sort of an apology. But those mindless idiots would blindly follow any order from the muscle-headed jock.

In a perfect world, her parents would have sent her to a prestigious boarding school, preferably one focused on tennis. But no, her father had insisted on being her coach. Tashi had endured years of relentless criticism and harsh training sessions from her father, his words driving her to relentlessly perfect her serve. There was even one night when they had missed dinner entirely, caught up in endless drills and corrections. By the time they returned home, Kenan and Demetrius were already fast asleep. And ‘Father of The Year goes to…’

Knock, knock, knock.

Startled from her thoughts, Tashi whips her head towards her bedroom door. Her initial assumption is that it's her mom, ready to give her a guilt-laden lecture about not being able to sway her father at dinner. But to her surprise, something much better awaits on the other side.

"Come in," She calls out from her bed, still fixated on the ceiling.

The door creaks open and she hears the pitter patter of tiny feet approaching. With a grin spreading across her face, Tashi finally abandons the popcorn-textured surface above and sits upright.

Like a little gremlin, Kenan's head is the first to pop out from behind his sister's door, followed closely by his older and taller brother Demetrius. Their mischievous smiles mirror each other as they enter the room, and Tashi can't help but feel a surge of joy and warmth in their presence.

“Hey, guys!”Tashi's cheerful voice echoed through the room as she greeted her brothers, her body quickly sitting up in bed. She adjusted her collection of stuffed animals and pillows, already anticipating the weight of her brothers collapsing onto the soft surface.

"What's going on?" Tashi asked, a wide smile spreading across her face as she watched her brothers make themselves comfortable on her bed. Kenan reached for her beloved Lilo and Stitch plushie, while Demetrius fluffed up a pillow and prepared to lounge. Their presence filled the room with warmth and comfort, like three puzzle pieces perfectly fitting together.

Demetrius rested his hands behind his head, stretching out his body and crossing his legs on Tashi's bed. His voice was smooth and confident as he spoke, "I know it's nowhere near the cool high school parties you're used to, but I promise this will be worth your while."

Kenan couldn't contain his excitement, bursting into giggles and exclaiming, "It's a super-duper ultra secret party, for Duncan siblings only!"

He playfully tossed a Stitch plushie into the air before it landed straight towards Tashi's head. The siblings erupted in laughter at Kenan's enthusiasm. In that moment, Tashi couldn't help but feel a twinge of warmth in her heart at her siblings' genuine excitement.

"A party, huh? What's the occasion?" Tashi asked with a raised eyebrow.

Kenan's mischievous grin grew wider. "We're celebrating the end of summer and because...um, because you're the best big sister ever!"

Demetrius rolled his eyes at Kenan's words but couldn't hide the small smile that tugged at his lips. Tashi chuckled at her brother's earnestness. Their wide-eyed and energetic natures never failed to bring a smile to her face.

They were her biggest supporters, always finding ways to lift her spirits even in her darkest moments. But tonight was different, the argument with their father had changed something within Tashi and she was determined not to back down. She would not be silenced or dismissed any longer.

Tashi chuckled, a bittersweet sound that held a hint of laughter and sadness. "That's sweet, you guys," she exclaimed, her voice carrying in the quiet night air.

"But I have to be up early for practice tomorrow," she reminded them, raising an eyebrow at Kenan playfully. She made a funny face at him, causing him to burst into laughter.

Demetrius' expression shifted, his face falling slightly as he realised their time together was limited. "It's just for one night," he pleaded, trying to find a solution. "You can sleep over in our room too." His eyes searched hers, silently begging her to just stay up for a little longer.

Tashi rose gracefully from her spot on the bed and lowered herself to the ground, kneeling next to her brothers. She placed a gentle hand on each of their shoulders, offering comfort in her touch. "I'm sorry I can't join you tonight," she said softly, her eyes filled with regret. "But I promise, we’ll get ice cream after practice tomorrow instead, okay?

“Just the three of us." Her voice held a hint of excitement at the thought of their special tradition and the bond they shared as siblings.

Kenan's bottom lip jutted out in a pout, but his eyes glimmered with anticipation at the thought of their special outing. Even without words, his eager nod showed his agreement. Demetrius, always one for adventure, grinned widely and eagerly joined in with a nod of his own. Their shared excitement for the promised treat radiated through the space between them and into the world around them, like beams of sunlight bursting through the clouds.

Tashi gently pressed her lips to each of their foreheads before ushering the boys back to their room. She couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia, remembering how her own mother used to tuck her into bed. Kenan was still young enough to be tucked in, his soft face peaceful as he settled under the covers. Demetrius, on the other hand, was growing too old for such gestures, and Tashi couldn't help but wonder if he missed being coddled like this. With the night light casting a warm glow over their shared room, Tashi made sure everything was in place before finally making her way back to her own room down the hall.

As she let out a sigh, Tashi climbed into bed and reached over to switch off the bedside lamp. As she pulled the covers up to her chin, she let out a contented sigh. For a while, she lay there in the darkness, listening intently to the sounds of the house settling for the night. The creaks and groans of old wood echoed through the walls, accompanied by the distant murmur of her parents' voices down the hall. It was a comforting sound, one that had been a constant in her life since childhood.

As time went on, even those familiar noises faded away, leaving behind complete silence. But Tashi couldn't seem to quiet her mind. Restlessness consumed her as her thoughts continued to buzz with everything she was missing out on. The party, the chance to let go and be just another carefree teenager, if only for a few hours. She knew she shouldn't care so much about fitting in, but she did. How could she not when it felt like she was constantly an outsider looking in?

The minutes ticked by slowly, each one weighed down by the oppressive stillness of the house. Tashi couldn't fight the temptation any longer - she had to know what was happening at the party, even if she couldn't be there. With a sense of defeat, she took matters into her own hands and turned to her last resort.

With her bunny slippers on, Tashi tiptoes down the creaky stairs, wincing at every small sound. The house seems to hold its breath, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional snore from her father's room. Moonlight spills through the windows, casting long shadows across the living room as Tashi makes her way to her target tucked away in the corner.

The family computer was strategically placed here for a reason, under the gazes of old photographs of distant family members and her technophobic mother. Tashi had been here a thousand times, but tonight, it felt different—like she was doing something forbidden. Her parents had made it clear that she wasn’t allowed to have a Facebook account, let alone use the computer without permission. But she needed this, needed to feel connected to her friends, even if it was just through a screen.

The ancient machine whirs to life, the fan sputtering like an old car engine. Tashi anxiously drums her fingers on the desk, willing the computer to boot up faster. Finally, the familiar chime of the dial-up connection fills the air, and Tashi quickly mutes the speakers, her heart racing at the thought of waking her parents.

As Tashi logged into Facebook, a flood of images and status updates assaulted her senses, pulling her from the quiet isolation of her room into the buzzing life of the party she was missing. The screen became a kaleidoscope of colour and emotion, each snapshot of the night hitting her like a wave crashing against the shore. Every post, every comment felt like a direct invitation to join in, and yet, she remained on the outside looking in. The party, which had taken on an almost mythic quality in her imagination, was now laid bare in front of her—an explosion of energy captured in still frames and carefully chosen words, all beckoning her to be part of the action she was forbidden to attend.

Tashi’s heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and longing as she scrolled through her newsfeed. There it was, the event she had been eagerly anticipating but couldn't attend—’Chandler Prescott’s party’. The photos filled the screen in a burst of vibrant colour and motion, documenting moments of pure joy and careless abandon. Red solo cups clutched in hands, the neon glow of lights bathing smiling faces in a bright, electric haze. The music, though silent on her screen, seemed to thrum through the images, the rhythm palpable in the dancing bodies and laughing faces.

Her eyes flicked over the photos, recognizing the faces that populated her everyday life but felt so distant tonight. Jessica, draped over her new boyfriend, her heartbreak from last week seemingly erased in the neon glow. Chandler himself, his wide grin as infectious as ever, stood in the centre of it all, arms slung around a group of friends, owning the night as if it were made for him. The photos seemed to pulse with life, and with each scroll, Tashi felt the tug of longing grow stronger, the pull to be there, to belong.

The vibrant colours of the party lit up her screen, the red of the cups and the swirl of light leaving Tashi feeling as though she were standing on the edge of something thrilling and untouchable. Her fingers, adorned with glittering nail polish and delicate rings, hovered over the keyboard, itching to click “like” or leave a comment—just something to remind everyone she was still part of the crowd, even though she wasn’t there.

But as quickly as excitement sparked, hesitation cooled it. What if someone asked why she wasn’t at the party? The unspoken question lurked in the back of her mind, casting a shadow over the bright photos. Tashi could already hear the judgments, the whispers about her absence. She wasn’t like the others—free to come and go as they pleased, slipping in and out of each other’s lives with no consequences. Her father’s strict rules dictated her every move, and the idea of telling anyone that she wasn’t allowed to go felt humiliating.

Her hand paused on the keyboard, the gentle hum of the computer filling the quiet, empty space of her room. The contrast between the quietness of her reality and the explosive energy of the party was stark, the divide almost too much to bear. The loneliness crept in, wrapping around her as she scrolled, trying to feel a part of it all without being there.

And then, amidst the constant stream of content, a new notification popped up on the screen—a friend request. It blinked at her like a neon sign in a dark alley, flashing with the promise of something new, something unexpected. Tashi’s pulse quickened, her fingers trembling slightly as her cursor hovered over the notification, curiosity bubbling up inside her.

Maya Pratt-Duncan.

Tashi's eyelids fluttered, her mind scrambling to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. ‘Duncan?’ The last name was unmistakable. Her heart raced, like it was trying to outrun the sudden reality pressing in on her. Could this be a coincidence, or was there something bigger at play? Her gaze locked onto the profile picture—Maya Pratt-Duncan. A girl, possibly her age, with lustrous dark hair and piercing brown eyes that felt almost unsettlingly familiar, like staring into a mirror warped by time and circumstance.

With a growing sense of unease, Tashi clicked on Maya’s profile, desperate to make sense of it all. The photos revealed a life both familiar and alien, a world that felt connected to hers in ways she didn’t yet understand. Pictures of Maya with an older couple—her grandparents, Tashi guessed—smiling in front of sprawling estates, on beaches, and in sunny parts of California. The girl's life seemed elegant, effortless, almost picturesque.

But one photo in particular made Tashi’s breath hitch and her fingers freeze. It was Maya, standing proudly beside a brand-new Mercedes Benz convertible, a beaming smile lighting up her face as she posed with balloons in hand. Happy Sweet 16, the caption read, the milestone dripping with wealth and privilege. The sight of the sparkling car and the girl’s seemingly perfect life stirred something deep within Tashi—a pang of envy, sure, but also confusion. This wasn’t just some random girl with the same last name.

Tashi’s fingers gripped the sides of her mouse, her mind racing. Who was Maya really? What did she want, reaching out now, in the dead of night? Tashi's instincts told her to log off; to shut the computer and pretend she had never seen the notification. But something deeper—a gnawing curiosity, a flicker of something she couldn’t quite place—compelled her to stay. Her finger hesitated for only a moment before she clicked “Accept.”

Friend request accepted!

The quiet of the house pressed in around her, the only sound of the faint hum of her computer and her own shallow breathing. The air felt heavier now, as though the night itself had thickened with anticipation. Every second stretched into an eternity, her chest tightening as the weight of her decision sank in. What now? Was Maya going to say something? Tashi stared at the screen, her heart pounding in her ears, waiting for something to happen.

And then, just as Tashi was about to log off, a notification popped up at the bottom of the screen.

Maya Pratt-Duncan: Hi.

One simple word, but it might as well have been a grenade. Tashi stared at it, her breath caught in her throat. Hi? That was it? A single, casual greeting that felt completely at odds with the intensity of what was unfolding inside her. She didn’t know what she had expected—some grand explanation, perhaps, or an answer to the million questions racing through her mind—but instead, it was just hi.

Tashi’s fingers hovered above the keyboard, her thoughts swirling in every direction. What should I say? How did she even begin to respond? Her eyes flicked back to Maya’s profile picture, those familiar brown eyes staring back at her, waiting.

Against her better judgement, Tashi began to type.

Tashi Duncan: Hi... Do I know you?

BEL-AIR CALIFORNIA – Earlier That Evening

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the sprawling Bel-Air mansion, the only sound that could be heard was the soft click of high heels echoing against polished marble. It was a rhythmic heartbeat in a world of opulence, as if the very walls were pulsing with wealth and privilege.

The sound belonged to Maya Pratt-Duncan, heir to this legacy, gingerly making her way through the hallowed interior of her grandparents' walk-in closet. The room itself was a symphony of silence, each piece carefully chosen to exude taste and refinement. The scent of fine leather mingled with aged cedarwood, creating an intoxicating aroma that enveloped her senses.

In the full-length mirror, her reflection stared back at her—dark waves cascading over her shoulders, hazel eyes narrowed in concentration. She wore a sleek black silk dress that whispered against her skin, a perfect embodiment of Bel-Air glamour and sophistication. Yet despite her effortless appearance, there was a restlessness lurking beneath the surface.

Maya's delicate fingers traced the smooth, high-quality fabrics of blouses and tailored suits, each one exuding a faint scent of her grandmother's signature perfume—a blend of rose with a hint of amber. Tabitha and Winston's closet was like an enchanted treasure trove, filled with luxuriously crafted pieces that held stories and memories within their threads. Each item was carefully selected, like a chapter in the grand saga of her family's life of wealth and elegance. Maya's eyes roamed over the shelves, searching for the sleek Chanel purse she had lent Tabitha for last Sunday's church service.

She let out a heavy sigh, knowing it could be hidden anywhere in this labyrinth of a closet. Her mind couldn't help but wonder why she had offered to lend her grandmother the purse in the first place—Tabitha had always admired Maya's impeccable sense of style and would have no doubt appreciated any accessory loaned to her. In fact, during their shopping trip at the Chanel store, after hearing Tabitha gush about the purse, Maya insisted on buying one for herself as well. But her generous grandmother, always wanting to share, suggested that she simply borrow Maya's when she wasn't using it. Well, now none of us can use it, Gam Gam!

"Come on, where are you?" Frustration bubbled up in Maya's chest as she rummaged through hat boxes and garment bags, determined to find what she was looking for. She pulled out each box methodically, scanning its contents before placing it back with a huff. Chloé Fall 1997—nothing, Ralph Lauren Spring 2002—nothing, Saint Laurent Winter 1989—nothing! Each box accumulated to everything but her purse. Maya’s search continued; she couldn't help but feel like she was getting closer to the elusive item.

Finally, her eyes landed on a worn box hidden behind a row of perfectly aligned shoes. She hadn't noticed it before, but the faded logo on top made her heart skip a beat. Fendi. Maybe there would be something even better inside, she thought with a mischievous grin.

With eager anticipation, she lifted the lid.

But the sight that greeted her made her breath catch in her throat.

It wasn't Fendi.

As Maya lifted the lid of the delicate box, she was met with a collection of items that felt intimately personal. Her fingers delicately brushed over yellowed tissue paper, revealing treasures within. One item in particular caught her eye—a small, red Cartier box. She knew what it held before even opening it - an engraved Love bracelet bearing a name she knew all too well—Shayla Pratt. Her mother. A pang of emotion tightened Maya's chest as she slowly pulled out the bracelet and placed it around her wrist, admiring its timeless beauty. Beneath the larger Fendi box laid a stack of photographs that Maya had never seen before.

Each one captured a moment in her mother's life, from her 3rd birthday to her middle school portrait. But it was the photo of her mother at the bottom of a staircase in her prom dress that struck a chord with Maya. She stood next to a young man, presumably her date for the evening, with a wide smile and an air of youthful joy exuding from every inch of the frame. These photos were windows into moments of her mother's past that Maya had never known, and they filled her with a mix of longing for someone she never knew.

Maya had always been curious about her mother, but the stories she heard were always fragmented, like puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together. Tabitha and Winston rarely spoke of Shayla, their voices hushed and hesitant as if afraid to awaken old ghosts. But in this moment, as Maya sifted through her mother's belongings, she finally felt a connection to the woman she had never known. The scent of lavender and memories lingered in the air, drawing Maya deeper into the closet where secrets were hidden behind closed doors. She traced her fingers over old photographs and trinkets, trying to piece together the puzzle of her mother's life. Why had her grandparents kept these objects hidden from her? Why had they never shared these precious pieces of her mother’s life?

A loud, sudden knock at the closet door jolted Maya out of her deep thoughts. The sound echoed through the quiet space, causing her heart to skip a beat and her fingers to tremble on the delicate photographs in her hands. She had been completely absorbed in the world of her mother's past, so much so that she had almost forgotten where she was—or rather, where she wasn't supposed to be. A sense of panic washed over her as she realised the danger of getting caught exploring this forbidden part of her mother's life.

As the weight of her actions came crashing down, a wave of guilt washed over Maya. Yes, she had been granted permission to search through her grandparent's closet, but this box was clearly not meant for her eyes. It was carefully packed away and hidden deep within the closet, almost as if it held some dark secret. Maya's heart raced as she quickly and carefully placed the photographs back inside followed by the Cartier box, her hands trembling with both fear and excitement. She swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat as she hurriedly closed the lid, the forbidden nature of her exploration sinking in. The weight of her actions weighed heavily on her conscience as she quietly backed out of the closet, promising herself never to cross that line again.

She stood up just as the knock came again, this time followed by a soft voice.

“Miss Maya?”

It was Ettie, the Pratt’s housekeeper, her voice gentle but insistent through the door. Maya’s heart steadied, realising that she was in good company. Her presence offered a sense of comfort in her confused state. Frozen for a moment, Maya wasn't sure what to do with the information she had just discovered. Should I reveal it to Ettie? Would that put her in danger of her grandparents finding out? After all, Ettie was bound by her loyalty to them and Maya wouldn't want to jeopardise her job by keeping secrets.

Taking a deep breath and straightening her posture, Maya cleared her throat and composed herself. Her voice remained steady, portraying no hint of the turmoil going on inside her mind. "Yes, Ettie?" She responded calmly, ready to navigate this delicate situation.

The ancient wooden door creaked open, revealing Ettie's serene features and warm smile. She stood upright before Maya, her posture exuding grace and professionalism, her arms neatly tucked behind her back. With a gentle tone, she conveyed the message from Maya's grandparents. “The driver’s waiting out front.” Ettie's eyes sparkled with excitement as she spoke, she had assisted in Maya’s preparations for dinner tonight, meticulously pressing her dress earlier that day. "Your grandparents are eagerly waiting downstairs."

Maya nodded, flashing her a warm, grateful smile as she replied. “Thank you, Ettie. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Ettie hesitated, her sharp gaze flickering towards the boxes and racks of clothing, sensing that something was amiss. Her dark eyes were filled with a hint of concern. But she didn’t press further, instead offering a small smile of reassurance. “Very well, Miss Maya. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

With that, she gently closed the door behind her, leaving Maya alone once more in the dimly lit closet. The moment the heavy wooden door clicked shut, Maya exhaled deeply, her shoulders slumping as the tension in her chest loosened. She turned back to the box, her mind still reeling from the weight of what she had uncovered.

Her gaze lingered on the closed lid for a few seconds longer, tempted to dive back in and uncover more pieces of her mother’s hidden past. But the reminder of the waiting driver—and her grandparents’ inevitable impatience—pulled her back to the present. Not now, she told herself sternly, though every fibre of her being yearned to stay. Later. I’ll figure it out later. Maybe when there’s more time and less pressure. For now, duty called, and she couldn't afford to delay any longer. Giving it a final glance, Maya hastily snatched the nearest purse and made her way to the top of the stairs in a hurry.

In the grand foyer, Tabitha stood on her tiptoes beside Winston, her delicate fingers expertly adjusting his bowtie as he checked his watch. Winston, known for his stoic demeanour, remained unfazed by her ministrations, his determination focused on making it to their dinner reservation on time. Maya descended the spiral staircase with deliberate grace, her heels clicking against the polished marble steps in perfect rhythm. Her grandparents, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, turned towards her with warm smiles of approval. The chandelier above cast a brilliant glow over the scene, highlighting every elegant detail of Maya’s outfit.

Winston's voice softened as he took in the sight of Maya, standing before him in a breathtaking dress. "There's our girl," he said, his eyes shining with pride.

Tabitha let out a soft gasp as she took in her granddaughter 's appearance. "Valentino, of course," she exclaimed with a gleam in her eye, stepping back to admire Maya from head to toe. "You look stunning, my dear. Truly."

Maya's dress was a masterpiece of delicate silk clad in sparkling diamonds against her clavicle, hugging her figure perfectly and cascading down to her knees. The colour was a rich shade of black that complimented her skin tone and brought out the richness of her brown eyes. Not a single imperfection was present, Ettie meticulously had inspected the expensive fabric, ensuring that not a single trace of lint could be found.

Maya looked like a goddess descended from Mount Olympus. Her presence was striking, like a celestial being gracing the mortal world with her ethereal beauty. She exuded confidence and grace, her form draped in a stunning masterpiece that seemed to have been woven by the hands of divine beings. Her aura was radiating and regal, as if she had descended from the heavens above to bless the mundane earth with her divine presence.

Winston's heart swelled with pride and love as he gazed upon his granddaughter . She stood before him, a vision of beauty and grace, radiating an aura of elegance that captivated him. "You are truly remarkable, Maya," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration and awe at her presence. His eyes followed the gentle curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes, feeling grateful for every moment spent in her company.

Despite having heard these words from her grandparents before, Maya's heart swelled with warmth and happiness as she basked in the affirmations from her beloved grandparents. "Thank you, Gam Gam, Papa. I'm glad you like it," she beamed.

Tabitha, ever observant, tilted her head and studied Maya closely. The bag clad against Maya’s shoulder was indeed not Chanel, on the contrary it’s Louis Vuitton! Her piercing gaze made Maya feel as though her thoughts were being read like an open book. "Did you find your purse?" she asked.

For a moment, Maya hesitated, thinking about the box that lay hidden inside her grandparent’s closet—the bracelet, the photographs—and a lump formed in her throat. But ever the lady, Maya bottled everything in, now was not the time to open that door. Not yet.

"Oh, I...found something better," she said with a quiet but firm voice. Tabitha raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by Maya's response, but she did not press further. Maya could sense the curiosity behind her grandmother's composed expression.

Winston stepped in, gesturing towards the door.

"Shall we? The driver's waiting," he said politely, breaking the tension in the air with his gentle tone.

The evening air was crisp, the breeze whispered through the door as they stepped outside, the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers tickling their noses. Two sleek and shiny black Mercedes-Benz S-Classes waited in the driveway, their engines humming softly.

Tabitha and Winston moved towards the first car with practised ease, their movements coordinated and fluid. Maya, on the other hand, was left to ride alone in the second car. Tabitha had made it clear that a lady must always ride in the back seat unless her suitor is behind the wheel. Maya climbed into the back seat of the luxurious vehicle, sinking into the plush leather seats as the door clicked shut behind her.

As the car glided smoothly down the long driveway, Maya's mind drifted back to the mysterious box she had discovered earlier that day. She couldn't help but wonder about her mother's past and what secrets it held. What kind of life had her mother lived before Maya was born? And why had her story been kept hidden for so many years. More importantly, why was her father's identity still shrouded in secrecy?

The questions swirled through Maya's mind as she gazed out at the passing trees and houses, lost in her own thoughts. The faint scent of leather mixed with a hint of expensive perfume filled the air, aiding in Maya’s thought process as she contemplated her next move within the car. With every mile travelled, Maya felt herself getting closer to unlocking the mysteries of her past.

The soft hum of the Mercedes-Benz came to a halt as the driver opened Maya's door. She stepped out gracefully, the cool evening air brushing against her skin, bringing with it the scent of fine dining and the distant murmur of city life. She stood for a moment, adjusting the folds of her dress, and glanced toward the other car, where her grandparents were already emerging with the practised elegance of people long accustomed to being in the public eye.

Tabitha stepped out first, her movements graceful and precise, as if she were still a young socialite descending a ballroom staircase. She wore a navy-blue floor-length dress accented with a ruffle faux-wrap skirt, tailored to perfection, her hair pinned back in a classic chignon that added to her air of timeless sophistication. Winston followed close behind, straightening the jacket of his black Armani three-piece suit as the driver helped him out of the car. Though age had softened his posture, there was still a commanding presence about him, his jaw set with purpose, his eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses.

They met at the entrance of the restaurant, an upscale establishment known for its exclusivity and clientele that valued privacy as much as they did luxury. The restaurant's facade gleamed in the glow of well-placed lighting; its grand double doors made of rich mahogany with gold-plated handles. A valet rushed to collect the keys, but Winston waved him off with a curt nod, the gesture practised and swift.

Tabitha turned to Maya, her keen eyes sweeping over her granddaughter  as if seeing her for the first time that night. A glimmer of pride and mischief danced in her gaze as she spoke, her voice warm but controlled.

"You know, my dear, if you're lucky tonight, you may catch the eye of a suitor," she said in a hushed tone, her gaze lingering on Maya's figure dressed in the stunning gown. "That dress fits you like a glove. I wouldn't be surprised if every boy cracked their necks just to catch a glimpse of you."

Maya let out a polite laugh, hoping her hand would hold back the noise. "Oh my god, grandma! Can we please just enjoy one night without you trying to set me up?" She glanced around nervously, making sure no one had overheard their conversation. The music hummed in the background, punctuated by distant laughter and chatter from patrons. The warm mood lighting and scents of the restaurant surrounded them, adding to the serene atmosphere of the evening.

The family made their way into the restaurant, greeted by the Hostess standing within the entrance. The mere sight of Winston and Tabitha Pratt straightens her posture. Her bright smile widened in recognition as they stepped towards her, extending a hand to greet them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pratt, it’s wonderful to see you again,” she said with a professional warmth.

“Right this way, your table is ready.”

Winston nodded politely but remained reserved as the Hostess led them inside. The interior of the restaurant was dimly lit, designed to give each table a sense of privacy. The gentle clinking of silverware and murmurs of conversation filled the air, along with the rich aroma of aged wine and freshly prepared dishes. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the dark mahogany tables and velvet chairs. The ambiance was luxurious without being overly opulent, the kind of place where elegance spoke quietly but confidently.

The Hostess's eyes lit up at the sight of Maya, remembering the conversation she had with Mr. Pratt over the phone confirming his reservation. Her smile widened as she led them deeper into the elegant restaurant, weaving through tables and patrons with ease. "And congratulations to Miss Duncan," she said warmly, her voice carrying a hint of excitement.

"I heard a rumour that it’s your senior year next fall, and as always you’re here for your pre-semester celebratory dinner." Maya offered a grateful smile, placing a hand over her heart in appreciation for the Hostess's thoughtfulness. She hadn't expected her to know about the occasion, but then again, their frequent visits to the restaurant made them familiar faces among the staff. "Thank you so much," she replied softly, her elegant voice barely audible above the gentle hum of conversation in the restaurant lounge.

As the Pratt-Duncan family were shown to their seats, the Hostess leaned in towards Maya with a hint of mischief. "Just so you know, we have something special for you in the back," she whispered conspiratorially. "Courtesy of the old man over there." She nodded towards Mr. Pratt, who was currently engaged in a playful dance with his eyebrows, trying to make Maya laugh. And it worked—she couldn't help but let out a giggle at his antics. The Hostess placed a finger over her lips, letting out a soft shushing sound before darting off to attend to other guests.

Winston, ever the gentleman, helped his wife into her seat before he took his own. With precise movements, he unfolded her chair, guided her carefully towards it and smoothly shifted her snugly against the table. Shortly after, Winston did the same for his granddaughter, taking the same amount of care he did for his wife.

He then joined them after, grabbing his spectacles from his hidden jacket pocket preparing to read what the restaurant had to offer. The attentive wait staff appeared almost instantly, presenting the trio with menus and pouring chilled water into their sparkling glasses. The soft clinking of silverware and hushed conversations filled the air as the couple perused the extensive wine list in search of the perfect pairing for their meal.

The first course arrived, heralded by a symphony of smells that wafted from the kitchen. A delicate salad of heirloom tomatoes and fresh mozzarella was presented with a drizzle of bright green basil oil, each ingredient carefully placed like an artist's brushstrokes on a canvas. Maya's grandparents launched into their usual conversation about the restaurant's use of seasonal produce, but her mind was elsewhere.

She picked at the salad, her fork moving absently across the plate, as she tried to ground herself in the familiar conversation around her. But her thoughts were consumed by the events of earlier that evening, causing her to drift in and out of conversation, struggling to maintain a facade of normalcy in her off behaviour.

Winston took a sip of his wine and glanced at his granddaughter  over the rim of his glass. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight, Maya-Mia.” He remarked, his voice calm but observant. “Is something on your mind?”

Maya looked up, startled by the directness of the question. She set her fork down carefully, the metal clinking softly against the plate. “I’ve just... had a lot on my mind lately.”

Tabitha’s eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze sharp and knowing. “What could possibly be weighing so heavily on your mind, darling? You were so excited about tonight.”

Maya hesitated, feeling the tension coil tighter in her chest. She glanced down at her napkin, unsure of how to broach the topic. Her pulse quickened, and before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out.

“I found something in your closet earlier today,” she said, her voice softer than she intended but laden with unspoken meaning. “Something belonging to my mother.”

Tabitha stiffened, her perfectly composed expression faltering for a split second before hardening into something more controlled. Winston set his glass down slowly, his eyes flicking between his wife and granddaughter , sensing the shift in tone.

“Maya,” Tabitha began, her voice low and measured, “You shouldn’t have been going through my things.”

“I wasn’t snooping,” Maya said, her frustration bubbling up. “I was looking for my purse, but I found... I found a box. A box of Mom’s things.”

The atmosphere at the table became suffocating, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths that hung in the air like a leaden curtain. Maya's heartbeat wildly as she studied her grandmother's face, desperately searching for any sign of vulnerability or explanation. But all she could see was the same carefully crafted mask of control that Tabitha always wore so effortlessly. It was a barrier between them, a fortress built to keep Maya out and the truth hidden within. The tension in the room was palpable, like a storm brewing on the horizon, ready to erupt at any moment.

“And what exactly did you find in that box?” Tabitha asked, her tone sharp, almost daring Maya to continue.

“Photographs,” Maya said, her voice trembling slightly. “Especially the ones of her at prom... with a boy. He seemed to be a big part of her life, judging by how often he showed up in the other photos.”

Tabitha’s expression tightened, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as if bracing herself for what was to come. The room suddenly felt heavier, the silence between them thick with unspoken truths.

“Why didn’t you ever show me any of this?” Maya asked, her voice softer now, almost pleading.

Winston shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat as he placed his hands flat on the table. “Maya, we didn’t think it was necessary. Your mother’s past—”

“Her past matters!” Maya interrupted, her emotions flaring now, unable to keep the frustration contained. “She was my mother, and I deserve to know about her. And about my father.”

The word hung in the air, charged with the tension of years of secrets and silence. Tabitha’s jaw tightened; her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Maya, this isn’t the time or place for such discussions,” Winston said, his voice suddenly stern, as if hoping to steer the conversation back to safer waters. “We’re here to celebrate—”

“I’m tired of waiting for the right time,” Maya cut him off, her voice firm. “I’ve waited my whole life to know who he is. And you’ve kept that from me.”

The table fell into a hush once more, the gentle clinking of silverware and murmurs of conversation serving as a backdrop to the tension brewing between them. Winston released a heavy sigh, stealing a quick glance at Tabitha for any sign of approval before daring to speak again. But before he could, Tabitha's voice cut through the quiet like a sharp knife, low but unwavering in its conviction. The air around them felt charged with unspoken words and unrelenting emotions, a storm on the brink of breaking.

“You are going to be a respectful young lady, and you’re going to enjoy this wonderful night your grandfather has prepared for you,” Tabitha said, her voice cold and unwavering, her eyes locked on Maya’s with an intensity that left no room for argument. The tension in the air was palpable, the unspoken command clear as her gaze bore into her granddaughter’s. “That’s all.”

Maya's breath caught in her throat, her hazel eyes darting towards the plate of food in front of her as she struggled to regain her composure. Her grandmother's words still echoed in her mind, sending a surge of emotions through her body. What Tabitha said left her feeling smaller than ever before. She had always been hard on Maya, pushing her to become a refined and sophisticated young woman, but this felt like something deeper, more damaging.

The wait staff appeared with dessert, a rich and indulgent chocolate torte that looked almost too beautiful to eat. Maya hesitated before taking a small bite, not wanting to seem ungrateful for her grandfather's efforts. The sweetness exploded on her tongue, but she couldn't fully savour it amidst the turmoil within her. She forced herself to take a few more bites, trying to push aside the memories and emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

The rest of the meal passed in uneasy silence, but the night was far from over. Winston still had one trick up his sleeve, a surprise that would surely make Maya's heart skip a beat. With a sly smile, he waved the waiter over to their table and whispered his instructions. The waiter nodded eagerly and disappeared into the kitchen.

After a few moments, the waiter returned with a silver cloche in hand. He approached the Pratt's table and stood next to Maya, who looked both confused and excited at the same time. With a flourish, he placed the cloche in front of her and lifted the lid to reveal a small red box—a Cartier one, to be exact. Maya gasped in shock, her eyes widening as she took in the luxurious packaging. Without hesitation, she reached for it and eagerly pried open the package.

Inside was exactly what she had anticipated: a gleaming Cartier Love bracelet, the very same one she found in her grandmother’s closet. But this one was different, her name was engraved on it in delicate script—Maya Pratt-Duncan. Her heart swelled with emotion as she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and admired it in awe. Winston truly knew how to make a girl feel special.

A single tear slipped down Maya's cheek, her emotions threatening to burst through her usual composed manner. She cast a grateful glance at her grandparents, who shared a knowing look with her. Her heart overflowed with love and gratitude for their thoughtfulness.

Winston reached out a comforting hand to his granddaughter , his touch gentle, sensing the whirlwind of emotions she must be feeling upon receiving the gift. The delicate bracelet gleamed softly in the dim light, its intricate design mirroring the one they had given her mother on the eve of her senior year—a tradition quietly upheld. It was their way of passing down a piece of history, a symbol of their love and the legacy she carried.

“It’s beautiful, I love it! Thank you,” Maya said, her voice tinged with emotion as she ran her fingers over the cool metal, feeling the weight of the moment.

“You’re welcome, baby girl,” Winston replied, his soft smile warming the air between them. His eyes, filled with pride and tenderness, lingered on her face, knowing the significance of the gift was more than words could convey.

As the evening drew to a close, Winston reached for his wallet and carefully placed his black American Express card. He made sure to add a generous tip for their exceptional service. The family gracefully made their way through the crowded restaurant, exchanging pleasantries with the Hostess before stepping out into the crisp California night air.

The chauffeurs, now donning windbreakers to protect against the chill, stood patiently by their sleek black cars. The soft glow of the streetlights illuminated the bustling city streets as they climbed into their luxurious vehicles, bidding farewell to a tension filled, yet wonderful evening.

Tabitha insisted on riding back with Maya, her earlier tension softened only slightly. Winston, silent but composed as always, leaned down to kiss Tabitha and Maya's cheeks before giving his granddaughter  a brief but reassuring nod. He then strode towards his own car, the gravel crunching beneath his dress shoes as he jumped into the back seat.

The air was filled with a peaceful stillness, like a calm before the storm. Despite the tension that lingered between them, Maya and Tabitha remained outwardly cordial as they made their way to the car soon after. But beneath the surface, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings hung heavily in the air.

Tabitha climbed into the passenger seat beside Maya, her movements sharp and controlled, as though she was holding back more than she let on. The silence between them was thick, oppressive, as if neither wanted to be the first to acknowledge the strain that had settled between them.

The city lights blurred outside the window, casting fleeting shadows across Tabitha’s face, her expression unreadable. Maya’s fingers fidgeted in her lap, but she didn’t dare break the quiet. It was the kind of silence that wrapped around you, uncomfortable and suffocating, where every second felt stretched too long, and every thought felt too loud.

Each mile passed with the tension growing heavier, filling the car until it seemed like the air itself was too thick to breathe. Maya glanced at her grandmother out of the corner of her eye, the tightness in Tabitha’s jaw, the way her hands clenched slightly in her lap—small tells of a woman who rarely let anything show.

Halfway through the drive, Tabitha finally spoke, her voice low and deliberate, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Everything we’ve done, Maya, has been to protect you.”

Maya’s heart pounded, her throat tightening as she waited for more, but Tabitha’s gaze remained fixed on the window, her reflection cold and distant, refusing to meet Maya’s eyes. The city lights flickered in and out of view, and for a brief moment, the shadows danced across Tabitha’s face, hardening her already stern features.

“I hope you understand that, at the very least,” Tabitha added, her tone layered with expectation and finality, as if she were handing down a decree rather than seeking any true understanding.

The estate gates loomed ahead, and as the car slowed, Tabitha finally turned to face Maya, her eyes softening just slightly, though the steel behind them remained.

“Your father, his name is Kevin…Kevin Duncan.” she repeated, as if weighing the words carefully. Her tone was more resigned now, less sharp, but still carrying an unmistakable finality. “He was... someone your mother loved, but he wasn’t right for her. Or for you.”

Maya’s breath hitched. She had always imagined this moment—hearing her father’s name for the first time—but now that it was here, it felt surreal. Kevin Duncan. The name reverberated in her mind, unfamiliar yet suddenly so significant. Who was he? Why had he been hidden from her all these years?

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about him?” Maya asked, her voice quieter now, almost pleading. “All these years... I had no idea.”

Tabitha sighed, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly. “We thought it was best to shield you from him after your mother’s death. Your mother... She made certain choices, Maya. Your father felt the same way.”

Maya frowned, confusion swirling through her. Choices? What choices? The vague hints about her mother’s past only fuelled her frustration. “What do you mean?”

Tabitha’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “It’s not something you need to worry about now.”

Maya opened her mouth to protest, but the car had already come to a smooth stop in front of the estate’s grand entrance. The soft glow of the porch lights illuminated the sweeping driveway, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Tabitha straightened her posture and reached for the door, the conversation seemingly over.

Stepping out of the car, Maya was greeted by a chill in the air that seemed to seep into her bones. Despite the coolness, she couldn't shake off the feeling of suffocation—trapped in a tangled web of secrets spun by her grandparents, a burden she had carried for as long as she could remember. Tabitha's expression softened as she turned towards her granddaughter , though there was still a hint of authority in her voice. "Get some rest, love. I know tonight wasn't what you expected."

Maya nodded, her mind racing with thoughts and questions. She tried to calm herself, but the tension in her body was palpable. "Goodnight, Grandma," she said, her voice betraying her unease.

The night air whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth, adding a touch of tranquillity to an otherwise tense situation. But for Maya, sleep would not come easily. She couldn't shake off the feeling that something was amiss. Tabitha gave her a brief, restrained smile before heading into the house, leaving Maya standing alone in the driveway for a moment. As she gazed up at the stars twinkling above, she couldn't help but feel small and insignificant in comparison.

Finally, she made her way into the house, the heavy door clicking shut behind her, sealing her in with the echoes of the night. The family portrait in the entrance hall seemed to watch her as she passed, the frozen smiles of her grandparents a stark contrast to the tension that had followed her home. The grand staircase loomed before her, its marble steps gleaming under the soft chandelier light, spiralling upward like a pathway to another world. Maya took each step slowly, her fingers trailing along the polished bannister, each movement deliberate, as if she could somehow delay the thoughts swirling in her mind.

Her room waited at the top—her sanctuary, untouched by time, a snapshot of a younger Maya’s dreams and desires. The door creaked open, revealing a world drenched in soft, romantic hues of pink and white, where everything had been meticulously chosen and arranged. The white lace curtains, slightly drawn, fluttered against the open window, a gentle breeze carrying in the scent of night jasmine.

Her vanity stood by the wall, framed by a gilded mirror that reflected the glow of her rose-coloured lampshade, casting the room in a dreamlike haze. The bed, draped in pale satin sheets and pillows edged with delicate ruffles, sat like a throne at the centre of it all—a place that had once brought her comfort, a cocoon of childhood fantasies and carefully curated innocence.

But tonight, the room felt too perfect, too still. It seemed to mock the storm brewing inside her. The soft pink walls, once a reminder of her younger self’s vision of femininity, now felt suffocating, as though they were closing in on her. The plush white rug beneath her feet offered no solace, only a reminder of the distance between the Maya who had carefully decorated this room and the one who now stood lost and uncertain.

She moved mechanically through her nighttime routine, washing her face with cold water that did little to cool the heat of confusion in her chest. Her brush moved rhythmically through her hair, each stroke steady but absent-minded as her thoughts spiralled. Kevin Duncan. The name buzzed in her head like a low hum, impossible to shake, growing louder with every passing second.

Who was he? And why did his name weigh so heavily in her grandmother’s voice, as though it held the power to unravel everything? She tossed the brush onto the vanity, her reflection staring back at her—eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and unease.

The room, with its dreamy, fairy-tale quality, felt distant from the reality pressing down on her. The white vintage vanity, the plush armchair by the window, the shelves filled with trinkets and framed photos of ballet recitals—all of it seemed like a relic from a life she no longer recognized.

Maya sat on the edge of her bed, the cool satin sheets slipping beneath her fingers. The glow of her bedside lamp flickered, casting long shadows across the room, as if even the light couldn’t decide whether to stay or leave. Her heart raced, her mind buzzing with questions she knew wouldn’t let her rest. She glanced toward the window, where the moonlight spilled through, painting the room in silver and soft shadows.

Kevin Duncan.

There would be no sleep tonight—not until she found out who he really was.

Unable to bear the weight of not knowing any longer, Maya rose from her bed and made her way toward the desk tucked into the corner of her room. Her fingers traced the familiar edges of the chair before she sank into it, the leather creaking softly beneath her. The room, cloaked in shadows, felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for her to act.

She powered on her iMac G3, the soft glow of the screen flickering to life, spilling its pale light across the room. The gentle hum of the machine filled the silence, a steady presence in the dark. Her face, bathed in the glow of the screen, looked as though it belonged to someone else, her features drawn and tense, eyes wide with anticipation. The light danced across her skin, deepening the shadows around her, making the room feel even smaller, more claustrophobic.

Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, trembling slightly as they prepared to unlock the mystery that had haunted her since dinner.

Kevin Duncan.

The name echoed in her mind, filling the room like an unspoken promise. She typed it slowly, deliberately, as if each letter would bring her closer to the answers she sought. The soft click of the keys was the only sound, mingling with the beating of her heart, which pounded faster with every letter.

She hesitated for a brief second before pressing enter, a wave of anticipation washing over her, tightening her chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart raced like an alarm bell, the sound loud in her ears. The screen flickered for a moment before loading, and as the search results began to populate, Maya leaned in closer, her eyes scanning the screen with desperate eagerness.

Kevin Duncan.

The truth—whatever it was—felt closer now, almost within reach, hovering just out of sight, ready to be unearthed.

Instantly, the screen filled with a flurry of results. Articles, profiles, and images, each tied to the name Kevin Duncan. Maya’s pulse quickened as her eyes darted over the links, each one containing pieces of a puzzle she had never even realised existed. Her fingers hovered over the mouse, hesitating for only a second before she clicked on the first link. As the page loaded, her breath hitched.

A photograph appeared, cantered at the top of the page: a middle-aged man with a square jawline, a large head shaved clean, and deep-set eyes that seemed to hold a quiet intensity. Her breath caught in her throat as she studied him more closely. His eyes—they were dark, piercing, and unmistakably familiar. They mirrored her own in a way that sent a shiver through her. The resemblance was undeniable. The shape of his face, the way his brow furrowed slightly, even the confident, guarded expression on his face—it all echoed something she recognized within herself.

Her heart raced, pounding so loudly she could almost hear it. This is him. Her father. The man she had been kept from all her life. The man whose name had lingered like a ghost on her grandmother’s lips.

Maya’s gaze shifted downward to the text beneath the photograph, her eyes widening as she read the words. Kevin Duncan—tennis coach. The air in the room seemed to still, the soft hum of the computer fading into the background as the weight of that revelation sank in. He wasn’t just any coach; he was a self-regulated tennis coach with a reputation that stretched across the sports world.

Maya's fingers twitched as she scrolled down further, her eyes scanning the page in disbelief. And then, one name stood out like a lightning bolt—Tashi Duncan. Her heart seemed to skip a beat as she saw the name repeated over and over in articles, captions, interviews. Tashi Duncan, the up-and-coming tennis star he was training. A girl about her own age, a girl who appeared in photo after photo, her poised smile and athletic grace splashed across the page like a rising celebrity.

Her stomach tightened, confusion swirling in her chest. Tashi Duncan—her father's protégé, but... her half-sister? The revelation hit her with the force of a tidal wave. The resemblance between them became clearer with every glance at Tashi's photos, the shared features, the same dark eyes, the high cheekbones.

Her head spun as she leaned back in her chair, staring blankly at the screen. The familiar comfort of her room seemed to vanish, replaced by the overwhelming rush of this new truth.

Tashi Duncan.

A sister she never knew she had. A sister who was living a life so closely intertwined with their father’s—while Maya had been left in the dark, her existence a secret, hidden away behind closed doors.

The name buzzed in her mind, louder and louder, a truth too big to ignore. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen. Everything she thought she knew about her family, her identity, crumbled beneath the weight of this discovery. The world she had grown up in, the carefully crafted bubble of her grandparents’ home, now felt miles away, like a distant dream.

And in its place was a reality she was only just beginning to uncover.

Time seemed to slip through Maya’s fingers as she delved deeper into Tashi’s Facebook profile, her eyes tracing every photo, every post, as if they were clues to a life she had been excluded from for so long. Each image offered a new window into a world that felt both connected and impossibly distant—a life that was hers, yet entirely not.

She scrolled through photos of Tashi with her friends, their laughter forever preserved in freeze-frame moments as they clutched Sonic cups, the slushies as vibrant as the carefree smiles on their faces. Tashi’s world seemed so... normal, yet infinitely richer than Maya’s in ways that had nothing to do with wealth.

It was a strange thing, peering into the life of someone who had no idea you even existed. The more she clicked, the more Maya felt like an intruder, an outsider looking in on something private. But she couldn’t stop. Each post drew her in further, the thread of her curiosity pulling tighter with every new image she uncovered.

And then one photo caught her eye—a snapshot that stood out among the rest. Tashi, smiling radiantly beside a man Maya now recognized as Kevin Duncan. Her father. The easy closeness between them was unmistakable, a bond Maya had never known.

Her breath hitched as she took in the rest of the image: a woman with kind eyes and dark hair, standing close to Kevin—Tashi’s mother, no doubt—and two younger boys, their wide grins mirroring their father’s. They looked like a picture-perfect family, the golden sunlight casting a warm glow across their faces, their happiness captured effortlessly by the camera’s lens.

Maya’s chest tightened as she stared at the photo, her heart twisting with emotions she couldn’t quite name. Jealousy, anger, and sadness all churned together, threatening to overwhelm her. This is the life I never had, she thought bitterly. A father who was present, a family who looked whole, unbroken.

Her eyes lingered on Kevin’s face—the same strong features she’d seen in her own reflection, now softened by the love and warmth in his expression as he stood with his other family. His real family, it seemed. The weight of that truth pressed down on her, suffocating in its simplicity. He had been there for Tashi, coaching her, guiding her, sharing moments like this one—moments Maya would never have.

She felt a lump form in her throat, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. They look so happy, she thought, an ache blooming in her chest. The photo radiated warmth, a snapshot of a life that had continued without her, a life that had no space for her existence.

What stung the most was the ease of it all. Tashi had a father, a mother, and brothers who adored her. She had friends, laughter, and the carefree glow of a life lived without the burden of saving face in front of the vulture-like housewives of Bel-Air. Meanwhile, Maya had been raised in a gilded cage, with the expectations to marry wealthy and a family portrait that always felt incomplete.

Maya's fingers trembled as they hovered over her mouse, the cursor hesitantly searching for the "Add Friend" button. Should she take the plunge and click it? Make the first attempt at communicating with her long-lost sister? Her mind raced with questions. Did Tashi know about Maya's existence? Would she even want to be friends?

The pounding of her heart drowned out any rational thoughts as she finally made her decision. With a deep inhale and exhale, Maya clicked her mouse, the sound echoing through the quiet room like a gunshot. It was a small but significant step towards reconnecting with her sister after so many years apart.

Your friend request was successfully sent!

The damage was done.

To her shock, it was accepted almost instantly. Maya’s stomach flipped with nervous excitement. She stared at the screen, unsure of what to do next. But something inside urged her forward, pushed her to make the first move. It was as if a spark had been ignited within her, crackling and sizzling with anticipation. Her heart raced like a wild horse, galloping towards a long-awaited finish line. Every fibre of her being tingled with nervous energy, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the keyboard.

She braced herself to begin typing, the urge to type something, anything, burning inside her. But what would she even say? ‘Hello, Tashi. We have the same father. Surprise!’ It sounded ridiculous in her head, and the thought of disrupting Tashi’s seemingly perfect life with this revelation made her stomach churn.

But she couldn’t go back now. She had seen too much, learned too much. The truth was out there, and it was too big to ignore. As she stared at the screen, Maya felt the familiar surge of curiosity and pain bubbling up inside her. This was her chance to connect with the family she never knew, the life she had been denied. But it would also mean breaking the fragile facade that had kept her world intact.

She clicked on the "Message" button, her heart pounding in her chest. The blank chat window popped up, the cursor blinking at her, waiting for her to make a move. Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed the first words, feeling the weight of what was to come.

Maya Pratt-Duncan: Hey, Tashi. I’m not sure if you know who I am, but...

Her mind raced, unsure of how to even begin explaining the connection that tied them together. How could she condense a lifetime of unanswered questions, secrets, and longing into a few simple words? She stared at the screen, biting her lip, her thoughts a chaotic mess. And yet, somehow, it felt like this was the moment she had been waiting for—her chance to finally uncover the truth, no matter how much it might hurt.

With a heavy sigh, she let go of her initial words and instead chose to play it safe, opting for a simple and nondescript message that revealed nothing of her inner turmoil. With a shaky breath, she erased the words, clearing a path for a simpler, safer message.

Maya Pratt-Duncan: Hi

Maya sat in the soft glow of her iMac, her fingers trembling slightly as she stared at the chat box. She had never felt this nervous before—like the weight of every move she was about to make had the potential to shatter something fragile. The whole night had led up to this moment, and now that she was here, she wasn’t sure how to begin. Hi. It felt so small, so insignificant for what she was about to reveal, but she didn’t know what else to say.

She waited, her heart pounding in her chest as the seconds stretched on. The screen remained still, the only sound in the room was her uneven breathing. What if she doesn’t reply? The thought gnawed at her, but before she could spiral, the typing indicator appeared.

Tashi Duncan: Hi... Do I know you?

Maya’s stomach flipped. She had been preparing herself for this, but seeing Tashi’s message—those four little words—made it real in a way she wasn’t ready for. Do I know you? Maya’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, her pulse quickening. How do you tell someone something that will change their life?

Her mind raced through a thousand different possibilities, a thousand ways to soften the blow, to ease into the conversation. But there was no softening this. No way to sugarcoat the truth she had been holding on to for all of about an hour. Tashi had been living one version of reality, and Maya—Maya had no fucking clue she existed till tonight.

Her chest tightened. This was the moment that would open a door neither of them could close again. She took a deep breath, fingers steadying themselves against the tension coiling in her body. It was time. There was no more hiding.

Maya Pratt-Duncan: Tashi, we have the same father.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, her breath catching in her throat as the words disappeared into the void. The truth, now laid bare, hung between them in the quiet of the night. The silence that followed felt oppressive, like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the fallout.

Maya stared at the screen, every muscle in her body tense. What now?

author's note: after three months of brainstorming, plotting and planning, I can finally say that my Challengers fic is officially out! It's been a long time coming, the early versions of this were completely different, but it turned into something I am very proud of. I wanted to write something that was cinematic and told a new kind of story in the sea of thousands of other fics out there. I encourage everyone to flood my inbox with your thoughts, opinions and questions. I am dying to read what you guys think, but before that, I'd like you have your say on this poll.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Honestly, that's a pretty solid HC, but the video games theory killed me FJSJSKDNSLFK

Now I'm curious, though. Duster clearly loves to boss Dabi around, and we love that for him, but would Duster be willing to sub for Davi in the right situation? Again, just curious and you can ignore this if you want! I love your Shigaraki and his powerful vibe gives me live ♡

kahdfkjba to be fair he probably ALSO played some video games when researching subcultures he couldn't find real people to try with.

I think if Dabi and Shig ever tried to switch it would be embarrassing, uncomfortable, and devolve very, very quickly. Like I can only imagine this going down after they have a particularly intense humiliation-focused scene with Dabi subbing as usual but afterwards he's still embarrassed and bitchy and challenges Duster's control. And being a Shit Starter himself, Shigaraki goes 'okay, sure, you can try to dom me' as another power play. And Not Being Able To Back Down, Dabi is like 'okay bring it on' surely he can handle this. He's a switch, he's topped other people before. This will be fine.

(Spoiler, it was not fine)

Cue Dabi struggling to figure out what Duster likes other than having complete control over his partner's pleasure, being desperate for reassurance that he's doing well that he's not getting because Duster's dirty talk is usually equal parts praise and degradation and he's not loud and Shigaraki is trying to be nice and not undermine his attempt for control by keeping his mouth shut. Meanwhile, Shigaraki really doesn't like to give up control, with a quirk like his that he has to be careful with 24/7, trying to let someone else have power over him and let go literally does the opposite, making him more and more uncomfortable and nervous-- and not in the fun way. Until, eventually, they both break down and have to safe word out before Dabi spirals into the feelings of worthlessness and inferiority that he struggles with and Shigaraki is trying to stave off a panic attack for the first time in years.

They very, very quickly learn that switching is just not going to work for them and they are more than okay with that and willing to write this off and never speak of it again.

Thanks for the ask and giving me another opportunity to show that I have spent way too much time thinking about how/why these characters are the way they are in bed in my fics!

[swordgrace]

𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

༺ aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

synopsis: in aemond targaryen’s eyes, you have far exceeded anything that he could’ve imagined. during a moment of solace, you indulge in the prince’s growing affections.

———————————————————————————

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 7.1K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, biting, scratching, switch!aemond, fingering (f!receiving), groping, lots of kissing, hair pulling, vulnerable aemond, melancholy aftercare, slight power imbalance, possessive aemond, talk of insecurities, begging, etc.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: finally ,,, an aemond fic! I am currently looking for requests for this account, and hopefully this is a good showcase in terms of getting people interested! This was so fun to write and helped me get into the Aemond headspace, I so look forward to sharing more of my work with all of you!

𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝 the skies over King’s Landing, bringing with it a sense of wariness and discomfort. Rumors and whispers grew of an approaching war between Rhaenyra Targaryen and King Aegon Targaryen — a war between kin that would surely plunge the realm into a great darkness.

Bloodshed and the mere thought of violence caused you to shiver, goosebumps prickling along the length of your spine. The evening was a touch colder, the air bitter and misty with the first inklings of a nighttime deluge. Raindrops smashed into the courtyard, against the castle walls in a steady sheet.

Sworn to serve Lady Alicent Hightower, the dowager Queen, she had dismissed you quite suddenly, citing that she preferred to be left alone this evening. You found it intriguing that Ser Criston Cole so vigilantly guarded the former Queen’s chambers with wandering eyes, but it was none of your business.

The halls of the Red Keep were warm with the glow of torchlight amongst the illumination of the moon, clouds bringing down rain and the low rumble of thunder. You were prepared to make the venture down to the Servant’s Quarters, until you were stopped by a guard somewhere down the corridor.

“My Lady,” One of the Kingsguard, Ser Cargyll, addressed you nobly, even if you were just a handmaiden. “The Prince Aemond is searching for you. He is requesting your presence.”

Prince Aemond — a name not unfamiliar to you.

You felt the subtle hitch within the depths of your throat at the mention of Aemond Targaryen. The Prince was rather acquainted with you, in ways that many would consider uncouth and sinful, but it was a budding relationship. If anything, you found him to be a being of mystique and repression, in your experience.

Under the guise of mere duty, you nodded, curtsying before Ser Cargyll. “Thank you, Ser. I will make my way to his chambers.” You kept your voice hushed, ensuring an air of respect for those who slumbered within the Keep’s walls.

Carrying bundles of fresh linens within your arms, you made your way to the Prince’s quarters, a path that you were somewhat familiar with. Your encounters with Aemond weren’t often, but whenever they did occur, it filled you with a certain thrill and exhilaration. You never imagined yourself to be desirable, the object of a Prince’s infatuations, yet here you were.

A sharp clap of thunder caused you to gasp, nearly losing your footing as you traversed through the darkened corridors, passing by the occasional fellow servant or patrolling knight. Something about this night felt unusual — as if there was an ominous presence lingering around the corner.

Thunderstorms had a horrible habit of making you incredibly paranoid — tonight was no different, it seemed. With a deliberate pace, you ascended the grand flight of steps toward Aemond’s chambers, noticing the lack of protection outside. The Prince wasn’t fond of being hovered over, a notion that you could understand.

The set of ornate, mahogany doors were equipped with iron knobs fashioned into the heads of dragons — quite fitting, considering his heritage. You knocked thrice, stepping back as you waited for the Prince himself, or his summons.

With bated breath, you wrung your digits into the silk and linens clutched within your arms, awaiting the Prince to allow you inside. The suspense was nearly unbearable — sometimes he called you inside, and other times, he greeted you himself with a sly curl of his mouth and that glittering, violet eye of his.

To your delight, the door creaked open, groaning in protest as Aemond stood within the gap, regal and svelte in his leather tunic and fine regalia. His hand perched along the edge of the door, lips tilting into that familiar countenance of his — cunning yet tinged with faint hints of amusement.

“My Lady,” Aemond’s voice was a lull, like the purr of a great cat as he beckoned you inside. He cared little for prying eyes, allowing you to step into the warmth of his open chambers before he latched the door behind him. “You came rather swiftly.” He stated — a mere observation, but it was most accurate.

“Is this not an urgent matter?” To keep appearances, you sometimes asked redundant questions — but Aemond enjoyed them nonetheless. He let out a brief hum, violet hue raking over you as it had several times before. There was something reverent there, a silent appreciation that happened to scream if someone looked close enough.

With a brief hum of amusement, Aemond ogled you, head canting slightly to one side. Blackfyre sat soundly atop his hip, bound in the finest sheath and belt that hung atop his narrow waist. “I suppose not,” He reached out, gently swiping his fingers across your jaw. “I merely wanted to see you.”

Warmth fluttered within your breast, spreading like ivy across the rest of your body. The bulk of the heat settled within your features as you struggled to maintain your composure. “And I you, my Prince.” It was enough to make Aemond’s stare sparkle. “Any word on what will come of the growing conflict?”

Aemond stepped toward the large table, scattered in maps and scrolls, the largest of it being a cartographic description of Westeros. Coins were scattered atop it, meant to resemble garrisons of their forces. “Not yet.” He replied, circling the table before he looked at you. “It is hard to plan for a war that you’ve no counsel in.”

From what Aemond had told you during previous trysts, he was not on the small council — and his brother, the King, seemed more content on drinking and letting others run his kingdom for him. A piece of Aemond spited Aegon for this, for his lack of propriety and sense of duty.

The Prince’s woes weren’t unfamiliar to you. In fact, he had placed his head within your lap and recounted the multitude of misfortunes that had befallen him on many occasions before he had any desire to touch you. Perhaps it was this gesture that had given your budding relationship such a firm foundation.

War was on the horizon, and Aegon hadn’t the slightest clue of what to do — which left Aemond to stew and plot away, to strategize where there wasn’t any inkling of it. It would always fall upon him, the more responsible sibling.

You trailed after him, curious to see such a large map of the continent. If anything, you were more perplexed by the different kingdoms and sigils on coins than the war. “You mean to strategize without the King?” You inquired, noticing the scoff that emerged from Aemond.

“It is nothing new. I only wish to serve the King and my house.” He replied, expression becoming pensive before he sank down into the cushioned armchair, the one placed before his sea of maps and books. Candles danced atop the table, listless and bright.

Aemond was a learned individual, with a thirst for books and tomes, alongside the blade. You admired his desire for more, his desire for knowledge. There was a stark duality to Aemond that you had caught glimpses of during the course of your endeavors — from sharp and cold, like steel, to a hint of warmth.

The Prince’s chambers were spacious, surrounded by an ocean of quiet, with a high terrace and an open wall. You watched as the rain fell, providing a gentle ambiance to your surroundings. A flash of lightning split the sky, and the thunderous gloom of the night raged on.

With a soft exhale, you approached the terrace, lined in a thick bannister and a row of columns. If you extended your hand out far enough, you could catch the rain, feeling the chill of the droplets glide across your palm. It was soothing, enough to ease the heat that had made permanent residence within your skin.

In silent rapture, Aemond watched you carefully, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The glow of moonlight framed your features in silver, accompanied by the twinge of orange — it made you look like a goddess, a beauty incarnate standing before him. His fingers tensed into the arm of his chair, desire beginning to fester inside of him.

Initially, he thought little of you — the lowborn girl that dutifully served his mother, yet the night you’d found him strewn about in his quarters, wounded and wistful, he’d changed his mind. Aemond fell swiftly, and he fell hard — many nights were spent with you in his bed, his head within your lap. It inevitably transformed into desire and the first blossoming of affection.

“Thunderstorms used to terrify me as a child,” You broke the silence, recoiling until your palm was pressed close to your chest. “Now, they seem to make everything ominous, as if there is a lingering dread.” You let out a chuckle, seemingly embarrassed. “It isn’t much different than being afraid.”

Aemond tucked a hand beneath his chin, leaning some of his weight against it as he listened to you. “What do you fear, my Lady?” He questioned, as if attempting to pick you apart, crawl beneath your flesh. You enticed him, evoked a sense of intrigue that he seldom felt in the presence of noble women.

A rather heavy question, but you decided to answer honestly, depositing the stack of linens onto the lounge in front of you. “Being locked away in a cage, perhaps the darkness.” You trailed off. “War.” You grimaced, gaze flickering toward the map on his table yet again.

You always feared war more than anything — it always brought worse things with it. Bloodshed, famine, death, the feeling of no sanctuary or peace.

With a soft huff, Aemond’s violet eye flickered away from you and to his map, surveying his growing plan for any imperfections. He remained quiet for a moment, and decided that he had little desire to talk to you on the topic of war — not when there were plenty of other things he could do.

“War is inevitable, like so many other things in life,” Aemond’s voice carried an indiscernible edge to it. After a brief pause, he continued. “I would keep you safe.” Sometimes, you had difficulty detecting sincerity with the Prince, but you could see it now, even if it was subtle.

If it was meant to be a flattering or sentimental statement, it happened to work, prompting you to dip your head. Sheepishness settled into your features, causing you to tether your hands together. “You honor me, my Prince. I did not know that the life of a handmaiden meant something to you.”

At last, his head angled toward you, lilac hue dancing with light as he leaned back within his chair, the wood groaning in protest. “Come here.” He waved you forward with a flick of his fingers, desiring to feel your warmth, be close to you. Aemond’s lust for you was subtle, but when it sparked to life, it burned like a dragon’s fire.

Your heartbeat fluttered like the wings of a bird, stirring beneath your breast as you obeyed the Prince’s command. Stepping closer, you felt Aemond’s hand trace the swell of your hip, coaxing you into his lap. Without a word, he rested his cheek against your sternum, feeling your fingers rake through his silken tresses.

“Your life is worth a great deal.” Aemond stated, breath fanning out across your collarbone. The Prince savored the sensation of your soft flesh beneath him, heart loud enough to ring within his ears as he pressed close to your chest. Wordlessly, he planted a kiss against the column of your throat.

A shiver rolled down your spine, a sensation that left you aching for more. You never imagined yourself becoming the object of the Prince’s affections, enough for him to state that your life had meaning beyond the station of a servant. “Then it is a mutual feeling.” You uttered, nails lightly scraping against the nape of his neck.

Aemond had often been deprived of affection — even in his dealings with whores, it was originally Aegon’s design, his will enforced. There was no shared connection with a woman seeking coin and a boy, barely thirteen. He preferred you above all else, warm and tender within his grasp, with no desire to use him to further your station.

He used to believe that the only solace he could find was in himself — until he began seeking you out.

What originally began as an arrangement of convenience, purely lust and instinct, had now spiraled into something more. He shared his past with you, treated you to the inner machinations of his splintered family, and in rare instances, became quite vulnerable. Sentiments be damned, Aemond was beginning to feel affectionate towards you.

The growing connection he shared with you, albeit unorthodox and unexpected, outweighed any previous experience he had. You were his — a precious creature that he intended on savoring forever, if he could. Not many would approve of his hunger for a lowborn girl, but Aemond cared little for it.

Above all, known or unknown, he wanted your love.

Aemond’s lilac eye drifted to your visage, drinking you in as he had many times before. The way you cradled his skull within your hand, your other palm planted firmly against his chest — it was intoxicating. He sank closer, finding comfort in your warmth.

He listened to your heart — the way it excitedly galloped for him, pounded within his ear like the deep lull of a drum. The Prince kissed your collarbone, shifting some of your robes away to reveal the soft expanse of your skin. Perhaps, he hadn’t made it known, but you belonged to him — it would stay that way.

A slight chill caused you to press closer, seeking the warmth of the Dragon Prince. Rain continued to pour outside, with thunder rattling the black, cloudy skies, as powerful as a dragon’s cry. Your hand found his shoulder, digits gently massaging into the broad, sinewy muscle of his clothed shoulder.

The sharp ridge of his nose brushed along your neck, lips following suit as he planted several deliberate kisses against your jugular; underneath your jaw. “Cold?” Aemond inquired, able to feel the icy bite of your flesh as it brushed against his. He felt you shudder — but he wondered if that was from something else.

“Slightly, my Prince.” You confessed, though your body’s physical responses were from his lips, in-tandem with the misty chill from the thunderstorm. The flicker of candlelight danced across his features — narrow and defined, beautiful beyond comparison.

“Hm,” Aemond hummed, dragging his lips around the curve of your jawline, pressing another kiss beneath your ear. His scent filled your nose — spiced herbs, smoke and leather, intermingled with that of a dragon. “Shall I remedy this misfortune?” He uttered, his voice crackling with desire.

He nearly smirked at the sound of your breath hitching within your throat — a delicious response to his shameless flirtation. Aemond’s hand crawled along the length of your leg, grabbing at the end of your robes before slipping underneath. His narrow digits danced along your calf, before finding the pliant meat of your thigh.

“Aemond,” You whispered, shifting within his lap as the Prince continued to kiss your neck. The garment you wore was shoddy and somewhat ill-fitting, and you longed to have it removed. You pressed a kiss against his brow, the one that had the beginnings of a scar. “Please.”

The sensation of your lips against his scar nearly drove him into a frenzy — it did the last time you coupled. Aemond let out a brief huff, detaching his mouth from your throat as he hungrily sought your lips. The kiss was overflowing with desire, his hand slithering against your inner thigh.

His slender digits found the apex between your thighs, swiping over the slick heat of your cunt. It was feather-light and tantalizing, meant to make you squirm, a promise of more to come throughout your night together. You whimpered, feeling his thumb ghost around your clit, splitting past your folds.

You reciprocated the kiss with a flurry of passion, tilting your hips forward toward Aemond’s hand. The playful curve of his mouth was tangible as you kissed him again, reaching to cup his face. The pad of your thumb traced along his cheekbone, feeling his teeth graze along your lower lip.

Aemond shivered beneath your palm, finding the sensation of it to be foreign, yet comforting all the same. He hadn’t removed his eyepatch before, during your previous trysts — the thought of you seeing it somewhat unnerved him. It was often used for intimidation, to terrify others into subservience, but it wasn’t like that with you.

As you pulled your head back just slightly, you pressed a tender kiss against Aemond’s jaw, and then against his cheek — another secured itself atop his eyepatch. You felt the Prince’s breath hitch, a subtle noise that left you wanting more.

His hand stilled between your legs, the other holding just underneath your breast. “It would be unwise to remove it.” Aemond uttered, voice as smooth as silk, and just as tantalizing. There was something forlorn about him, as if he were afraid of you glimpsing upon his face.

“I would never insist upon it, Aemond. Just know that I would never pass judgment,” You replied, tucking several strands of pale, silky hair aside. “You are still just as handsome, just as perfect.” Your soft-spoken reassurance made him flustered, yet he was unwilling to reveal that side of himself.

Admittedly, he considered taking it off then, but he decided against it, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. Your hand drifted to the front of his tunic, lined in an impressive array of metallic buttons, bearing the Targaryen sigil. Aemond found your sentiments to be sweet — just like the rest of you.

Wordlessly, the one-eyed Prince coaxed you to your feet, bringing you toward the roaring hearth, beside the light of a crackling fire. The ground beneath you was covered in the layered pelts of various game, from stags to the thick hide of a bear, cushioned enough to provide a safe landing for the both of you.

Aemond towered over you, svelte and broad-shouldered, hand coming to cup your chin as he kissed you. It was slow and unusually sweet, but much to your disappointment, it was short-lived. His hands moved to the front of your robes, tugging at the rugged laces to loosen the bodice.

He watched you hawkishly, enraptured as the both of you maneuvered the shoddy fabric aside. You pulled it over your head, tossing the garment somewhere behind you. It landed on the stone floor with an unceremonious thud, leaving you bare before the Prince.

It was an exchange, one that Aemond silently complied with as he peeled aside his own tunic, lips twitching into a smirk as you pushed away the leather and fine linen of his undershirt. He was all sinewy muscle and narrow limbs, with a pale musculature that seemed to glow whenever the light touched it.

The both of you gazed at one another, your breathing significantly more labored than his own. Your excitement was palpable, the anticipation stirring within your stomach as arousal pooled between your legs. Aemond hungrily consumed your mouth in a blistering kiss, hands grabbing at your hips and chest.

You reached for his shoulders, arms tossing themselves around the back of his neck, digits raking through his hair. Aemond’s tongue greedily slipped past your parted lips, allowing you to taste him. A low hum of approval rumbled within his throat as you submitted to him, chest blossoming with warmth.

It was all tongue and teeth and want — a dance that finally gave way to carnal desire and primitive instincts. You felt Aemond’s hand grope at your haunch, feeling your pliant flesh as he nipped at your lower lip. The flame of desire glistened within his lilac hue.

“Lie down,” Aemond uttered, his voice becoming a touch gravelly, saturated with lust. He watched as you obeyed, sinking down onto the furs with a flustered expression. He stood over you, reveling in the sight of your body, kissed by fire, legs pulled up at the knee. “You are perfect.”

Perfect — you shuddered, stomach churning with liquid heat as you propped yourself back upon your elbows, palms idly running across the soft furs. Aemond sank down, pressing a hot, needy kiss to your lips before he knelt between your thighs, mouth hungrily returning to your throat.

“Aemond,” You moaned, the noise soft and simpering as he assaulted your neck in passionate kisses. Teeth and tongue worked together, leaving behind a handful of marks, some glaringly obvious. He continued his descent, kissing your collarbone, and then your breast. “Please keep going.” A breathy whine left you, then.

His lips twitched into a smirk as he planted a series of hot kisses around your breast, the other palm preoccupied with groping and kneading into the soft flesh there. Aemond felt your body arch into him, knees squeezing at his narrow hips.

With a stroke of his tongue, the Prince began to suck at the peak of your breast, nose brushing along your sternum. The heat from the flame crawled across your body, leaving you feverishly hot. Aemond’s actions did little to soothe it, igniting the fire within your belly.

Your hands flew toward his crown of pale tresses, digits digging in toward the nape of his neck. The furs brushed against your back as you reclined, stealing glimpses at Aemond, who methodically and reverently worked his way along your body.

“Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke,” Aemond purred, sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh below your breast, as if to ensure his point was made. That singular lilac hue caught your heady gaze, prompting him to continue his descent. He abandoned your breast with a lasting kiss, mouth traveling along your stomach and hips. “Ñuhon.”

Listening to Aemond’s enchanting High Valyrian made you shudder, allowing it to encompass you. His voice was nothing more than a lascivious purr, meant to entice and tempt you — you were beyond elated to oblige. You watched with doe-like eyes as Aemond kissed your waist, and then your thighs.

His incendiary stare never faltered, and as he pushed his shoulders between your legs, he held it throughout. Aemond listened to the delicious hitch within your throat, the way you preemptively curled your nails into his shoulders — it was intoxicating.

In an unexpected maneuver, Aemond gingerly abandoned the fine leather of his eyepatch, revealing the glistening, sapphire eye, marred-over with an age-old scar. You were dazzled, perplexed by his beauty and the vibrant gleam of the jewel that was permanently socketed into his eye.

As a display of reassurance, your fingers crept from his shoulder to his face, gingerly tracing around his countenance, from eyebrow to cheekbone. Aemond’s subtle exhale of delight signaled his approval, and without warning, he raked his tongue across your cunt.

Your lips fell apart, unable to smother the pleasured whine that escaped you. His tongue raked hot embers across your aching core, delivering a series of deliberate strokes that were sure to make you squirm. Aemond preferred to savor you, consuming every drop of your nectar as if it were the finest of wines.

Those dextrous, spindly hands of his found the pliant flesh of your thighs, hooking underneath to provide a place of rest for your legs. He squeezed slightly, signaling his presence there as he pressed forward. His mouth greedily lapped at your cunt, gliding from the hood of your clit to your entrance.

“Aemond!” A wanton moan tore past your lips, back beginning to arch into his ministrations. The Prince slowed, sharp nose brushing against your mouth as he dipped forward, tongue briefly pushing inside of you. The subtle sensation made you whine, nails dragging themselves across his shoulder.

You were perfect — flesh velveteen beneath his palms, physique begging for more, your pleasure coming to fruition. You were at his mercy, but fortunately, Aemond was feeling most gracious this evening. The echo of the thunderstorm shook the walls a time or two, but it all became atmospheric, simply background noise.

With one hand fisted within his platinum tresses, the other scratched haplessly at his shoulder, nails leaving behind reddish crescents as he flicked his tongue across your clit. The sensation was fleeting, but he sought to drag it out, lips greedily pursing around the pearl of your cunt.

Another breathy moan left you, stomach pooling with a rush of molten heat. It oozed between your legs as your arousal fell upon the Prince’s tongue, much to his delight. He did not waste a drop, mouth traveling wherever he pleased, lapping at every inch of your cunt.

His throat echoed with a low growl, hands grabbing at your thighs. He traced his tongue around your clit, teasing you with feather-light jolts of bliss. You let out a whine, occasionally writhing atop the furs, head lolled back in a display of pure ecstasy.

Aemond’s subtle groan of delight reverberated throughout him whenever you tugged on his tresses, forcing him further into the warm embrace between your thighs. He pressed a string of kisses along your clit, as if he were worshiping you. He enjoyed your greed — if anything, he wanted to indulge you.

The warm lick of the hearth danced across your flesh, seeping into your very bones. Perspiration dotted your brow, jaw tight as Aemond ogled you from between your legs, like a svelte predator, poised for the kill. “You’re perfect, Aemond.” You exhaled, noticing the subtle twinkle in his lilac eye.

That familiar cheshire smirk of his returned; your sweetly-spoken compliments and shower of praise clearly satiated Aemond. He kissed your thigh, breath hot as it fanned across your aching core. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” His voice was cajoling, playful as he nipped at your hip.

You squirmed, becoming desperate for a release, one that your Prince seemed to dangle before your eyes like a carrot on a stick. “Please,” You moaned, digits tightening within his tresses, a subtle signal to continue. “Please, Aemond!” With such an urgent plea from a sweet mouth, Aemond couldn’t resist you.

It seemed that begging would get you places — Aemond thoroughly savored every second of it. Your lust mirrored his own, perhaps subdued, but it was a raging desire nonetheless. He placed another string of kisses against your inner thighs, gazing at you with an incendiary fondness.

Sluggishly, he descended to your cunt once more, dragging the flat of his tongue along your slit in one broad stroke. With a shiver, your hips rolled forward, eased into submission by Aemond’s hands, which happened to lock you into place as he swarmed forward.

He drank you in, tongue greedily flicking between your weeping core and clit, until he began to apply that same pressure as before. His thin lips pursed around the pearl of your cunt, suckling on the clutch of sensitive nerves until it drove you mad, back arching from the furs.

By the Seven, the things Aemond did to you.

There was a fervor in his ministrations, a ravenous hunger that threatened to tear you asunder. His tongue lapped at your core, interchanging with those brief moments of his lips latched around your clit. You whimpered, thighs pressing on either side of his head.

“Aemond,” You sighed with passion, fisting his silky tresses until you tugged him closer, burying his face within the warmth of your cunt. Aemond didn’t seem to mind, treating you with another barrage of suckling and kisses until you were spent. “Fuck.”

Your unholy mouth made Aemond shudder, groping at your thighs as he brought you to climax. Your release was bittersweet upon his tongue, the most sinful taste imaginable — yet he never claimed to be a pious man. He worked tirelessly to clean you up, cock aching within the confines of his leather trousers.

As you rode the pleasurable high of your release, your body unfurled, the tension within your stomach coming to a halt. A molten bliss wept between your legs, soothed by the cool lick of Aemond’s tongue. Your tryst was far from finished — you had more left to give.

In a coiled, poised fashion, Aemond moved from between your legs, prepared to untie the strings of his trousers and sink himself into you, but you stopped him, placing your palms against the plane of his chest. His musculature was lean and narrow, almost spider-like.

Aemond did not make a sound, watching as you rocked up onto your knees, thighs quivering as you eased him down onto his back — the same position you had been trapped in moments prior. He was enraptured, lilac eye glued to you as if you were heaven sent, a goddess coming to claim him for yourself.

You tossed one leg over him, thighs straddling those spindly hips of his, palms dragging across his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen — wherever you could reach. Aemond shivered beneath the intensity of your embrace, lips quirked into the ghost of a smirk, a look of perplexity to mask his desire to submit to you.

“Tell me you want this,” You whispered, nails lightly raking themselves toward his breeches, not daring to go any further until Aemond offered you his consent on the matter. He was often on top of you, domineering and incredibly energetic, but this was different — for him, and for you. “Say the word and you can have me elsewhere.”

The subtle bob of his throat wasn’t easy to spot, masked by shadow, one half of his countenance basked in the glow of the firelight. His sparkling sapphire gazed at you for an eternity, the other drifting across your supple physique, seated atop him as if you’d mounted a stallion.

His hands came to rest atop your thighs, splayed out, possessively groping your pliant flesh. “I want you,” Aemond uttered, his voice a delicious purr, an octave full of an unrestrained lust. “In whatever way that is.” He quite enjoyed this position — he liked seeing you in all of your beauty, bared before him.

With a gentle smile, your digits began to unravel the ties of his trousers, gracing across his hip bones. It was enough to make him shudder, even if the action was barely noticeable. Together, you and Aemond removed the rest of his clothing — and there he was.

He was a beautiful creature, all lanky musculature and pale flesh, stringy and angular. Everything about him was sharp, like the edge of a blade. Aemond was charming, enchanting to you whether he realized it or not. It was enough to prompt you to lean forward, pressing a string of kisses along his collarbone.

“My Prince,” You murmured into his skin, your nose nuzzling underneath the sharp slope of his jaw. You kissed him there, listening to the hitch in his throat. Aemond hummed, lips curling into something of a perplexed line as his hands wandered about your frame, ensuring to touch and caress every curve, every part of you. “My Prince.”

Aemond turned his head, the movement precise and not at all coincidental. His lips captured yours in a feverish kiss, his cock eagerly pressing against your slick cunt. You gasped, feeling the length of it tempt you as he had several times before, but this time, he grabbed your chin, ogling you with his lilac hue.

He wanted to watch your face as you sank yourself onto him, briefly grabbing his cock in order to guide it to your aching slit. The pleasure that blossomed across your countenance was a sight to behold, and you were met with the familiar tilt of his mouth, a fire smoldering within his gaze as he bucked upwards.

His cock speared you with a suddenness, causing you to moan as you adjusted yourself, rocking up onto your knees. Aemond’s palms held your thighs, and he was more than willing to do some of the work, unwilling to let you tire yourself.

It was mesmerizing to see you on top of him like this, breasts full and lovely, softly jostling with each movement. Your flesh was velveteen, pure perfection cast in the sienna glow of the hearth. The fire was dying, but the lust between you and Aemond was far from extinguished.

Your palms fell flat atop his abdomen, finding your purchase there as you began to ride him. It was sluggish and erratic, at first — you let out a soft moan whenever Aemond moved too, using his strength to meet you halfway. His hips lurched forward, cock thrusting into your cunt several times over.

A string of wanton whines and moans escaped you in droves, feeling his grasp on your thighs tighten. He was quite enamored with you, especially like this — there was no sweeter feeling. He continued to buck up into you whenever he could, sheathing himself inside of you, possessing you from below.

Aemond’s visage contorted into one of shared satisfaction, shifting from indiscernible to pleasurable. He sat up just enough to be within reach of you, hips pushing up to meet the downward fall of your body, his cock buried deep inside of you.

“Aemond,” You exhaled, tossing your arms around his shoulders, feeling one of his hands wander from your thigh to your waist, colliding into you with a passionate fervor. The pace you set was sporadic and needy, wanton with desire as you rode him, your movements attempting to temper themselves. “Kiss me.”

That breathy plea of yours was enough to make Aemond submit, lips claiming yours again in an achingly slow, heated kiss. The feeling of your tight cunt around him, slick and warm, made him groan. He was desperate to keep a rhythmic pace, if that were even possible.

Flesh collided against flesh, and you felt Aemond’s mouth pry itself away from yours, creeping toward the column of your throat. He kissed your jugular, face buried within the hollow between your neck and shoulder. You continued your conquest, rocking up and down along his length, nails digging into his shoulder.

Aemond coaxed you backward, wanting you on your back for the final moments of your coupling. You were swift, slumped back down within the furs as the Prince seized your haunch, spreading your legs by bullying himself between them as he had before.

His thrusts became a touch rougher, chasing after a release as he began to rut into you, cock reaching the threshold as he filled your cunt. Strands of pale hair fell around his face, brow glistening with a thin layer of perspiration.

You gasped, back arching as you hitched one leg around his hips, grabbing at his biceps. Aemond’s pace intensified, turning into something carnal and primal, need outweighing sensibility. Lewd noises filled his chamber — the clash of flesh, the sound of your entangled panting and groans of ecstasy.

Wordlessly, he sought your mouth, kissing you with a blistering force that made your head spin with delirium. You reciprocated with passion, feeling his tongue split past your lips, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. Your teeth snagged across his lower lip, enough to make Aemond’s throat echo with a faint growl.

Between the tangle of teeth and tongue, bodies becoming one, you rolled your hips in-tandem with Aemond’s sharp, brutal thrusts. “Don’t stop.” You whispered, wanting him to chase after his release, feeling the pleasurable pulsations between your thighs.

Aemond let out a soft grunt, cock burying itself within you over and over again, precum slathering your insides. The sensation of your cunt around him was perfection — he wanted more of you, all of you. You felt his hand snake around your throat, cupping beneath your jaw as he squeezed just enough to make you whine.

He was relentless, pounding into you with an obvious desperation that only furthered your desire for him. You gripped his shoulders, bringing yourself as close as you could, any sliver of distance beginning to dissipate, eclipsed by conjoined bodies and shared bliss.

At last, his countenance contorted into one of complete and utter pleasure, pale brows furrowed in concentration, violet-colored eye closing for just a moment. His cock throbbed inside of you, brazenly spilling himself wherever he saw fit. He pulled out halfway through, painting your thighs in a sticky sheen of glistening seed.

With a huff of finality, Aemond kissed your jaw, removing himself from you long enough to retrieve one of the many blankets draped across the foot of his bed. You watched him in rapturous silence, the way his physique moved, sinewy muscle highlighted by the flicker of a fading fire.

You cleaned yourself up, feeling Aemond return as he draped the blanket within your lap. As the hearth began to die, the chill of his chambers became evident, thunder rattling overhead, accompanied by the onslaught of a cold deluge. He rekindled the flame, wordlessly slinking down to curl next to you.

Strewn beside the fire, Aemond’s head came to rest atop your sternum, arm draped across your midsection. You held him, kept him close — it provided a sense of vulnerability that made you truly believe that he was yours. You stroked his hair, surprised that he hadn’t asked for you to leave.

“Whenever you wish for me to depart, say the word, my Prince.” You uttered, feeling him tighten his hold upon you. Aemond gazed listlessly into the flames, lilac hue half-lidded as you continued to caress the crown of his head. He didn’t want to go anywhere.

“No,” Aemond’s command was sharp and punctuated, despite the softness of his tone, something that demanded you yield to him. “I want you here.” He uttered, shivering when your other hand traced along what expanse of his spine you could reach.

Prepared to make your vigil beside Aemond, you settled, leaning into him just as he careened into you. The silence was eerily comforting, lulled by the atmospheric backdrop of the thunderstorm. You always enjoyed the aftermath — you enjoyed holding Aemond, most of all. It made you feel cherished in a different way, one that others might not have understood.

You shifted forward, burying your lips atop the pale crown of Aemond’s skull, letting it linger beyond the boundaries of chastity. He exhaled, body fully curled against yours, half of him reclining against you, the other half left to soak in the crackling warmth of the fire.

As your digits tenderly traced the muscle of his forearm, Aemond finally broke the silence once more, happy to let you stroke his hair. “I have always been different, teased and ridiculed,” He lamented, a twinge of melancholy within his voice. “Underestimated, most of all.”

It was a rare glimpse into the window of Aemond’s being — the man that craved love and affection, longed to be thought of as important. After Storm’s End, his mother had cast her frustrations and scorn down upon him, condescending and detached.

A gentle exhale escaped him as you stroked along the angular slope of his jaw, turning his head away from the fire and toward you. You looked down upon him, this man capable of ruthlessness and cunning, and saw the threads of a shattered youth — of someone who longed to feel a tender touch.

“Those who’ve attempted to slight me have always fallen so short of the mark,” Aemond uttered, a vague reference to the Velaryon boy that he had wrongfully slaughtered. He had some regrets about that one, but he hoped that it would cement his strength — he was the rider of Vhagar, and even then, it never felt like enough. “Hm.”

He seemed incredibly comfortable like this, pressed into your warmth, his cheek nestling against your collarbone. You continued to trace along the smooth plane of his musculature, allowing your digits to finally brush underneath his scarred, sapphire eye.

“You feel cold,” You hummed, noticing the way in which he absentmindedly leaned into your palm, allowing you to fully cup his face. “You are strong, Aemond — resilient and cunning. It is not my place to speak of your family, but I’ve come to know you, and I know that you are stronger than all of them.”

Bristling underneath the sweetly-spoken purr of your praises, Aemond kept his arm draped around you, the other coming to rest underneath your breast. The pad of his thumb graced your silky flesh, and he wanted to stay like this forever, if he could.

Aemond regarded you with a forlorn intensity, one that still danced with a subtle frustration, intermingled with his growing sense of possessiveness towards you. He kissed your palm, and then placed a kiss against your chest, ear pressed to the beating swell of your heart.

“I do not feel different with you,” Aemond uttered, able to listen to the little flutter within your chest, the steady gallop of your heart. “I do not want that to change.” His tone became solemn, and you simply coaxed him closer, allowing him to use the crook of your elbow as a place to rest, fingers raking through his hair.

“It won’t change, my Prince.” Your reassurance was gentle, as saccharine as the finest honey. Aemond’s hum was one of contentment as he crawled forward, head resting against your shoulder instead, allowing him to better hold onto you just as you held him.

Silence passed between you, accompanied by the brief crackle of dried tinder atop the logs, the light of burning embers dancing before you both. He kissed your jaw again, the slope of his nose brushing around your neck as he peered towards the flames.

Again, you felt your breath hitch when Aemond held tightly to you, lifting his head just enough to gaze down upon you. Your countenance was captivating — beautiful beyond compare, awestruck of his appearance. His lilac hue flickered across your face, drinking in the doe-like look you had before he hummed.

The ghost of an indiscernible expression fluttered across his features — incredibly subtle, yet present nonetheless. “I certainly hope not.” He murmured, lips molding themselves to yours, and then to the corner of your mouth before he resumed his former position.

You kissed the top of his head once more, cradling him as you would something fragile. You knew that Aemond’s insecurities resurfaced often, but now, they seemed far more prevalent. Regardless, your affection for him wouldn’t waver — you worried that he wouldn’t feel the same for you, however.

Unbeknownst to you, Aemond already possessed you, body and soul — and that was more dangerous than any blade or any dragon.

copyright @ swordgrace / please do not post or translate my works onto other platforms.

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 6: Dry Hump- James Potter

Summary: James Potter was your best friend, and he was unequivocally in love with Lily Evans. However, he has one secret he trusts only with you: he’s never kissed anyone.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, inexperienced James & experienced Reader, friends with benefits vibes, kissing/making out, dry humping, cumming in pants, teasing, nearly caught

Part 2 // Part 3

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James Potter was your best friend. He had many best friends, including the other Marauders and fellow Gryffindors, but he was YOUR best friend and had been since the first year at Hogwarts. James was the one person you always ran to and shared all happy memories with; if you needed cheering up, he’d be the only one who could pull a smile to your lips. It had always been just the two of you until he became infatuated with Lily Evans.

It had been years of hearing about how wonderful Lily was, which you knew anyway as she was your friend. Finally, you convinced her to say yes to one date with James, even though she did wait until everyone was finishing their time at Hogwarts and about to graduate. He’d waited long enough, and you were thrilled to see him getting his dream date.

This was until he casually announced one day, “I’ve never kissed anyone”.

He’d mumbled it to himself under his breath. James had gone from pure exhilarated joy to fear and doubt at the weight he’d put on his shoulders for having to be the perfect date for Lily. You’d taken him to the Shrieking Shack to try and get away from everyone else so that James could blow off some steam, but all he’d done so far was sulk in his armchair and stare into the fire whilst waiting for Sirius and Remus to join after their lesson.

Then, out of the blue, he admitted his secret that he had yet to kiss anyone. A frown dawns on you as you turn away from the book in your hand to inspect the messy-haired Marauder next to you visually. “What?” you asked with a hint of uncertainty as if he was telling the truth, “How have you never kissed anyone before?” Your mind raced to all of the parties in the Gryffindor tower where most people, including yourself, had made out with others, but now that you thought about it, you’d never seen James lip-locked with anyone else.

It was James’ turn to frown as he looked at you blankly, “When would I have had time? I’ve just wanted to be with Lily, and she’s always said no when I’ve asked before. Anyway, I don’t see why you’re saying it in that tone; it’s not like you’ve been kissing loads of people”. You give James a tight-lipped smile to show that he was, in fact, very wrong with that statement. His eyes widen as he realises the truth, “Wait, you have? Since when?”

“James, how can you be shocked? I’ve kissed plenty of people before, especially during those parties with the fire whiskey that Sirius always steals for us. You wander off with the Marauders or fawn over Lily, and what am I supposed to do? Stand on my own? Absolutely not, I go and find some fun”.

Your best friend’s mouth drops open in shock. Still, he quickly covers it up by looking away grumpily, “Great, so I’m the only person in our year who hasn’t kissed anyone, and now, I’m going to take Lily out, and she’s going to refuse to see me again because I don’t know what I’m doing, we’re going to finish school, and I’ll never see her again, and I’ll die alone!”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his over-the-top rant, shutting the book with a loud snap and facing him completely whilst still in your chair. “James, you need to chill out a bit; I’m sure it’ll be fine. Do you really think Lily’s been going around snogging loads of boys? I’m sure she’s just as inexperienced as you”.

James’ shoulders dropped in relief as he turned back towards you with hope in his hazel eyes, “Do you think so?”

Your face immediately gave it away that you’d been lying as you sighed, “Ok, I might have seen her making out with a Ravenclaw a year ago, but still, I wouldn’t worry about it! You’ll be excellent! You’re James Potter, the Gryffindor King, a founding Marauder and Gryffindor Seeker. You can sure as hell make out with Lily Evans correctly”.

The pretty Marauder smiled thankfully at your dramatic declaration, “That’s true, thanks, Sweetheart”. Relaxing back into your seat, the book returned to your hand, assuming the conversation was officially over. However, only a moment later, James is whining pathetically, “But what if I’m not good? What if I hurt her or lick her wrong or-”.

“Lick? Why are you licking her, James? I thought we were on about kissing?”

“We are! But you know, people use tongues and-”

“James, I don’t know what you want me to say; if you’re that petrified with kissing, why don’t we practice a little so you can stop freaking out”. It took you a couple of long seconds before the offer you’d just given him genuinely dawned on you. You weren’t sure why you had said it, expecting him to say no but wishing for him to calm down and thinking this was the only option.

James’ head snapped towards you, giving his full attention as he asked, “Wait, you’d do that?” He pushed himself up off the chair's arms, and his eyes were wide and hopeful again.

Lowering the book, you spoke slowly, “Yeah, sure. I mean, it’s just a kiss, and at least we’re friends, so no feelings have to be involved”.

“Yeah, that's a good point! Okay, right, so, um, how do we do this? Do I come over to you, or do we stand?”

Sighing at James, you stood abruptly, dropping the book and strutting to him with arms swinging. The marauder sits up suddenly, taking his feet off the stool he had been resting on as he stares up at you with wide eyes that you can see the whites of his eyes beneath his glasses. “What are you doing?” He questions uncertainly as you straddle his lap without a word, your knees resting on either side of his toned thighs, your fingers slipping around his neck and interlocking at the base of his skull.

“I’m going to kiss you, James. Is that alright with you?” You didn’t mean to sound sassy as you asked with a single raised questioning eyebrow, but you also needed to make sure that he was happy for this to continue.

Those two wide hazel eyes stared at your lips, licking his own to moisten as he slowly nodded, “Uh yeah, just tell me what to do.” A pang of sympathy rushed through your chest at seeing James becoming nervous, which was not usually a sight that you had to see as he was usually such a confident, happy person. You would have spent some time to explain that it was normal to be nervous during your first kiss, but you didn’t want to allow any more time for him to freak out, so loosening your intern locked fingers, you moved them to cup each of her freshly shaved cheeks and pressed your lips delicately against his. You wanted it to be quick enough that he didn’t even have time to tense, even though he did proceed to lock up as you moved back to assess his reaction.

“See, it’s not so scary. You’re supposed to enjoy this, James”. Thankfully, as your face lowered once more, he forced himself to take a steadying breath and relax the tension in his muscles as your lips caressed his.

They were softer than you’d anticipated, plump and smooth like a pillow and instantly, your eyes and his close. However, James surprised you by moving his first. His hand lifted and rested on your hip so gently that you hardly felt it until he gave your body a little squeeze to test the waters of how much he could get into the moment. So you rewarded him by pressing your face harder against his, lips beginning to move and rubbing against each other on instinct.

James even amazed himself with how naturally and quickly he could make out with you. Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss, nose pressing into his cheek so that you could smell his skin that had remnants of his aftershave, which was always spicy and woodsy. As the air became necessary, you pulled back enough to take deep, greedy breaths, now noticing he was doing the same thing but looking up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“So what did you think-”

James didn’t allow your sentence to finish as his other hand cupped along your jaw, pulling your face closer again until the two of you kissed with much more heat with the movements. His mouth opened wider to match how yours was moving against his; your heartbeat quickened as you leaned further into his tall, warm body, melting into his touch and kiss.

Then you wanted to take a risk and licked his bottom lip, which you were ultimately greeted with a praising deep groan of satisfaction that vibrated James’ entire chest and sent tingles straight to your core.

Ok, wow, you thought as James attempted and succeeded with his own lick back against your tongue; you were definitely getting turned on by this. As if he was reading your mind, James pressed harder on your hips, willing you to move down, which you did, your skirt pushing up on your thighs so that when you sat on his crotch, your panty-covered pussy was flush against the material of his trousers.

As one, the two of you pulled away from each other. Mainly because you were now sitting on his very hard erection and also because he knew you could feel his evidence of being aroused. You both stare at each other with wide, unblinking eyes, lips slightly swollen and the taste of his spit still on your tongue.

However, you didn’t want to stop and awkwardly sit back in your seat, and he wasn’t rushing to push you off, either. You were horny, and so was he. Yes, James Potter was your best friend, but that didn’t have to matter; you just wanted him to enjoy the moment and show that it wasn’t as scary as he thought.

Enough time passed, and if he didn’t want to continue, he would have said something by now, so you took the opportunity to lean back in, your thumb attempting to soothe him, stroking across his cheek in timid circles. As your mouths reconnected, your hips ground down on his crotch. You were hoping that he knew enough about anatomy to tell that the warmth from your pussy was a sign of arousal, wanting him to know you were just as turned on as he was.

You do it a few more times, rubbing back and forth with increasing pressure until James makes a pained noise that has you stopping altogether and checking in on him.

He’s looking everywhere but at you, as he apologises, “Sorry, it’s just these trousers are tight and rubbing me painfully”.

“You could just take them off”, you say once again, not thinking before you speak. James looks at you with dramatically wide eyes as he, too, realised what you’d just said. Quickly, you clarified, “I’m not saying that to have sex or anything; I just mean, we could kinda carry on doing what we are doing, but if your trousers are hurting, then just in your boxers”.

You’re surprised by his automatic response of a nod, yes, his arousal blocking all thoughts of Lily as he begins to undo his belt easily. Rising onto your knees to give him room, he pushed the offending material until his thighs were bare and his plaid boxers were on display, barely containing his length. Not wanting him to feel exposed, you lowered yourself once more, and both groaned at the contact, yours at a higher pitch as you could feel the entire outline of his cock against your cunt.

James was bigger than you’d thought and was currently pointing down his left thigh, so you angled your hips in this direction. Tilting your hips forward slightly, your clit grazed along his shaft, causing a hitch in your breath as it caused pleasure to pool in your abdomen, moisture slickening your hole with each movement.

You’re breathing just as heavily as he is, lips still moving against each other, exploring, tasting, needing more. You were kind of proud of him when he moved his face down your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses and causing more pleasure to pulse through you. You were half tempted to rise onto your knees again to show him the evidence of your arousal that had soaked through your panties and onto his boxers, but you didn’t want it to stop.

As your fingers delved into his messy black hair to hold his face closer, he thrust his hips up against yours to add to his stimulation. He was still apprehensive, so he didn’t push too hard, but he rocked back and forth until his tip was pressed against your clothed folds. The muscular thighs beneath yours tensed with each thrust, the muscles defined from all his years of playing quidditch.

His hands remained in place, one on the opposite side of your jaw to where his mouth still kissed, and the other hand helped to move your hips back and forth in time with his own ruts. You’d never actually gotten off like this with anyone before. Usually, underwear would be removed at this point, and more direct contact could occur, but it was still exciting to have some barriers between you. The lace of your underwear was quite rough against your most sensitive area, especially your engorged throbbing clit. You were sure to be sore afterwards, especially with the amount of pressure you were rubbing against each other; with each passing second, the need to find completion made you both desperate.

As his lips found yours again, his tongue began to delve and explore the hollow of your mouth, along your palate and even over your teeth; your pussy began to clench, fire blooming in your core with the impending release.

Pulling back, your fingers moved to rest on his shoulders to hold on tighter as you quickly moaned, “Please don’t stop; I’m going to cum”.

James moaned huskily, out of breath, but both of his hands were now on your hips, moving both his hips and yours faster to find his orgasm. Resting your forehead on his, you both shared the same area, still tasting the other in your mouths, sweat beginning to coat your faces. You were sure you could feel his own wet patch against your arse cheek from where precum was dribbling from his tip and staining his underwear. 

“Ah, fuck- James!” your head tilts back as you finally orgasm, thighs shaking and pussy fluttering around nothing. However, just as you were beginning to come down from your pleasurable high, James suddenly grabbed you painfully, both arms wrapping around your waist as he sat up further on the chair, nearly knocking you off of him if it wasn't for his grip around your midsection. Reassuringly your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his face nuzzled into your chest, his body shivering as thick spurts of cum soaked his boxers.

His moans were like music to your ears and sounded slightly pathetic, making you cling to him more, attempting to run your fingers through his hair to calm the crazy style, but to no avail. Your pussy felt like it was on fire due to the rough stimulation and the untouched orgasm, but it felt so good you savoured the sensation for a few minutes whilst trying to catch your breath.

“There you go, Potter. Not only have you kissed a girl for the first time, but you’ve also made her cum”.

James laughs, loosening his grip slightly to look up at you, but then you both hear the worst noise imaginable: voices from a few floors below, especially those of Sirius and Remus. You scrambled to your feet, straightening your clothes and sitting back in your chair, picking up the book and opening it to a random page as James pulled up his trousers, both of you ignoring the bodily juices completely.

James just about had his feet back on the footstool before Sirius and Remus walked in, but both immediately halted and looked between you and James. It was Sirius who spoke first, eyes squinting in accusation, “Why do you both look so guilty right now? What did you do?”

[arminsumi]

First request ever: Can you make a story about Gojo, where their both in a relationship but gojo had to end it because he was afraid that she would be in danger?

Thank you! Keep up the good work, I love your stories!!!

LET ME MARRY YOU

↳ GOJO さとる + fem!reader

The risk of dating you his too much for him to handle, so he breaks it off, only for him to come back to your doorstep years later and ask: "Let me marry you."

2k

Note : istg each time i edited this... the wordcount grew lol. i hope u enjoyyy 🥹💗 tysm for enjoying my work it means everything

Warnings : angst -> fluff (?) -> happy ending trust me, Shibuya arc spoilers (Ep 9), manga spoilers (chapter 221)

🍒 More from Jay : Gojo works / Gojo fave works / JJK works / oct. reqs open

The risk of dating you is thrilling when Satoru's just a teenager in puppy love. But as he grows older, and heads into those dreaded 20s, the risk makes him more and more nervous.

What if something happens to you?

He presses kiss after kiss to your forehead and feels his chest tremble, feels his lips quiver, as he refrains from telling you the truth about the Jujutsu world. Satoru just can't do it.

There are so many instances of him saving you from curses that you're oblivious about. He just smiles strangely, and you wonder why he looks like he's just seen a ghost. Because he has, those pretty eyes see ghosts. But those pretty eyes also see you, "What am I looking at?" he responds after you ask why he's looking at you so tenderly, "I'm looking at my future wife." he flirts just to fluster you.

That's at the cafe, when things are still simple. He keeps thinking to himself, as he lays with you in bed some nights;

I want to marry you.

I'm going to marry you.

Please let me be your husband one day.

As if he's trying to manifest it.

Everything is okay-ish... until he gets pangs of fright when your name starts to be known outside of his closed circle of friends.

It's October 11th.

Gojo Satoru breaks up with you.

He leads you to believe that the two of you are just "right person, wrong time". It all hurts an incomprehensible amount for him, to finally cut the string that tethers the two of you together.

He sits on the stairs, head in his hands, mourning.

He starts many mornings with crying spells that last until midday.

He destroys evidence of you and him. In case anyone ever finds it and thus finds your apartment, or work, or college... or anything.

But he can't part with a very special photo. It's you and him in Okinawa, sharing a cheesy kiss at the beach. In the moment this photo was captured, Gojo remembers having whispered some dirty joke in your ear and that's why you smiled so big into his kiss.

He drifts to sleep to the lullaby lovesongs that defined your love.

Years pass, he refuses to even talk to you. The heartbreak worsens with time, he laughs when he realizes that on his 27th birthday.

Isn't time supposed to heal all wounds? Someone said that to him once. Well, they must have been lying without realizing it.

The day Gojo Satoru is sealed, he looks into Suguru's eyes, and remembers you through them. When he resides in that awful prison realm, he only thinks of you you you you you you you oh god he misses you so much that it feels like the very thought of your smile stabs his chest. Every memory is painful. Every flashback puts one more crack in his heart.

"Can't I ever catch a break...?" He laughs to himself, chattering skeletons making their eerie symphony around him.

He thinks. Ponders. Wonders. Broods. Daydreams. All about you. Always about you. Never anything else. Just his first love, from the late spring of his 17th year.

His earthly goddess.

The purpose of his benevolent actions.

He cries. And sobs. And weeps. Because no one can hear him but the skeletons and he's sure they don't mind the sight or sound of a 27 man howling in pain over a lost lover.

It's not just your relationship that he's mourning. But the fact he can't feel you in this cube... that he can't feel your presence in the world... that's worse than the heartbreak. At least through all these years, he's been able to sense your existence. Feel the subtle ripples of your soul no matter how distant you are; you'd be stood in a coffee shop, he'd be at Jujutsu High teaching, and yet feeling you.

Because as he promised to you at 17, "Half my soul is yours. And half your soul is mine. I'll always be with you even if I'm not there."

He has the biggest breakdown of his life in that little cramped suffocating claustrophobic eerie creepy box.

It's 19 days later. He's out. He's back in the world. And he feels the sense of you, your existence, swelling in his chest, tickling his mind, prodding his heart.

"Gojo sensei, where are you headed?"

"I'm gonna go find my other half." he says cryptically.

It's a stark bright day.

Gojo Satoru knocks at your apartment door.

You open it.

He looks at you, and you look at him.

"Hi."

"...hey...? Wow. Haha... you grew into your features, huh?"

Your voice fills his heart with life.

"You too... glad you still live in the same place... I was worried you might have moved out..."

"... Ah, Satoru, you'd be able to find me no matter what corner of the world I resided in."

Your laugh fills his mind with pleasant memories.

There's an a magnetism between you and him just like there always used to be. It feels like two magnets connecting at last, after feeling the distant attraction throughout all these years of distance.

"You're right." Satoru says after a silence of just staring into your eyes.

"I'll always find my way home."

A silence ensues after he says this.

"...haha... don't cry... or I'll cry..."

"... Satoru... I thought of you every day after you left me at the station."

"... me too."

"... why did you leave?"

He stares at you.

"... I was scared of you being in danger."

He gulps.

"Me? In danger? But you're the strongest, why would it matter."

Oh god that's right. You said it then when you were 17, "You're the strongest" and he carried that title with him from then. And now you've said it again. He's reminded. He feels a bit stupid. A bit ridiculous. A bit...

"You're right..." he chokes up. "I am. I could have protected you I guess..."

"... yeah, duh."

He smiles meekly.

It was more complicated than that, sweetheart. But I won't tell you.

He hesitates. He contemplates.

"I have to tell you everything... will you promise to believe everything I say even if it sounds insane?"

"Of course. What is it?"

He inhales deeply. And instead of blurting out his whole life story of being a sorcerer in the Jujutsu world, he just leans in and kisses you hard and truthfully. Cups your cheeks. Closes his eyes. Tastes you like a sweet from his childhood that he hasn't had for years. Presses to you. Takes in your scent.

Yeah yeah... he'll tell you everything in a minute.

But for now just let him kiss you until he runs out of breath.

Let him just...

"Hey..." he pulls away, gasping, "Let me marry you."

"Haha, Satoru..." you take it as a joke and laugh, because it sounds as bizarre and unexpected as one. Then you realize there's that serious look on his face. "... Satoru?"

"Can I?"

"... what?"

"Can I please?"

"... huh??"

"Can I marry you, please?"

He looks at you and waits for your answer. His poor heart. It's palpitating. His whole chest cavity inspires with love for you. This man that you haven't seen in years has just asked if you'll let him marry you — with very specific wording.

Can he? Will you let him?

It's funny in a way, because you think to yourself; this is such a Satoru thing to do... show up unannounced years later on your doorstep and ask for your hand in marriage as if no time has passed, as if you know the full story.

"Satoru... what happened to you throughout these years for you to come back to me and ask for my hand in marriage?" you ask, genuinely baffled.

He swallows slowly. "I know I sound like I've lost my mind. But I promise I haven't."

"That's hard to believe. The Satoru I remember was always on the brink of mania. A bit insane but not quite."

You make him laugh. "Yeah..."

"So are you asking to marry me out of insanity?"

"No."

"Well alright then. I guess I'll marry you."

You make him laugh again, with that funny tone. He hasn't laughed genuinely in years... it's always been that plastic laugh. But this is his genuine laugh. Silky and quiet. The opposite of his demeanor.

"I guess I should be explaining everything to you properly... before I ask you something like that."

"You're damn right..."

"... don't scold me too hard when I tell you all the reasons I left. Or, if you do, then at least hold me while you scold me. And run your fingers through my hair like you used to."

"Satoru."

"Yes?"

His heart throbs. He looks at you.

"Stop standing at the doorway and come inside."

"Oh."

You sigh. He smiles. Then he bows his head so it doesn't hit the top of the doorframe. Damn tiny Tokyo apartments. Your archway always had it out for the crown of his head. You laugh when he bumps into it just like he always used to.

So the two of you sit down and just talk. And talk. Maybe cry a bit. Actually, you cry a lot. And he holds you. And he says he's sorry. He says sorry over and over, as if the word is a bandage he's trying to wrap around all your heartbreak wounds that he caused.

"I'm sorry."

Satoru's apologies aren't easy to come by, and when you receive them, they nurse your heart. It's the gentleness with which he says it, and earnest too. Each successive sorry means more than the last.

"My angel..."

When you call him this after he vents to you about his time in the Prison Realm, and his overwhelming duty of being the strongest, he breaks down completely and just weeps in your arms.

He sobs like you've never heard him sob before, like a dog.

Finally. At least for a moment. He could be weak. Let down his guard. Be raw. Be emotional. Not a teacher. Not a sorcerer. Just your boy. Your Satoru.

Your consolation is all he wanted throughout these years. He looks up at you, eyes red and sore, nose sniffling, and stares at you like he can see your soul.

"...Satoru?"

"Marry me."

You chuckle again.

"If that will stop your tears..." you joke.

He sniffles loudly and swallows, composing himself.

"I thought about marrying you so much when we were together... 'n I tried so hard to bite my tongue when your name nearly rolled off it while talking to my students some days. I was always..."

On the verge of saying your name.

He sniffles long and hard and waits for your hand to weave into his hair.

"Will you think about it?"

"I will."

There's a silence. Satoru feels hopeful. He lays on your chest, arms around you like you're his whole world that he won't dare let go of again.

"There." you say with finality. "I thought about it. Let's get married."

"That took you, like, ten seconds."

You laugh with him. "Yeah... I already knew in my heart when you asked me at the doorway... you know... Satoru... it's funny. When you left, it felt like half my soul was gone. And when you knocked on my doorstep, it felt like I was whole again. Does that sound freaky, or does it tie into all this... Juju... Jujutsu stuff?"

He's silent.

"I have no idea."

"Wow. My future husband isn't knowledgeable at all." you joke.

His heart flutters at 'future husband'.

"Sorry." he says, smiling softly, "My mind is blank when your fingers are running through my hair."

The two of you go on and on, until you're laid in bed sleeping at each other's side. Resting. And god, did Gojo Satoru need a good rest.

In your arms, he's no longer an insomniac.

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[driverlando]

✧.* A REWARD FOR THE CHAMP

synopsis- you give Charles the perfect end to an unforgettable night (Charles leclerc x f!reader)

before you read- 18+ only, contains smut (oral, f receiving and m receiving and p in v) If you enjoy, pls reblog and follow! I'm a new writer and appreciate your support. :)

The sun was setting over the picturesque streets of Monaco, casting a golden hue over the harbour and the cheering crowds. Charles Leclerc had just achieved a lifelong dream and had broke the curse: winning the Monaco Grand Prix. The roar of the crowd and the national anthem still echoed in his ears as he made his way through the paddock, a broad grin never leaving his face.

In the team’s hospitality suite, his friends and fellow drivers gathered around, the celebratory mood infectious. Carlos Sainz, his teammate, was the first to embrace him, a proud grin on his face.

“You did it, mate! you’re a legend,” Carlos said, slapping Charles on the back.

Charles laughed, shaking his head. “I know, I know. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Max Verstappen, always competitive but genuinely happy for his friend, raised his glass in a toast. “To Charles, for making us all look slow on his home turf.”

Laughter rippled through the group, and Charles clinked glasses with his friends, basking in the moment. “Merci, les gars. Tonight, we celebrate!” (Thank you, guys)

As the evening wore on, the drivers slowly began to disperse, some heading back to their hotels, others to after-parties. Charles stayed a bit longer, enjoying the camaraderie, but his thoughts were already drifting to you. He knew you were waiting for him, and the thought of seeing you made his heart race faster than the last lap of the race.

“Heading home, champ?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow knowingly.

Charles nodded, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I have someone special waiting for me.”

Arthur chuckled. “Well, definitely don’t keep her waiting. Enjoy your night, Charles.”

With a final wave to his friends, Charles made his way out of the suite, the thrill of victory still coursing through his veins. The drive home was a blur, the familiar streets of Monaco rushing past until he finally pulled into the driveway of your shared apartment.

He opened the door quietly, stepping inside to find you waiting in the living room, a smile lighting up your face as soon as you saw him. You stood, crossing the room to wrap your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Félicitations, mon amour,” you whispered, your eyes sparkling with pride.

Charles held you close, his hands resting on your hips. “Merci, chérie. I couldn’t wait to get home to you.”

You smiled, taking his hand and leading him towards the couch. “I have a special celebration planned for you.”

His eyebrows rose in curiosity, but he followed without question. You gently pushed him to sit on the couch, your fingers working deftly to unbutton his shirt. He watched you, his breath hitching as you slid the fabric off his shoulders, revealing the toned muscles beneath.

“You’ve worked so hard for this,” you murmured, pressing kisses to his chest. “Tonight, let me take care of you.”

Charles’ eyes darkened with desire as he leaned back, watching you. “Je suis tout à toi,” (I’m all yours) he whispered, his voice husky. “Always so good to me”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, the heat pooling between your legs as you knelt before him, your hands trailing down his chest to the waistband of his pants. He watched you, anticipation clear in his gaze.

“Let me show you how proud I am,” you whispered, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. You freed him from the confines of his boxers, his erection springing free. He was already hard, his desire for you evident. His tip already leaking with pre cum.

Charles groaned as you wrapped your hand around him, giving a few slow, teasing strokes. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You smiled, your tongue darting out to lick the tip, tasting the salty essence of him. “Good,” you murmured, before taking him into your mouth.

His hips jerked involuntarily as you sucked him in deeper, your tongue swirling around him. You set a slow, torturous pace, wanting to savour every moment, every sound he made. Charles’ hands found their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he guided your movements. His chest was already flushed, sweat pooling around his muscles. He looked like a dream.

“Mon Dieu,” (my God) he breathed, his voice thick with pleasure. “You’re amazing.”

His praise spurred you on, and you took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked harder. His hips bucked, and you moaned around him, the vibration making him curse softly in French.

“Do you like that, Charles? Do you like how I make you feel?” you asked, pulling back slightly to stroke him with your hand.

“Oui, je t’adore,” (yes, I love it) he murmured. “I love it, I love you.”

You took him back into your mouth, increasing the pace. Charles’ breathing grew heavier, his grip on your hair tightening as he guided your movements. You felt him start to tense, his muscles coiling in anticipation of release.

“Mon amour, I’m close,” he warned, his voice strained with need.

You didn’t slow down, wanting to bring him the same intense pleasure he’d given you. His hips began to move in time with your motions, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Just like that,” he groaned, his voice rough. “You’re perfect.”

With a final, deep thrust, he came undone, spilling into your mouth with a guttural moan. You swallowed every drop, savouring the taste of him as he shuddered beneath you.

When he finally caught his breath, he pulled you up into a searing kiss, tasting himself on your lips. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his hands caressing your back.

You smiled against his lips, your heart swelling with love. “Anything for you, Charles.”

He pulled you closer, his hands roaming over your body, as if memorising every curve, every inch of you. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you,” you whispered after a few minutes of kissing, once you knew he was undoubtedly getting hard for you again.

You wasted no time stripping off your clothes, the heat between you both too intense to ignore. You pushed him down onto the couch and straddled his hips, sinking down onto him with a gasp. The sensation of him filling you completely made your head spin, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Charles’ hands found your waist, steadying you as you began to move, rocking your hips against him. His eyes were locked on yours, his gaze filled with raw desire and adoration.

“C’est ça… tu te sens bien, n’est-ce pas?” (That's it... you feel good, don't you?) he murmured, his voice low and encouraging.

“Oui, Charles,” you gasped, your movements growing more frantic as you chased your release. “You’re so deep.”

“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, his grip tightening on your hips. “Is this your gift to me, yeah?”

“Oui, it’s all for you,” you whimpered, your hands resting on his flushed chest for support.

His hand slid from your hip to your thigh, encouraging you to move faster. “That’s right… use me… get yourself off.”

The intensity of his gaze, the feel of his hands on your skin, it all combined to drive you higher and higher until you were teetering on the edge. With a final, desperate moan, you came undone, your body shuddering around him as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Charles held you through it, his own release following closely as he watched you fall apart on top of him. His groan of satisfaction was music to your ears, and you collapsed against him, your body spent and trembling.

But he wasn’t done yet. With a gleam in his eye, Charles rolled you over gently, positioning you beneath him on the couch. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his expression tender yet filled with desire.

“I want to see you fall apart for me again,” he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Let me make you feel even better. Let me have a taste”

Your breath hitched as he moved down your body, his lips trailing hot kisses over your skin. He paused, his eyes meeting yours as he kissed a path between your breasts, down to your stomach. Every touch, every kiss was electric, setting your nerves on fire.

“Charles, please,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way down to the apex of your thighs.

He grinned, his fingers parting your folds as his tongue flicked out, teasing your sensitive clit. The sensation was almost too much, your back arching off the couch as he lavished attention on you, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to drive you to the brink once more.

Your moans filled the room, your hands clutching at the cushions as he pushed you higher and higher. He looked up, his eyes locking with yours as he murmured against your skin, “Come for me, mon amour. I want to feel you again.”

His words, combined with the relentless pleasure he was giving you, sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you, your body trembling as he continued to lick and suck, drawing out every last wave of pleasure.

When you finally came down, he crawled back up your body, kissing you deeply. You could taste yourself on his lips, a reminder of just how intimately he knew your body.

“I love watching you fall apart,” he whispered against your lips, his voice filled with awe and desire. “You’re so beautiful.”

You pulled him closer, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your release. “I love you, Charles.”

He smiled, brushing his lips against yours. “I love you too, more than anything.”He wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, mon amour. The night was perfect.”

You smiled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. “You deserve it, Charles. I’m so proud of you.”

He stroked your hair, his touch tender and loving. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re my good luck charm.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “And you’re my champion.”

Charles chuckled, pulling you into a deep, lingering kiss. “Here’s to many more victories, both on and off the track.”

You nodded, feeling content and loved in his arms. “To many more, Charles.”

Exhausted but blissfully content, you cuddled together on the couch, not bothering to go upstairs. The warmth of each other’s bodies, the rhythm of your breaths, and the unspoken bond of love and victory lulled you both into a peaceful sleep, a perfect end to an unforgettable day.

[fireinmoonshot]

safety first | boone x fem!reader

Pairing: Boone x Fem!Reader Summary: After a close call during a chase, you have a panic attack and Boone helps you through it and keeps you company afterwards. Warnings: Reader has a panic attack, slight PTSD/trauma references Word Count: 1.6k A/N: I've been wanting to write for Boone forever and finally I am here posting something for him. I love his character so much and this was fun to write. I'm definitely gonna be writing more for him in the future so please send in any requests for him (as well as other Twisters characters, of course)! I should be asleep right now cause I have work early in the morning but here I am, yet again being head over heels for the Twisters characters... anyway, enjoy! 💗

Six months ago, you had walked up to Boone and Tyler, standing around the truck waiting to head out on a chase, and told them that you were riding with them today.

Unsurprisingly, that hadn’t gone very well.

Ever since you’d joined the Wranglers, your job had been simple – stay with Dexter and Dani at a safe distance away from the tornadoes and edit the videos for YouTube. But you always felt like something was missing. That you couldn’t properly edit the videos to capture the true chaos of storm chasing if you weren’t experiencing it too.

Boone and Tyler had been incredibly against the idea, trying to convince you to stay with Dexter and Dani or even just ride with Lily if you wanted more of a thrill, but you hadn’t budged and eventually, they’d come around. 

They had only one condition: whenever you rode with them, there would be absolutely no driving into tornadoes. They’d get closer than Dexter and Dani, but not close enough that you could be seriously injured if something went wrong.

Technically it had been a condition of Boone’s but Tyler had agreed with it and you had too, realising that accepting it was your only chance at getting closer to the storms.

Today, however, things had gotten a little too close for comfort. Everything had been going to plan at first. The storm was a good one and when the tornado touched down, you were close enough to get a great view of it without being in the path. 

But then the conditions changed and with them, the direction of the tornado changed as well. 

You tried your best not to think about it as you washed your hair in the motel, enjoying the feeling of the hot water on your aching body. It had shaken you up enough when it had happened, you didn’t need to dwell on it any longer.

Just as you turn the taps off you hear a knock on the bathroom door. 

���No rush, but you nearly done in there?” 

Boone’s voice. The two of you were sharing a room at the motel. Everyone had paired off when you’d arrived and since you’d been the last one to grab your stuff, you also got the last room, which ended up being with Boone.

Not that you minded. Boone was a good roommate.

“Just about!” You call back, hurrying to dry off and get dressed so you can get out of the bathroom and let Boone have it. 

When you come out of the bathroom, towel drying your hair, Boone is sat on one of the two beds, feet kicked up comfortably. Your laptop is on his lap and by the sounds coming from it, he’s going over footage.

“You stealin’ my job, Boone?” 

He flashes you a grin. “Oh, I’d never. Gotta keep my girl around.” 

You ignore the butterflies that erupt in your stomach and cross the room towards him, perching on the bed beside him and  taking a glance at the screen. He hands you the laptop as he pushes himself up and off the bed. 

“Thought we could go over it together since we’re roomies for tonight,” Boone suggests. “I’ll shower and then we can try and get a start on the edit if ya don’t fall asleep on me first.”

You nod, happy about the idea of having someone else there to go over the footage with because of the stress of the day, and try your best to get comfy on the bed while he heads into the bathroom.

It doesn’t take long for curiosity to get the better of you, though, and you tap the space bar, making the video continue playing where Boone had stopped it. 

It’s honestly a little strange, watching the footage from a different angle of what you’d experienced from the back seat. It’s easy to admit that the chase today was the first time you were actually, genuinely afraid while chasing.

You watch the way the windscreen wipers catch on the windscreen, the debris and branches hitting it as Tyler tries to get you out of the path as quickly as possible. You can hear the sound of the wind rushing against the truck in the video, the rain pelting against the side of it and the feeling of the truck moving with the wind while Tyler desperately tries to keep control of it. 

It’s not until your breathe catches in your throat that you realise your heart is beating way too fast and your breaths are coming too quickly, too heavily. All of a sudden it feels like you can’t breathe anymore. Like there’s no more air to breathe at all.

You have no idea how long you’re sitting there, struggling to breathe, until you feel the bed dipping underneath you with the weight of someone sitting on it – Boone.

“Hey, baby you gotta breathe, c’mon,” Boone gently rests a hand on one of your knees in an attempt to help ground you again, thumb stroking it softly. “Can you look at me, baby?”

It takes all your strength to move your eyes from the now paused video on the laptop screen and up to Boone’s eyes. You have no memory of pausing it and realise that it must’ve been Boone who did it for you. 

Boone looks relieved when you meet his eyes.

“That’s it,” he nods. “Can you breathe with me? In and out, slowly. I’ll count with you, okay? One, two, three…” He breathes with you, taking long, deep breaths until you start to follow him.

You finally start to feel your heat beat start to steady and your breathing slowing down. But with it, you feel a little light-headed thanks to the hyperventilation. 

Boone continues counting with you until your breathing is back to normal. You squeeze your eyes shut and take another long, deep breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Your voice sounds weak, even to your own ears, so you can’t imagine how it sounds to him – or how your lie sounds. You know exactly what happened and you know Boone does too.

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologise, ‘kay? You’re all right, you’re safe. Nothin’s gonna happen to you, I promise.”

You’re a little afraid to open your eyes again, not wanting to see the image still paused on the screen of the laptop, worried that it might bring back the panic you’d just fought so hard to get rid of, but it’s almost like Boone can read your mind.

“I closed the laptop, baby. You can open your eyes.”

Carefully, you blink them open and see the closed laptop sitting on the bed beside you. “Thank you,” you mutter. “But… wait, no, Boone, I need to start editing.”

Boone strokes a thumb over your knee. “Dex and Dani can do it. You’re not doin’ this one, ‘kay?” He pauses. “You wanna talk about it?”

You look at him for a moment before shaking your head. If you even try to talk about it, you’re not sure that you’ll be able to keep calm and the last thing you want is to have another panic attack in front of Boone, even though you know he wouldn’t judge you for it.

“It’s all right,” he assures you. “Honestly, kinda scared the shit outta me today too but probably for a different reason than yours.” He laughs a little, more at himself than at anything else.

“You don’t get scared by tornadoes,” you say.

Boone flashes you a smile. “No, but I do get worried about you, baby.” 

Your eyebrows knit together and you’re just about to ask Boone to elaborate on why he gets so worried about you when he cuts you off, once again almost like he’s reading your mind. 

“Not today,” he says. “Some other time when you’re not shakin’ like a leaf.” Boone shuffles to sit up beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and tugging you into his side. He kicks the laptop out of the way towards the end of the bed. “C’mon, try and get some rest.”

“I’m not going to sleep on you,” you shake your head. “This bed is tiny.”

“Don’t care,” Boone says, resting his head against the back of the headboard. “I’m not movin’ till you’re fast asleep and gettin’ some well needed rest.”

You stare up at him. “Boone, you’ve had a big day, too.”

“Baby,” Boone looks down at you, his eyes serious. “Will you stop arguing with me and just try and get some sleep? Today was just a normal Tuesday for me, but it wasn’t for you.”

You sigh and rest your head on his shoulder, letting silence fall over you for a few moments. “I actually can’t sleep while my hair is still wet or I’ll feel gross in the morning.” Your words are quick, not wanting to irritate Boone any more.

Boone, however, hears every single one of them. He lets out an annoyed huff – even though he’s not annoyed at you in the slightest – and moves to slide off of the bed.

“Where are you going?” You sit up, slightly alarmed and already missing the warmth of his body beside yours.

“Don’t think I’m lettin’ you ride in the truck with us next time, baby,” he starts, changing the topic as he walks into the bathroom. “I know you wanna be up in the action more often to help with the videos, but you being safe is more important than getting views on Youtube.” 

“Boone–”

He emerges from the bathroom holding the motel hairdryer. “Is there a plug beside the bed?” He asks, wandering back over to you. “I’m gonna dry your hair for you. No arguing.”

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Can you please do a azrielxreader,where she is from winter court and they are mated and elain is jealous and tries to hurt reader and just azriel being protective with lots of fluff?I am begging you

Part II

Never again

Azriel never imagined finding her. It was never meant to happen in his books. Azriel was convinced that he wasn’t built for love. That he was destined to share his bed with females that came and went. They warned him for a night or two and then rushed back to their lovers or found their mates.

But then you had stormed into his life. You two met on frozen river in the winter court. Azriel had noticed you first. Twirling around the ice like a snowflake. The air seemed to seize at the power you radiated. Never had he seen such a mix of elegance and power. And then your gaze had met his and the world truly had stopped. In the blink of an eye, he knew. Felt it. Deep within him. That it was you. Had always been you.

But Azriel respected your wish to keep it slow. To get to know each other. To not jump head first, to cherish the little blossom of feelings that clicked into place without a word.

So he had dropped most of his priorities in Night court. Had only agreed to do the most necessary of things. Just so he could be making trips back and forth to winter. He was thrilled. For the first time in what felt like forever, Azriel woke with a slight smile on his face. What he failed to notice however was that Elain had grown frustrated with him. Her cunning gaze following Azriel.

And yes, the spymaster had been pinning after her for some time. Azriel had called it helping her adjust. What Elain thought he didn’t know. Never asked. Assuming that she two knew that this would never go anywhere far. But he was wrong. So wrong.

Azriel had brought you for your first-ever proper dinner in the night court. The house of wind had been buzzing from the early hours. Everyone was so happy for him. Happy for you two. But the cold eyes had met you across the room. Sending a shiver down your back, making you instantly hold onto Azriel tighter.

“It’s so good to finally see you”, Rhys had cut in, stepping closer and blocking the view of the girl. “We all had been so excited to meet you, Azriel just turned into a caveman and forgot all his manners”, a light chuckling sounded around at the high lord's words. Azriel let out an annoyed grunt, “You do not need to scare her away with your fussing”. More laughter echoed.

Your eyes darted to your lover. His shoulders weren’t tight there wasn’t a sight of worry. Meaning that you were imagining things. “It’s truly an honor to finally meet you all”, you smiled at the happy face in front of you. “Now would be a part where you say he told you so much about us but it’s Azriel, so…”, Cassian chirped, making you chuckle as Azriel launched forward to pull his brother in a headlock. “Welcome to the family”, Feyre linked your arms through hers, leading you closer to the table.

The night had been nothing but beautiful. Getting to know Azriel’s family was lovely. You leaned back, pressing a kiss to your lover's neck before muttering, “I’ll go to the restroom”, Azriel turned to you, “Want me to go with you?”, he was already pushing back his chair, “No, silly, I’ve got this. Stay with your family. I won’t be long”, you cupped his cheek. “I already miss you”, he sighed, before flashing you one of his killer's smiles.

You had been heading back when you noticed the door to the backside balcony. Your skin instantly itching to feel the cold of the night. There had always been something so special about it. The view of the Velaris only made it more beautiful. You were about to turn back when a hand wrapped around your throat, forcing you forward.

You let out a gasp, grabbing onto the railing for support. “He was mine first”, a voice sounded, one that you hadn’t heard tonight. “I had him, he was in my bed and he was happy”, she hissed, you had turned slightly to see the side of her hair flouting in the wind. The girl with the same cold eyes.

“He’s my mate”, you argued back, trying to push her back, only to feel a sharp end of a blade against your back. “He will be mine soon”, Elain mussed, pulling you closer to the edge, before shoving you forward. You let out a scream, nails digging into the metal. “You were never meant to be here”, she breathed, you could feel your fingers slipping slightly, the black void that looked straight at you made your stomach turn.

“Elain”, a sharp voice cut into her snarling. Her body seized. She must have turned back to see who had come. Then panicked. Shoving you firmly forward as if she was discarding the evidence. You shrieked, legs scraping against the rocks as your body shifted into the free fall. Eyes burning as your lungs emptied with a scream. Azriel. Your mind was full of him. The fear of him having to deal with this. A warm embrace found you next and for a second you were convinced that it was death claiming you, until a familiar scent of your mate filled your soul. Your hands wrap around his shoulder tightly. “I’ve got you”, Azriel muttered, “You’re safe now. No one with harm you”. And you trusted him.

The muffled noise from the balcony found you soon. The screaming. The arguing. “Get Madje”, Azriel cut through it all. “There’s no need”, you muttered under your breath. “Get Madja, she needs to look at YN's leg”, but this time it wasn’t him asking if was a demand, and from the sounds around someone had taken the demand seriously.

“You held me like that once”, that same desperate voice reached you making you flinch. Azriel’s arms only held onto you tighter. “I’m sorry Feyre but she’s going into the dungeons”, was all he had said. A quiet cry followed suit. Before the trashing and filthy remarks filled the air and then it all stopped within seconds. “I’m so sorry”, Azriel breathed, kissing the side of your head. But you didn’t have it in you to even talk about it. The rush of adrenaline that had ripped through you had drained your body fully. So you simply nodded, “Just stay with me”, “Not leaving you for even a second ever again”, he promised, stepping into the warm corridor.

[misshoneyimhome]

500 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL

"If you cross her, then you cross me” I Matthew Knies☆

Requested: yes/no

Summary: After weeks apart, Matthew Knies finally sees his girlfriend again, his heart racing with anticipation. Yet, the sight of bruises on her arm brings a sharp reminder of why he hates being away from her.

Tropes & warnings: Matthew Knies x reader, established relationship, boyfriend!Kniesy, protective!Kniesy, no real harm (bruise), Smut 18+; Oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (p in v), cum inside;

Other notes: So, we're at the final stop of our Followers Festival, and I can’t express enough how grateful I am for your input! Writing like this is always so much fun and thrilling, as it's pushing me to explore new challenges 🤗 Thank you so much for joining my little celebration and for reading my work ❤️ Lots of love!

Word count: 2.9K

➼｡ﾟ

You and your boyfriend, Matthew Knies, had been apart for far too long.

_

Almost a year ago, your life had taken an unexpected yet wonderful turn, where it all started on a crisp autumn evening when you decided to attend a charity event organised by your company. You hadn’t particularly been enthusiastic about going, but it was for a good cause, and as the newest (and youngest) hire, you felt obliged to make an appearance.

The venue was a beautiful old mansion converted into an event space, filled with elegantly dressed guests, soft music, and the hum of polite conversation. And almost lost in your own thoughts, you casually wandered around, occasionally mingling with colleagues and sampling the delicious hors d'oeuvres, when you suddenly spotted a tall, handsome man across the room. He had a relaxed confidence about him, and you couldn't help but notice the way he smiled as he chatted with a group of people.

Then feeling the need to hold onto something for comfort, you made your way over to the refreshment table near where he stood. And as luck would have it, you both reached for the same glass of champagne at the same time, where the tall man simply laughed, a warm, genuine sound, and motioned for you to take it.

“Looks like we have the same taste,” he said with a grin.

You smiled back, feeling a spark of something you couldn’t quite identify. “I guess we do.”

“I’m Matthew, by the way,” he introduced casually, extending his hand.

“I'm y/n,” you replied softly, shaking his hand in a polite and friendly manner. His grip was firm yet reassuring, and you found yourself immediately at ease.

And from that small moment, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You discovered that Matthew was a professional hockey player, currently enjoying some downtime before the new season began. He was charming and down-to-earth, with a passion for the sport that was infectious. You shared stories about your jobs, your interests, and your families, finding common ground in unexpected places.

So, as the evening progressed, you both found yourselves gravitating towards each other, enjoying the easy banter and undeniable chemistry. When the event then started to wind down, Matthew hesitated for a moment before asking if you’d like to grab a coffee sometime.

“I'd love that,” you replied, feeling a flutter of excitement.

And so, your relationship began. The first coffee date turned into a series of outings—dinners, walks in the park, movie nights—each one bringing you closer together. Matthew’s schedule was hectic, but he always made time for you, and you quickly found yourself falling for him faster than you had ever thought possible.

By the time you reached the six-month mark, you knew this was something truly special. Despite the challenges of his demanding career and your own busy life, the bond you shared only grew stronger. The time apart was hard, but it made the moments together even more precious.

_

The off-season brought you nothing but more joy and excitement into your life. Matthew had invited you to spend a few weeks in his hometown of Phoenix, Arizona, where you were introduced to everyone. 

And those weeks in Phoenix were nothing but magical, filled with warm, sun-soaked days and cool, starry nights. You visited his favourite childhood spots, hiked the stunning desert trails, and shared countless meals with his family, where his parents welcomed you with open arms, treating you like one of their own.

Matthew took you to some of his favourite local hangouts, where you met his old friends who regaled you with stories of their younger days. And you could easily see the deep bonds he had with them, which made you feel even closer to him. The evenings were your favourite, spent on the porch of his family’s home, sipping cold drinks and watching the spectacular Arizona sunsets.

Those quiet moments, where you could simply enjoy each other's company without any interruptions, were what you cherished the most. 

But as wonderful as those weeks had been, reality eventually intruded, and you were called back to return to work. Matthew stayed back as he was busy with off-season training, his days then filled with rigorous workouts and team meetings, while your own days were consumed by the demands of your job. 

Though you both tried to keep in touch with nightly video calls and sweet text messages throughout the day, it was never quite the same as being together. The screen could never capture the warmth of his touch or the comfort of his presence.

The nights were lonely, and the days felt endless without him. The ache of missing him settled deep in your chest, a constant reminder of the distance between you. You threw yourself into work, trying to fill the void, but it was a poor substitute for the man you loved. Weekends were the hardest. You'd find yourself aimlessly wandering the apartment, lingering over the photos of the two of you scattered around, each one a painful reminder of what you were missing.

And sensing your melancholy, your friends decided to cheer you up. So, they dragged you out one night, determined to lift your spirits. They took you to a lively bar downtown, where the air was thick with the scent of alcohol and the sound of loud, pulsing music. And for a while, it worked. The drinks flowed, laughter came easily, and the music helped drown out your thoughts as you danced with your girlfriends, trying to forget how much you missed Matthew.

But then, amid the flashing lights and the thumping bass, a man approached you. At first, he seemed harmless, just another person looking to have a good time. But as the night wore on, his behaviour became more insistent. He moved closer, invading your personal space, and his touch lingered on your arm longer than was comfortable. You tried to signal politely but firmly that you weren’t interested, yet he didn’t seem to take the hint. At one point, his grip even tightened around your wrist, and though you managed to pull away, the encounter left you shaken.

Nothing overtly dangerous happened, but his touch left you feeling unsettled. You felt a surge of anger and frustration, not just at the man who had crossed the line, but at the circumstances that had left you vulnerable and alone. You wished Matthew had been there, his presence a shield against the world.

_

Fortunately, only two days later, you stood at the airport, your heart pounding with anticipation. The noise of the bustling crowd, the rolling of suitcases, and the constant announcements over the intercom all faded into the background as you anxiously scanned the throngs of people for a familiar face. Every second felt like an eternity. But then, through the sea of strangers, you finally spotted him. Matthew’s tall frame and broad shoulders were unmistakable.

Your heart leapt as your eyes met his, and you saw his face break into a wide grin that mirrored your own. And without a moment's hesitation, you dashed towards him, your feet barely touching the ground. When you reached him, you threw yourself into his arms, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours. And effortlessly, he lifted you slightly off the ground as he hugged you tightly, burying his face in your hair.

“Missed you so much,” he murmured into your ear, his voice rough with emotion.

“Missed you too,” you replied, your voice muffled against his chest. The relief of being in his embrace after so long was overwhelming, washing over you in waves. You could feel the tension of the past weeks melt away as you clung to him, savouring the familiar scent of his cologne and the steady beat of his heart.

So, with no intention of wasting a single moment, you grabbed his hand and headed straight for the car. The drive to your shared apartment was filled with stolen glances and soft touches, the air between you crackling with anticipation. And by the time you reached your place, the need to be close to each other was almost too much to bear.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Matthew’s lips were already on yours, the urgency of your reunion clear in every kiss. His hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer as if to make up for the lost time. Meanwhile, your own hands fumbled with his jacket, eager to feel his skin against yours. You barely made it to the living room before clothes began to come off, a trail of discarded garments marking your path to the bedroom.

And once in the bedroom, Matthew’s hands explored your body, rediscovering every curve he had missed. His touch was both tender and demanding, his fingertips tracing the lines of your body with a familiarity that sent shivers down your spine. The kisses grew more passionate as he explored your skin, each touch igniting a fire within you.

He knew your body like a map he’d charted himself, but his touch faltered when he encountered a mark on your arm—a bruise that hadn’t been there before. So, he pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he examined the bruise.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was rough, filled with concern and barely-contained anger. His jaw tightened as he looked at you, his protective instincts flaring up.

“It’s nothing, Matts,” you said, trying to downplay it. “Just some guy at a bar… it’s not a big deal.”

“No, this is something!” His eyes were fierce, the protective side of him coming to the fore. “A guy touched you? And bruised you?”

“It looks worse than it was…” you began, but he cut you off with a gentle but firm grip on your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

Matthew’s face softened slightly, but the anger in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate. “I don’t like thinking about someone else touching you.”

You sighed, reaching up to cup his face, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. “I’m alright. I’m here with you now. That’s what matters.”

His gaze remained intense, but then he leaned in, capturing your lips once more in a deep, passionate kiss that stole every bit of air from your lungs. His hands were rough yet tender, conveying the love and longing that had built up over the past weeks. And the kiss was an attempt to claim you, to remind you of his presence and devotion, and you could feel the intensity of his emotions in every movement—how his lips pressed against yours, how his hands held you close. It was as if he was pouring all the missed moments and unspoken words into that one kiss.

And then, Matthew’s focus shifted to ensuring your pleasure, his touch expert and attentive. He started by exploring your body with his mouth, trailing kisses down your jawline and along the valley of your breasts. He lingered briefly at each nipple before continuing downward, moving past your belly button to your core.

Light moans escaped you as he settled between your legs, his arms wrapped around your thighs. He then kissed around your needy centre, his touch both deliberate and tender.

“Please, Matts. I need you,” you whimpered softly, your hand finding his brown locks, as if to pull him closer.

But Matthew just smirked against your skin, tightening his grip before he finally indulged in the craving he’d been holding back. Skillfully, he licked up your folds, drawing moans from you—sweet music to his ears as he savoured your tasty honey.

“Oh yes,” you breathed out, your head sinking deeper into the pillow below you, your fingers gripping his hair. “Mmm, more…”

And your plea was his command. He licked you several times, making sure to explore all of your sensitive areas, before focusing on your sensitive clit. Sucking and nipping, he wasted no time in drawing louder moans from you. And as he sensed your light squirming under his touch, feeling the power he held over you, he worked his skilled mouth with determination.

“Mmm, taste so fucking delicious, baby,” he hummed huskily into your core as he ate you out you like a starved man getting his first meal in months.

“Fuck,” you cried softly as you felt the arousal build within you, a familiar wave of pleasure coursing through your body. You were approaching your climax, and the ecstasy intensified as Matthew continued to suck on your sensitive bead of nerves, making you shut your eyes tightly. And when he then added his long fingers into the mix, it didn’t take long before his skilled tongue pushed you to your first orgasm.

“I’m gonna cu—Matts, I’m coming!”

The sensation was intense, a welcome relief from the tension of your separation.

And as Matthew looked up from between your legs, urging you to meet his gaze, a satisfied smirk played on his lips. “It’s good to be home.”

You couldn’t suppress a smile either, the rush of your orgasm still lingering as he gently moved to hover over you. Feeling the need to shift positions, you then signalled for him to lie on his back.

And Matthew naturally obliged. He always enjoyed when you tried to take charge—emphasis on *trying*, as you both knew that even when you were on top, he was still the one truly in control.

Yet, as you positioned yourself on top of him, you led with fervour and passion. His length was larger than any man you’d experienced before, but whenever he was inside you, it felt like your bodies melded perfectly together. You rolled your hips smoothly, his hands guiding you gently, as your palms pressed firmly on his muscular chest, giving you support to increase your pace at his unspoken command. Then with his thumb pressing insistently against your sensitive clit, Matthew helped you reach another peak. Arching your back and clenching around him, you let his name slip from your lips in a deep moan.

It was a blissful moment as you reached your second orgasm. However, as the rhythm of your movements built, Matthew’s own desire surged. So, with a swift motion, he turned you around into missionary, where he effortlessly took control and began pounding into you with primal intensity. His movements were relentless, driven by his need for release. 

It had been too long. Too long since he had felt himself inside you, too long since he’d climaxed under your touch.

His breathing was erratic, mingling with the sounds of your moans and the echo of skin slapping against skin throughout the room. Your nails dug into the back of his shoulders, and the force of his thrusts pushed both of you to the brink, each touch and movement designed to make the experience as overwhelming and fulfilling as possible.

“Fuck baby…. Oh yes,” he groaned deeply as he spilled his release into you, gasping for air. Matthew knew he finished sooner than he’d usually do, but given the time apart, it was no surprise to either of you.

Besides, you were already satisfied with your own rather quick orgasms he’d caused you. 

You both panted deeply, surprised by how intense and satisfying the reunion felt, more so than you had anticipated. And as you lay tangled in the sheets, the aftermath of your intimacy left both of you spent but content. Yet, you could sense something lingering in Matthew’s demeanour—a worry that hadn’t quite been erased.

“What’s wrong, my love?” you asked softly, tuning slightly to face your incredibly handsome boyfriend, with his Arizona tan. 

But Matthew just brushed a strand of hair from your face, his voice tender and sincere. “I just don’t like thinking of someone else touching you.”

“Then don’t think about it,” you replied, resting a hand on his chest. “Nothing happened. I’m here with you now.”

“But still… if someone crosses you, they also cross me,” he said, his tone resolute and protective. “And I’m not going to let it go. If I knew who it was, I’d…”

“You’d what? Risk your career by punching a stranger in the face?” you chuckled lightly with a cocked brow. 

“No,” Matthew breathed out softly. “I just wanted to make them pay for doing anything like this to you…”

You couldn’t help but smile up at him, touched by his fierce loyalty. “You’re wonderful, Matts. But I can take care of myself when you’re not here. You don’t need to go around and punch people for me.”

“I know you can,” he said, gently pulling you even closer. “I just… I love you so much. I’ve never loved anyone like this before. And… I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me. Not now, not ever.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, reassuring him. 

Matthew’s arms tightened around you, a final, tender embrace as the two of you settled into a peaceful slumber. In that moment, all the fears and uncertainties of the past few weeks faded away, leaving only the certainty of your love for each other.

Well, Matthew, of course, couldn’t let it go completely. So, he interrogated your friends, pressing them for any information about who might have done this to you, earning light chuckles from all of you. However, as weeks passed, the bruises fading, and the hockey season began, the incident faded into the background.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW GLAD I AM THAT YOUR WRITE FOR SPTO THANK YOUUUU

UGH okay, my craziness aside; could you try “I think I’m in love with you” with Matthew Patel? It doesn’t matter who says it, I jsut think it’d be adorable (I adore that funky theatre punk so so much <3)

Thank you so much and have a wonderful day/night!!

"Do it!"

"Come on, Lord Matthew!"

"We're getting impatient.."

"Maybe we'll go in and tell them ourselves-"

"Ladies, that's enough! I will tell them myself...i-in a minute. First, I need to rehearse what I'm going to say..I can't mess this up."

The demon hipster chicks could only stare at their master with blank expressions, knowing damn well that he was stalling the inevitable:

That being his confession to you.

You two go back as far as middle school, with you being the first friend he ever made who didn't mind his weirdness or mystical powers. Plus, you shared his admiration for the theater and dramatics when he started obsessing over those, becoming his number one supporter.

Until now, Matthew never thought he'd fall for you like he did Ramona. But he feared rejection, ridicule, or worse--the relationship being extremely short-lived and him never getting to experience a "true love's kiss".

Once was painful enough.

He couldn't go through that again.

Of course, his demon hipster chicks knew all about this and the months he's spent pining after you. As much as they didn't like you "stealing" away his attention...they realized you made their master genuinely happy.

And above everything else, they wanted him to be happy.

So they were thrilled when he summoned them, seeing that they were at the doorstep to your apartment and squealing upon noticing the giftbox he had for you.

Finally, he seemed ready to move on from Ramona.

Yet....he had spent ten solid minutes pacing along the floor and trying to hype himself up, his confidence totally shot, before he eventually stopped in front of your door again.

"Okay, I got it! Erm..."Roses are red, violets are--" no, that's stupid. It's too cliche! Everybody uses that!" Shaking his head, he tried to think of something else. ""Hey, would you like to be the Romeo to my Juliet--" ohh, what am I saying?! That's not romantic!! That would mean our relationship could end in tragedy...UGH!!"

"Don't overthink it, my lord." One of the demons whispered to him. "Just tell them how you feel."

"....it can't be that simple, can it?"

"....."

"..alright. I'll take your advice. I'm going for it." With a nervous swallow, he bowed his head and raised a hand to knock at the door-

Only for it to swing open, causing him to freeze in-place and look up to see you on the other side. He quickly hid both hands behind his back, hoping you didn't see the gift. "H-Hi.."

"Oh hey, Matty. Hey, girls." You smiled, looking past him and waving to the demons. But as your gaze shifted back to his, you wondered why he seemed extremely nervous. "Are you feeling okay?"

"..yeah. Just..wanted to see how you were doing." Pink was starting to dust his cheeks. "Did you uh...know I was going to come visit?"

"Um...yeah? You texted me earlier."

"......"

"And I saw you outside my window and figured you forgot the spare key."

"Shit..did I?" Matthew checked his coat pockets, feeling more embarrassed to know he forgot such a simple thing. All because he couldn't stop thinking about you. "I guess I did forget.......how about I go get it?"

You blinked in confusion. "Huh? But you're-"

"I'll be back, I swear-?!!"

The second he tried to run away, two of the demons grabbed a hold of his arms, dragging him into your apartment, while the other two guarded the door it in case he attempted another escape. He yelled in outrage, putting up a bit of struggle before they let go.

At this point, he was seething red, prepared to yell at them for their betrayal and the humiliation it brought upon him...

But they just winked and disappeared, the last one wishing him luck.

Of course.

"I can't believe it! The nerve of those-"

"What was that all about? You're acting kinda..odd, Matthew." Raising an eyebrow, you sat down on your sofa, having no clue why the man in front of you looked so flustered.

"I....have something I need to say." He decided to sit beside you, sighing heavily. "[Y/n], I think....I..I..."

"Yes?"

"...I-I think I'm in love with you!" Finally blurting it out, he closed his eyes and handed you the box, too afraid to see your expression. "I know it's sudden but..you've always been there for me. Ever since I found my passion for theater. Ever since Ramona dumped me...you were by my side. A-And I feel like I took that for granted. I thought I only wanted revenge against those who wronged me....but no. I want something better. I want love...and I want to be yours. So please...let me prove that I can be a good boyfriend and not evil!"

Part of him wanted to curl up and die as he continued babbling on and on about his feelings, thinking about the hundreds of other ways he could have done this.

He could flawlessly play the role of a love interest in a musical or play and move the audience to tears so effortlessly. But off-stage, he felt like a bumbling lovesick idiot who isn't making any sense to his crush..

There's no way you could love him back.

Not after seeing him like this.

Yet after feeling the box being removed from his hands, Matthew bravely opened his eyes, watching as you took out the black and red roses he put inside it. The thorns have been clipped off, allowing you to twirl the stems in your fingers for a moment or two.

Then you looked at him with the brightest of smiles, laughing softly. "Of course you'd give me roses, you dork. That's so....you." You set them aside before moving closer, taking his hands into yours. "I'm trusting you to uphold that promise."

His heart was soaring.

He must definitely be dreaming right now.

"S-So...it's a yes?"

You chuckled, nodding. "Yes. And...I promise to be with you for longer than a week."

That got him choked up. He couldn't say anything else in that moment, as his only response was pulling you into a tight hug and hiding his face in your neck.

Thank god he didn't ruin this.

You just smiled and held him close, relieved that he finally decided to try loving again. When he calmed down enough to look back up into your eyes, that's when you both decided to go for the kiss--just in case he had any more doubts in his mind.

And there were sparks galore.

[undiscovered-horizon]

Who am I to complain? - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[emotional and verbal abuse, unhealthy parent-child relationships]

SUMMARY: When your parents come to visit, Nikolai finally understands why you've never been keen to talk about them. Being the King and your husband, he isn't afraid to defy them.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 4.5k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

"Have you listened to anything I've just said?"

Nikolai shakes you awake from being lost in thought. You look away from the insanely interesting skirting board you had been staring at for the past ten minutes. He’s watching you with raised eyebrows, awaiting an answer.

"I…” you hang your voice. At first, you wanted to just apologize and ask him to repeat himself but then a sense of dread sprouts in your abdomen - one you can’t quite put a finger on but it takes over your entire mind. “I'm sorry, Kolya. Please, don’t be mad at me, I’m sorry,” you plead, gradually speaking faster.

“I’m not angry,” he states firmly. “But I am growing concerned for you, love. What’s going on?”

“I just keep thinking about my parents' visit,” you confess while rubbing your forehead. “Ever since the letter arrived, I can hardly think about anything else."

"Yes, I've noticed you have been a bit absent for the past few days. I assumed you were going to talk to me when you're ready. Are you?"

"They're not bad people," you begin in a strange tone that makes Nikolai doubt your words right away, "and they've only done their best to give me a good life. Despite that, they have a tendency to bring out the parts of me I've grown to dislike." 

“Isn’t that what every family does?” he jokes in hopes of easing your visible discomfort. But his good humour is gone the moment you look away with a sombre expression stuck to your features.

Nikolai always considered himself exceptional at self-control but something about your sadness makes him gradually abandon reason. As you forlornly stare into the darkness of your shared bedroom, he’s ready to stick feathers to his clothes and pretend to be a peacock just to make you laugh.

“Love,” he calls out softly. His hand rests between your shoulder blades. “You’re the queen. If you want, we can call their visit off right away.”

“That would be a little rude, no?” you ask in a meek voice.

“It’s a lot more crude to make you cry.”

“I will be alright, really,” you reassure him. That miserable look on your face is slowly creeping away. “It’s just three days. Maybe they’ve changed or they’re a lot better than I remember. I’ll be okay.”

Nikolai is unsure whether you’re trying to convince yourself or him but he doesn’t push. Despite not believing your clumsy words of reassurance, he trusts you - he’ll step in only when things really get out of hand.

Nervousness and excitement often feel the same and one might even fool themselves into believing that the mortifying tension in their muscles is actually an impatient thrill. Today, however, you don’t even try playing a little trick on yourself. The more you think about your feelings, the more you’re convinced that it’s not even nervousness but fear. Still, you don’t quite understand why exactly your parents’ visit elicits such awful emotions from you.

The door to the throne room opens and a man in a white and gold livery steps inside. He quickly walks halfway to the dais with the throne. 

The servant bows as deep as he can and clears his throat before loudly announcing: “Presenting her most royal Highness’s, the Queen’s, mother and father.”

Only then do your parents emerge from the hall, walking hesitantly through the spacious throne room. Two guards are following them and your father spares them a confused glance every few steps. But the armed men only usher him to keep walking and not turn his back to the king until allowed to do so.

Feeling fear exploding in your chest, you grip Nikolai’s shoulder even tighter. Sitting on the throne, he has to look up to meet your eyes.

“Calm down, it’s going to be alright,” he says quietly. A reassuring smile curves his lips. “You said it yourself.”

As though he is a Heartrender himself, his words make you relax. You take a deep breath and let go of his shoulder. At that moment, Nikolai stands up to greet your parents as their son-in-law first and only then the king of Ravka.

Right then, your mother quickly runs up the few steps leading to the dais. Her face is red and a deep crease now separates her eyebrows.

“I have to wait to be announced to see my own daughter?” She’s barely containing her outrage. “Nonsense!”

“I’m royalty now, mother,” you explain calmly. Your voice almost doesn’t shake.

“And I’m still your mother, the one that gave birth to you. Do I not get any benefits from that?”

Maybe some people don’t actually change.

“I’m afraid you don’t.”

“Is this gold?!” your father exclaims in shock as his hand reaches for your heavy necklace. “So because of you most of Ravka is starving?”

Too occupied with the jewellery, your parents don’t notice the palace guards stepping forward to arrest them for such an accusation aimed at the queen. Nikolai spares them a meaningful look, waving them off. In his heart, he agrees with them.

“Actually, this is a gift from a businessman in Kerch,” you say quietly. Suddenly, you remember why you’ve never visited them since your wedding.

“Still, don’t you think this is a little distasteful?”

Your mother places her hand on your father’s shoulder. “She’s always been vain, darling,” she reminds him.

You’re not a queen anymore - at least you don’t feel like it. All of the gold, silk and jewels are gone and you’re back to being a scared, little girl with hay stuck in her hair. Tears sting your eyes.

Whatever you do is wrong. All of your efforts are underwhelming. Maybe they’d be happier if you weren’t there.

"You're crying?” your father asks with a hint of disgust in his voice. “Oh, don't be so sensitive, you know we’re only joking!” He’s still holding your necklace in his fingers, admiring the glistening crystals. Standing so close to you, he lowers his voice significantly to appear inconspicuous but Nikolai manages to pick up his calloused words. “Pull yourself together, this is embarrassing.”

As she usually does, your mother brings the attention back to herself. “She can be a bit much at times, so I hope you’re a patient one!”

The guards exchange questioning looks, silently asking one another if they should intervene this time. Most of the time they follow Tolya and Tamar’s steps but they’re left to their own devices on this day as Nikolai ordered the twins to take a day off. Perhaps it’s for the best - they’d surely escalate this already uncomfortable situation but it’s only because they care.

“I’d say it’s quite the opposite,” Nikolai answers, unaffected. Despite his speaking to your mother, he’s looking into your eyes. “I can never get enough of her.”

“For most of her life, I thought she’d never get married!” your mother continues. She’s gripping your arm with much more strength than her appearance suggests. “Men don’t like them independent, stubborn and opinionated.”

Nikolai’s polite smile doesn’t falter. “Three qualities of an excellent Queen.”

Your mother laughs obnoxiously. “Just wait a few years, dear.” She pats his shoulder. The guards look between themselves again. “You’ll be quick to send her off just like we were!”

Both of your parents laugh wholeheartedly while you and Nikolai exchange knowing looks. Now he understands why you have been so uneasy lately. This is going to be the longest three days of his life.

The perplexity continues as your mother suddenly places her hands around your waist, examining your torso in great detail. A sour expression forms on her face.

“Oh, honey, you’ve let yourself go,” she says in a worried tone. Her eyes trail the curve of your physique up until she looks at your face. With a serious glint in her eye, she advises you under her breath: “You can’t get fat and slobby if you want to keep the king.” 

The man who announced your parents appears again but this time he walks all the way to the stairs leading up to the throne, although doesn’t dare climb them. His facial expression borders on emotionless and serious as though he’s more of a marble statue rather than a servant.

“Your most royal Highness.” The man bows deeply. “The room is prepared.”

“Excellent.” Nikolai uses the opportunity to cut the awkward conversation short in a diplomatic way. “Escort our guests to their chamber.” 

“Right away, мой царь.”

When the butler disappears around the corner with your parents apprehensively following him, Nikolai looks at you with a grim expression. 

“Are they usually like this?” he asks, disapproval hiding between his words.

“They’re worse at home,” you answer with a shrug. A lot of terrible feelings and thoughts you were convinced you had left behind are coming back and you’re unsure how to handle that.

“You’ve put up with this kind of disrespect for your whole life?”

“It’s not disrespect, just…” you hang your voice looking for the right expression, “tough love. They don’t mean any harm.”

“Don’t mean any harm?” he repeats in disbelief. “They’ve been here for fifteen minutes and they are yet to say something nice to you. Neither of them even asked whether you’re doing alright.”

A short, troubled sigh leaves your lips. Your fingers trail the golden embroidery decorating his kaftan. “I’m married to a dashing, handsome king and live in a palace. I think they know I’m doing well.”

His hand gently grabs yours, keeping it against his chest. “As much I like flattery, especially coming from you, you can’t pull wool over my eyes, love. It’s not a matter of knowing but principle. Remember our wedding? The guests kept asking how you’re doing so much, you kept saying you’re perfectly fine before they even got a chance to ask.”

The memory elicits a chuckle from you. Yes, everyone seemed to be preoccupied with making sure you were happy and satisfied. It came to such a point, you yelled at Nikolai’s cousin ‘Yes, I’m fine!’ before she gave you a weird look and asked if you wanted some vodka mixed with your champagne. Truly, the only royal thing about Marina is her ungodly fortune but maybe that’s why you’ve grown to like her a lot - she’s down to earth and easy-going.

Nikolai squeezes your hand in a gentle, reassuring manner. “Just say the word and I will personally throw them out.”

“Kolya!” You gasp at his offer but it quickly turns into laughter. “They’re my parents and your in-laws!”

“They also refuse to show care and respect towards my beloved Queen.”

That mellow, loving look in his eyes nullifies any annoyance you might feel at his stubbornness. You pull your hand out of his grasp and place it on the side of his face. Consciously or not, he slightly leans into your touch. “I appreciate your concern.” Not minding the guards in the room, you’ve grown used to their constant presence, you peck his lips shortly. “But they have just arrived. You’ll warm up to them.”

Nikolai doesn’t answer at first. He only reconnects your lips, kissing you deeper, more desperately. When you feel his hands coming up to your waist, you lean away from him. For a moment, you swear you can see a grimace of dissatisfaction on his face.

“Be decent,” you reprimand him but the wide smile you wear so well rids your words of all seriousness.

“You started this.”

“And I will finish if you play nice.”

Nikolai takes a rather long step back, away from you,  just to make a point. He’s standing with his hands behind his back, an excited grin on his face. “You make an exquisite diplomat, you know that?”

“I learned from the best.”

The time for dinner came faster than you wanted it to. Anxiety bubbled inside your chest again. Still, you continued trying to soap up your eyes with thoughts that maybe when they sit across the table from a king, they’re going to withdraw their little jabs at you. As they say: Hope is the mother of all fools. And you’re about to learn that.

Nikolai raises his cup with wine. “A toast to our beloved Queen,” he announces in an official tone. Out of the corner of his eye, he spares you an adoring look. “Without her, I’d be a lonely, perplexed king. May we not know the world without her.”

To your horror, your father decides to join him. “May she get a grip and come to her senses.”

The dry wine tastes even more bitter as you take what’s supposed to be a celebratory sip. What if he’s right about you? It’s only the beginning of the evening and you already wish you can miraculously vanish or, worst case scenario, just run away. 

You’re about to take a bite of the roasted pheasant on your plate when your mother looks at you with raised eyebrows. She points her fork between you and the plate. “Should you really be eating all of this?” 

You don’t answer her. Whatever you say will only egg her on. Get a grip, you scold yourself and clench your fist to push fingernails into the sensitive skin of your palm. The pain is distracting, grounding.

 "You know, sweetheart, you're not getting any younger,” your mother continues. She always does that - throwing poignancies one after another and seeing what sticks. Now, when she’s literally the mother of the queen, she’s even bolder than before.

“Mother-”

“Don’t interrupt me.” She points her knife at you. “All I’m saying is as a wife, especially the queen, you have only one duty and you shouldn’t wait with it. Things will only get more difficult as you age.”

Nikolai gives your mother a bright smile. “Have no worries,” he cuts in. “We’re not waiting.”

You almost drop your fork. Flustering people is definitely one of his strategies but must he really involve your sex life in his word games? Although mortified at his bluntness, you must admit it works - your mother’s face is about the same shade as the roasted tomatoes on her plate. She casts her eyes downwards, poking at the food in front of her.

The air is filled with awkward tension but Nikolai doesn’t seem to mind in. In fact, he looks quite proud of himself. You, on the other hand, aren’t as good at putting up a believable front.

“So,” you begin in hopes of easing the atmosphere”, how are things back in…” You hang your voice. You were about to say ‘home’, only to realize that it would be an honest lie. The little town where you grew up hasn’t been home in years. “...Tamboyevka?”

“Oh, you know,” your mother says as she makes a dismissive wave with her hand. “Same old, same old. Cattle and field, nothing interesting to someone of your sort, I presume! There’s never been much use of you anyway.”

Listening to your mother’s condescending words, you push your fingernails further into the skin of your hand to distract yourself from the feeling of shame that continues to grow inside your stomach and pull you down with it. Maybe the marble floor will swallow you whole in the next few minutes and all of this will be over.

Then you feel Nikolai’s warm hand sneak between your palms, breaking up your painful distraction. He leans towards you ever so slightly and whispers:

“I’d much rather you pinch and scratch my hand than hurt yourself.”

You look at his concerned face. Words of reassurance, ‘Don’t worry, I’m alright’, nearly push past your lips when your father chimes in, continuing the conversation.

“But your brother, he bought some land down south,” he announces with excitement.

“More land?” you ask. “Ha barely manages with what he already has.”

The memory of your brother’s tired, grey face flashes before your eyes. Every time you see him, he looks even sicker than before as though he never sleeps or eats, only works in the field. He even collapsed on one July day and your parents kept saying that this is a sign of an honest, hard-working man but you weren’t as quick to call a man throwing up everything he eats ‘healthy’.

“You know how he is, always helping others.” Your mother is beaming with pride as if she’s the one doing the farming. “His crops feed two villages and it’s not nearly enough for him! Said he wanted tomatoes and citruses.”

Then it hits you. It’s not a revelation in any way but rather something you don’t think about too often - most of Ravka doesn’t get fruits in winter, especially the ones growing in warmer climates near the Shu Han border. And you not only can easily get it even when snow covers the grassy fields but you’re essentially fed it. Like that one time, you shared a tangerine with Nikolai while sitting in front of a fire, talking about unimportant things.

Despite your mother sitting right in front of you, her voice echoed in your head as though she’s a phantom haunting your thoughts and not a real person: Selfish. Spoiled. Entitled. Ungrateful. People starve because of you.

You focus on Nikolai’s warm, rough hand that’s still holding your own. The pleasant sensation is gradually grounding you, pulling you out of your head and into the present moment.

“What for?” you ask as casually as you can, not giving in to the spiralling thoughts. It still feels like you’re underwater, desperately gasping for air as your lungs burn. Squeezing Nikolai’s hand, you break the surface of the vicious tides trying to drown you in panic and shame.

Your mother, on the other hand, appears completely oblivious to your plight. “Some child told him they’d like oranges and he couldn’t say no. He’s wonderful, truly. A living Saint! What a blessing to call him my son. You should take a serious cue from him, young lady.” She waves the tip of her knife in your direction again. “But enough about your brother. What do you do when you’re not wasting time? Lay around and smell nice?”

“Well,” you swallow nervously, already knowing that she won’t be satisfied with your answer, “I meet a lot of people, take correspondence, travel across the country or read if I find the time.”

Nikolai must notice the telling crease of disappointment between your mother’s eyebrows. He joins the conversation under a skilful facade of a proud, boasting husband. “Don’t sell yourself short, love. Our Queen,” he puts strange stress on the title, “has started a scholarship for disadvantaged children, takes the time to teach young girls sewing, foreign languages and arithmetic.”

“That’s quite useless, isn’t it?” your mother looks between you and your father, not acknowledging Nikolai’s presence. She keeps stabbing the roasted pheasant on her plate with a fork as though there’s still life inside the poor poultry. “Shouldn’t you try harder?” she hisses at you. “If you continue being this lazy, the whole kingdom will fall apart! What will our neighbours say then?”

Nikolai suddenly gets up. He’s still holding your hand but you can’t be sure whether he’s doing that on purpose or if it’s just an unconscious reflex. The candlelight from the crystal chandelier cascades off his face, pronouncing the clenched muscles of his jaw - he’s angry and barely holding it in.

“Our meeting at this table is adjourned,” he announces in a firm voice. “This is beyond unacceptable. I have overlooked your transgressions simply because of your affinity to my wife. Still, I am disheartened and disappointed with the way you address your queen in her own home. The guards will escort you back to your chambers.”

You hear your mother and father trying to argue and protest, saying something about you being ‘too proud’ and ‘forgetting your place’ but you’re so dumbfounded you can’t make out the details. The guards lead them out of the dining room through one of the tall pairs of doors. When they close behind them, everything goes silent - the brick walls muffle any turmoil your parents might be causing.

Suddenly, your throat constricts. It’s hard to take a breath. Has it always been so hot in here? The tips of your fingers tingle, blood never reaching them.

He threw them out and you didn’t say anything. If they didn’t hate you before, they surely do now. You’re a disappointment, not their child. They haven’t done anything wrong, after all. You’re no good, useless, ungrateful, dramatic.

Suffocating with panic, you run out of the room through a different pair of doors, across the dining hall from the ones behind which your parents had recently disappeared. You hear Nikolai’s footsteps behind you but they are muffled by the noise of bloodflow ringing in your ears.

“Hey, talk to me,” he calls out in a soft voice. You turn around to look at him. His hand is almost at the height of your shoulder but it momentarily drops as though he just backed out from touching you. “What’s going on?”

For a man as smart as him, that’s a really stupid question.

“Why did you do that, Nikolai?” you snap at him.

His eyebrows furrow slightly. A gasp of disbelief brushes past his lips - he clearly thought the two of you were on the same page. “They were insulting you over and over again. I couldn’t just sit and listen to that.”

Truly, you should have expected that. He’s been adamant about standing up to your parents from the very beginning. Still, you’re angry that he just had to be stubborn and do the one thing you explicitly asked him not to do.

“What happened to laugh at insults? Isn’t that your own advice?”

“It is.” Nikolai finally finds it in himself to place his hands on your shoulders. “But I found myself unable to remain collected when the bitter words were aimed at you.” His palms brush against your dress and the skin of your neck until they’re cradling your face.

“I can,” you state firmly. “You should have let me handle this, I’m used to this.”

You escape his loving grasp and he lets you. Walking forward away from him, you’re not quite sure where exactly you’re heading. ‘Away’ would be a lovely direction but quite impossible when you’re confined to those four walls of marble and gold.

“You shouldn’t be,” Nikolai calls out after you.

Suddenly, you halt. You look at him around your shoulder. “What?”

“You shouldn’t be used to being treated like this,” he says in a defeated tone while walking towards you again. “They just keep putting you down, humiliating you. You’re not even slightly upset about that?”

“Of course, I am but…” you hang your voice, finally questioning your own feelings towards your parents. “It’s unfair for me to be angry with them. Ungrateful. I never went hungry or cold. They gave me medication when I was sick and made sure I went to school. Every year they’d give me something for my birthday. Neither of them has ever raised their hand against me. They’ve done all they could to give me a good life. Who am I to complain?”

“You’re the Queen,” he drones the word. His hand holds the side of your face again, thumb lovingly brushing your cheek. “People say your name in the same breath as the names of all the Saints. When I don’t know what to do or what decision to make, I always ask myself what you would do. And I’ve never once regretted that. There are important people who have agreed to my invitation only after hearing that you’ll be there too. You change everything. So you get to be angry when someone refuses to see that. I know you can take a few mean words but I don’t want you to.”

For a moment, the two of you stand in comfortable, intimate silence. Your absent gaze is stuck to the floor as you’re pondering his words. Whenever you’re about to accept that maybe, just maybe, you’re doing something good and important, the voice of your mother echoes inside your head: ‘Vain’. But Nikolai wouldn’t lie to you, would he? At least not in those circumstances.

“Can you keep a secret?” he speaks up quietly, bringing your attention back to him.

“Don’t tell me you put a wild racoon in my parent’s bedroom,” you joke, surprising yourself at your newly-found humour.

He scrunches his nose. “Alright, can you keep two secrets?” The echo of the empty halls carries your bright laughter. “To be honest, I wanted to marry you the moment you argued with me about stealing that merchant frigate in Kerch.”

“I could tell,” you answer with a slow nod. “You had a really stupid look on your face, all dazed and absent. In fact, you wore the same one on our wedding day.”

Nikolai’s lips turn into a playful smile and he’s about to say something definitely smart and smooth but a servant interrupts him:

“Your most royal highness,” she says nervously as she curtsies, “your mother wishes to see you. She seems thoroughly upset, if I may say so.” Judging by her fearful, wide-open eyes, she must have gotten a taste of your parents' hurt ego.

Anxiety once again floods your mind. Maybe you should go, apologize and pray they won’t go on a tirade about ‘raising you differently’. But then you hear Nikolai inconspicuously but meaningfully clear his throat.

‘You’re the queen’, his voice echoes in your head. A queen doesn’t cower and bow her head, does she?

“Tell her I don’t take visitations tonight,” you order the servant.

“Right away, моя царица.” She can’t hide the waver in her voice. Judging by her already fearful demeanour, she can guess quite well what will happen the moment she relays the information.

Yes, you will have to warn your parents that they actually can’t hurl insults at your servants. It’s going to be challenging, yes, but this newfound confidence is a ferocious beast, driving you to own up to the title of the queen - not in the way your mother and father want you to but in a way that you need to.

“Oh, one more thing.” The girl immediately stops and turns around at the sound of your voice. “Make sure they don’t leave their wing until either of us says so. I don’t want them wandering around my home.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

The servant bows again and leaves the two of you in a rushed step. Nikolai waits until she disappears around the corner to let his hand drop to the small of your back. He leans in close, indecently so. “I love it when you get all commanding,” he whispers against your neck.

An airy laugh leaves your lips as he pecks the soft skin behind your ear.

____

мой царь [mo-ee tzar] -> my tsar/king

моя царица [mo-ya tsa-ree-tsa] -> my tsaritsa/queen

[abbyromanoff]

Hello, Abby

I would like to request for a story about R and G!pWanda have financial problems, then they decide to be p*rn creators because they think it's the best way to earn money so fast. One day they set up the challage for their fans: who donate the most will be able to meet them and have dinner, which G!pNat happens to be the lucky one. Things are getting intense and Nat finally get to f*ck R while Wanda watching, dirty talking, and jerking herself off. Or they both f*ck R in both holes.

Thank you! I love all of your works❤️❤️❤️

The Lucky Winner

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x reader, Wanda Maximoff x reader, WandaNat x reader

Word count: 3,148

Warnings: smut, threesome, public sex, punishment, jerking off, masturbation, cunnilingus, R and Wanda are porn stars, Wanda and Nat both have dicks, degrading, pet names, praising, jealousy, mentions of bisexual!R, slightly manipulative!Wanda, financial struggles, breeding, no protection, thinks that’s it!

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

“Look, it’s all we can do right now! We can barely afford to eat, Y/N, would you rather fucking starve?” Wanda yelled, now standing from the table you sat at. The loud sounds of the pipes creaking and neighbors next door who were, once again, partying like college students.

“That’s not what I’m saying-”

“Then what? Why can’t we just do this, for us?” She spoke, a little softer this time.

“I want this money, Wanda, I do. I want to be able to go on dates or go out with friends or be able to have more than a meal a day, I do. But there are so many downsides too. I mean- what if one of our friends see it? Or better yet, our bosses! And how am I supposed to deal with the fact that I’m not the only one seeing your sexy body.” She stifled a laugh as you came to a close, a small pout forming on your lips. She grabbed both of your hands in hers, kissing the backs of them and kneeling in front of where you sat.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry.” She wiped the tears on your cheeks, you never liked arguing with her. “I know it won’t be easy, but just like you said, imagine all the dates we could go on. We’d get to live, not just survive. It will be weird at first, especially when we’re showing our bodies off to a bunch of horny dudes to jerk off to, but you just need to think of the outcome, love. I want to spoil you, but I can’t do that if we don’t do this.” She had always been so convincing and deceiving, some would call it manipulation, but you called it love. She loved you enough to worry about you and to want to get you both out of this mess. It was all for the money, you’d have to tell yourself, but you knew it would all be okay if you just had Wanda by your side through it all.

And that ended up being true. It had been almost a year since you two had started, and while she was telling the truth when saying it would be weird at first, you both eased into it over time. It had made you beyond the amount you could ever imagine from your old job, that you both decided to quit. You wanted more free time together, less stress. And with this job, you didn’t need to worry about your bank accounts any longer. You two had enough to get by and treat yourself a little bit at the end of each week.

In celebration of the near one-year mark of your shared account, you two had decided on what to do for your lovely fans. You thought of making a longer video, but realized that would’ve gotten boring for the audience. Then you thought about a live stream where your viewers could comment in the moment, telling you both what to do. Only to then realize some would be busy at work or in a different timezone, they wouldn’t be able to join.

Then it came to you, a competition. If you had multiple people bidding on one thing, it would bring in more money and would make it all the more thrilling and exciting for your fans. You brought the idea up to Wanda, hoping she’d agree, but she wasn’t always the best at doing so.

“Are you kidding me? You really think I’m gonna let you go on a date with some pervy old man who just wants to fuck you?”

“Wanda, we’d both be there. And it wouldn’t just be me getting fucked, it would be like a threesome, you’d be there too.” She looked at you dumbfounded, like you just told her you sold her house and kidnapped her dog.

“You really think some gross man would want to fuck me? I have a dick, Y/N, you should know that better than anyone else.” Your cheeks tinted the tiniest bit at her remark. But it was true, before you she was a virgin, as were you. And she hasn’t been with another person ever since she asked you out that one night, she’d be an idiot to do so.

“You never know, maybe it won’t be a man.” She sighed, massaging her temples as if she was handling toddlers.

“Okay, you’re really cute, Y/N, you are, but you don’t need to be a dumbass. 97% of our fans are males, and you think we’d somehow get that 3% of luck? Not to mention that it won’t be all of our fans so that percentage lowers. And not to mention they’re probably all broke, the highest bid will be a man, darling.”

“Ah, you said ‘will’! So, what do you say? We can get it over with and we’ll set some boundaries of what they can and can’t do, just to make sure we’re both more comfortable with the thought.” You gave her your best puppy-dog eyes in hopes she’d say yes, and while she did an amazing job at disagreeing with you, she was horrible at denying you.

“Fine. But, most of that money is going towards that new car I wanted, deal?” You nodded your head quickly, scaring her with your willingness to do such a thing. Creating the account was her idea at first, but you mostly ran the show now with your eagerness. It worried her sometimes, but it was so cute getting to fuck you in front of a camera with hundreds of thousands watching, knowing they’ll never get to touch. But now someone will, and she didn’t like that. But just like she had said at the beginning, it was all for the money. Oh, how she was starting to regret that statement.

“You ready, babe?” You were both standing outside of the restaurant, preparing yourself for a long night. You wore a red dress with a small slit at the end, your shoulders being on display with the loose spaghetti straps adorning them. Wanda wore black dress pants with a dark blue button-up, the top being unbuttoned just enough to barely get a glimpse of her bra.

“Of course, I am, darling.” She smiled, hoping it would convince you enough. It did, and you gracefully opened the glass doors, letting Wanda walk in a moment before you and then following.

“This guy better at least be cute if he’s fucking you. Wait- no, if he’s cute, I’ll kill him.” You chuckled at her possessiveness, rubbing her arm gently while you stood in line to ease her nerves.

“You know the only dick I want is yours, baby.” She grinned to herself, trying to hide her emotions as a worker came up to her, guiding her to where she would be sat.

You both sat there patiently as you waited for your third party to arrive, looking through the wine menu. The best part was that you didn’t need to look at the costs once, already having the whole thing covered by your generous tippers.

“Is this guy really standing us up?”

“Hey, if so, it sucks to be him.” The two of you were interrupted by a woman, who you at first thought must’ve been your waitress.

“Y/N and Wanda?”

“Uh, yes?” You both looked more than confused on how she knew your name, until it clicked in your brain on why you were even here in the first place.

“Perfect. I was your winner.” She sat down across from the two of you, who both had mouths parted slightly. She chuckled at your reaction before grabbing the menu, speaking in a calm yet unbelievably attractive tone. Wanda thought the same.

“I know, I bet you two were expecting a man.” You looked to Wanda to see her nodding, her eyes landing on the woman’s lipstick-covered lips.

“Well, I hope I didn’t disappoint.”

“No, not at all!” You spoke, a little too loud and causing an older lady from the other table to glance at you. You shyly looked down, rubbing the back of your neck and focusing your attention once again on the paper in front of you, even though you already knew what you were going to get.

“Awh, don’t get all shy on us now, baby,” Nat remarked, not seeming to care the way Wanda tensed up at her words. Her high heel grazed against your leg under the table, and the thoughts running through your mind were less than holy.

“So, Wanda, since this one is clearly a bit nervous right now, how did you two meet?” The conversation between them both went on for a few minutes until your waiter arrived, writing down everything you three asked of him, it was clear that he was new.

“Y/N? Why don’t you speak when you’re spoken to, alright?” Wanda said to you, muttering the words in your ear just loud enough for Nat to hear. She smirked, noticing the way goosebumps adorned your arms the more she spoke. You must not have heard what the two had said to you before, your thoughts being even louder than them.

“I’m sorry about them, they get a little shy sometimes.” You rested your hands in your lap, playing with your fingertips as the two spoke of you as if you weren’t even there.

“Oh, don’t worry, I think they’re just the cutest little thing I’ve ever seen.” She stared you down, biting her lip as she pictured how shy you’d be when she was in between your legs.

“You see, Y/N, I and your girlfriend aren’t so different after all.” That got both of your attention, watching with curiosity as she leaned back, and took a sip of her wine before speaking.

“In your…videos, you seem to just be a little cock-whore for Wanda. You’d do anything to get your mouth on her, you’re like an addict.” She started, humming to herself at the memories of the videos she had pleasured herself to many times, just wishing it was her fucking you instead. You were grateful for the loud tables near you, that way no one could hear the filth pouring out of her mouth.

“I wonder how addicted I can get you to mine in just one night.” Your eyebrows rose just enough for her to notice, a small laugh pooling from her mouth at you and Wanda’s shared reaction. She grabbed her purse from the table, standing up and giving you both her hand for you to follow. Wanda placed a hundred-dollar bill on the table and the three of you walked out. You guided her to the car that Wanda had been driving, letting her push you against the side as her lips connected with yours. Wanda watched, licking her lips and groaning when seeing her tongue slip into your mouth. You moaned, gripping the older woman’s arms as she held them by your head, refusing to let you go.

“Oh, Wanda, don’t be such a perv. If you’re going to watch at least help me a bit over here.” She kissed down your neck and to your exposed chest, smiling as it rose and fell rapidly. Wanda did as told, her hands running across your body like she’d never seen it before, but you all knew that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“That’s it? I’ve seen your videos, I know what you can do.” She looked around and Nat picked up on her worries.

“Really? You’re scared of people seeing you? Maybe you shouldn’t be posting your partner getting fucked by your cock every day then.” She gulped nervously, letting her fears slip away as she focused on you and your pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, I’ve been wanting to touch you since the day I saw you. Once I saw that offer, I knew I had to win. Then, I flew my private jet all the way over here, just so I could fuck you.” She pulled the small straps to your dress down your body, slowly letting the dress fall down your body as you were left bare in the warm night air. She dropped to her knees, grasping your thighs in her hands and pulling your hips forward.

“Ride my face, sweetheart.” You looked at Wanda for approval, only to see her palming herself through her pants. You looked back down at Nat, her hazy eyes staring into your own as you started a small, slow movement.

“I know you can do better than that, Y/N.” She mumbled against you, sticking her tongue out and letting you set your pace. You let out a deep breath, examining the parking lot that was completely empty besides for a few cars and the three of you. Your hips moved on their own as moans left you, your hands traveling to your breasts to tease them.

“Oh- yes! Fuck me, Natty, ruin me!” Wanda could feel a small pang of jealousy in her heart, but she couldn’t deny the act was so pleasurable.

“You like this, Wands?” You asked the woman, cupping her crotch and feeling the hardness through her slacks. “You like watching me getting fucked by someone else?” Your breath was ragged, and Wanda couldn’t stop herself from thrusting into your palm. She watched your hips rut against Nat’s face and whimpered, kissing you with full force to regain some sort of dominance. Nat moaned against you, and the vibrations are what tipped you over the edge. You shook in her hold, your hand clutching Wanda’s shoulder as you tried to get a hold of something.

“That’s it, such a good girl for me, love,” Natasha muttered against your skin, slowly standing up with your juices coating her tongue. She watched you depart from Wanda, a line of spit following after. Her fingers went to your chin, bringing you forward as you could taste yourself on her. Once she let you go, she did the same to your girlfriend, making out with her sloppily as she moaned at your taste.

“You’re such a slut, Wands, letting me fuck your girlfriend like that, don’t you have any dignity?” She stared into her eyes as she grasped your waist, pulling you close to her as you felt her bulge press against you.

“How pathetic do you have to be to get off to a stranger fucking your sweet little thing.” Wanda looked down in shame, but her hard-on proved otherwise. Nat laughed when noticing it, resting her hand on the bulge gently. For a moment, Wanda thought she would go easy on her, until Nat pulled her hands back to slap her covered cock. She mewled, thrusting into the pleasurable pain that Nat gave her.

“Look at this. Look at your pathetic girlfriend, Y/N, can’t believe you settled down for something like that.” You wanted to speak, you really did, but it was nearly impossible to do so. Nat unbuckled her pants, gripping your hand in her own and guiding it to the waistline of her boxers. You shuddered as you felt her, she had to have at least a few inches on Wanda. In a moment of confidence, you grasped her cock in your hands softly, letting it free from its confinements. You stroked her length, watching as her mouth twitched open and her eyes shut. You turned to Wanda, doing the same and relishing in the way they both chased after your hand. You ran your thumb over their tip ever so slightly whenever you got the chance, watching as they mumbled incoherently and panted against you.

“Mm, look who’s putty in my hands now.” You stated, licking your lips as pre-cum drooled out of both of their lengths. You wanted to taste them, but you wanted them inside of you at the same time.

“You act so tough, Natty, but in reality, you’re just a slut desperate for anyone’s touch.” You fired back, teasing her for all the degrading words she used earlier on. She whimpered, cupping your dripping wet cunt, teasing her fingers through your folds and teasing your clit.

“You get yourself off every day to two people fucking, just wishing someone would touch you the way I do. So instead, you waste thousands of dollars just to get your hands on someone, talk about pathetic.” Your lips quirked up, thinking you had her completely under your control. Oh, how wrong that was. She gripped your wrist harshly, slamming your front against the side of the car, your body being on display for the both of them. Natasha pressed her head against yours, her mouth next to your ear as she whispered,

“I guess being a nasty slut really is all you can fucking do.” Wanda stood next to her, her tip teasing your entrance before she slipped in with ease. You sighed contently when the head of her cock entered you, only to throw your head back when the rest of her joined. She shivered at your warmth, creating a slow pace of dragging herself in and out of you.

“You’re still mine, baby. You’re still my fucking bitch.” Wanda whispered against you, her head in the nape of your neck as Nat watched with her cock in her hand.

“Oh, God-”

“Yeah, I’m your God, baby.” Her teeth ran across your neck before pressing down, a whimper escaping your lips as you felt her tongue soothing the pain.

“Good girl, Wands, you’re fucking our girl so well.” She clenched her teeth at the word ‘our’, her jealousy overruling the coil in her stomach that had been building up.

“You gonna cum, Wanda? Hm? You gonna get our slut pregnant?” She nodded, unable to speak as she chased her high. You had already been on birth control ever since high school, so you didn’t need to worry about pregnancy, but it had always been a deep desire of Wanda’s. The fascination grew on you, and soon enough, you were begging her to cum inside of you every night.

“Oh- fuck! I-I’m-” She was cut off by her orgasm, her juices painting your walls white as your bit your lip to stop yourself from screaming.

You didn’t get to experience your high as, once Wanda had released, she was already starting to pull out.

“Wait-”

“Ah, ah, bad girls don’t get to cum, Y/N.” You were suddenly turned around, your body weak as your breath was too. You noticed a small gathering near the end of the street, they wouldn’t be able to see you from here but if they got any closer you would’ve been caught. The two of them seemed to notice this too and opened the door to the back seat for you.

“Now, put on your dress and get in the car. Me and Wanda want to fuck you properly this time.”

[gyorouis]

⭑.ᐟ ALUMNI HOMECOMING

⤷ have you ever been in loved? revisit the thrill of young love where romance and playful antics collide in the most delightful ways. each story unfolds with a blend of youthful emotions and unforgettable connections, turning every moment into a fascinating exploration of being in love.

TITLE TRACKS ˎˊ˗

CHOI YEONJUN

hopelessly yours (suitor!yeonjun) ⤷ yeonjun's charming efforts and heartfelt gestures finally gets you to say "yes."

CHOI SOOBIN

why i love you (bf!soobin) ⤷ after a heated argument, soobin gave you space knowing your coping mechanism is self-isolation.

CHOI BEOMGYU (soon)

biggest plot twist (playboy!beomgyu) ⤷ beomgyu’s playboy ways lead to a heartfelt confession when you left him.

KANG TAEHYUN (soon)

charmed & snobbed (senior!taehyun) ⤷ when you thought that your club senior hates you, well it turns out...

HUENING KAI (soon)

jealous jams (jealous bf!kai) ⤷ he loves serenading you, but you didn't know that there's a reason behind it, until now.

gyo's note: hello everyone! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ this is gyo, and i wanted to take a moment to express my heartfelt gratitude for your incredible support ( ˶°ㅁ°) !! and for finding joy in my work. ૮꒰⸝⸝> <⸝⸝꒱ა i am deeply thankful for the chance to do what i love and share it with all of you. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ it means more than words can say. for this special project, i’m thrilled to share some of my favorite opm band songs ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა˖⁺‧₊˚ and weave stories that reflect a little bit of what my culture looks like. thank you from the bottom of my heart. (,,>﹏<,,) you will be loved, xoxo!

jump back in to your daily playlist !

[mathmodder]

Get Wild & Ocean Life MOD Version 2.1 Trial

Hello nature lovers and marine life enthusiasts!

I am thrilled to share the LATEST TRIAL VERSION of GetWildMOD and OceanLifeMOD 2.1. This is the final trial version before the official release, so don't miss out!

What is this mod?

This mod combines two exciting projects into one, offering enhanced sound and visual effects. Now, beetle spawners in your game also spawn birds, mammals, amphibians, new insects, and much more! Additionally, sailboat effects in your world will now spawn whales, dolphins, seals, sea turtles, saltwater crocodiles, and other sea creatures. With over 300 different types of animals, this mod will bring vibrant life to your game! Get Wild and Ocean Life Trailer - The Sims 3 Mods (youtube.com)

What's new in this update:

- *Accelerated spawn rates:* Animals now appear more frequently in your game.

- *Increased sea animal spawns:* Sailboats in your world will now attract more sea animals, creating a richer, more dynamic environment.

How to test:

1. *Remove previous versions:* Delete all files from earlier test versions to ensure the new update functions smoothly.

2. *New OPTIONAL Addons:* Update of my old mod versions allow insects to fly more freely, and ALSO serving as spawners for both ground and flying animals, thus populating your map with more wildlife.

*ATTENTION:* These addons increase the number of animal spawns, requiring a PC with good processing power. If you have an older PC, use only one addon. If your PC is powerful, feel free to use all addons without worry!

GetWildMod Addons:

- *Addon 1:* Enhanced Butterflies - spawns additional wildlife!

- *Addon 2:* Enhanced Will-o'-the-wisp Butterflies - spawns additional wildlife!

- *Addon 3:* Enhanced Fireflies - spawns additional wildlife!

Important note:

This is a trial version. If you encounter any issues or have feedback, please share your thoughts to help improve this experience for everyone. Connect with me on Tumblr or Patreon!

Join us on this exciting journey to bring our virtual worlds to life. I look forward to hearing about your experiences and seeing how this addition transforms your adventures!

Download the new trial version of GetWildMOD and OceanLifeMOD on [Patreon].

[garoujo]

Imagine riding a needy nagi seishiro whilst shotgunning him ♡

✩ ˛˚ . NAGI SEISHIRO ; — nagi doesn’t think he’s ever felt as relaxed as he does beneath you.

warnings: f!reader, weed use, all characters written 22+, shot-gunning. note: i will forever remain obsessed with this agenda i am not normal about it <3 also this is v sloppy written i’m sorry sob i just bashed this out in 20 mins :<

“does it feel good, sei?” you gasp as nagi watches you, hes all bated breathes and flushed cheeks, sweating hard as he lets your words roll around his clouded mind. he feels fuzzy, his mouth suddenly dry as his head drops back against the back of the couch when you sink down onto his cock again, pulling a dreamy, needy whimper from the snowy haired striker beneath you as you bounce on his lap.

good—was an understatement, the tingling along his limbs is only exaggerated by the weed mixed with how perfectly your pussy is hugging around the length of him, pressing him deeper along the swollen spots inside of you that make you bear down on him eagerly.

nagi liked having you like this, half clothed and lazy as you take another long draw of the joint hanging between your pouty lips, the smoke of your exhale curling into the room before it thins out. he gives you another starry eyed look before he moans, half lidded and blown out gaze meeting yours as his toes curl against the carpet beneath him.

“sei~ don’t be mean, answer me.” it’s such a pain how fucking cute you look right now despite how well you’re taking him, you’re like a demon in one of his video games as you lean back but still manage to lure him in. your pretty breasts bounce with every intoxicating roll of your hips and he can’t help but reach out to take a handful of them, pinching and kneading before your fingers are brushing through the messy bangs across his cloudy, bloodshot gaze and he finally speaks.

“fu—uck, angel. yeah..” nagi begins before his train of thought trails off, suddenly too enamoured by the press of your body underneath his palms as he squeezes at you, easing you along the length of him despite the way he feels like he’s full of cotton and so fucking close already. “jus’ don’t wanna cum yet, g’na give you more first.”

it’s needy and a little desperate the way he’s still managing to roll his hips up into you, slow and languid but still making your insides curl and ache with how deep he feels like he reaches — throbbing inside of you as you press him even deeper into the cushions below you both.

“do you want more of this?” you purr as your fingers graze under the neckline of his hoodie and nagi’s never felt so warm in his life, he’s flushed to his chest but he still nods with a slow blink before he’s knocking his head against yours drowsily, although managing to smear a kiss along your cheeks before he’s mumbling out a “y-yeah. share w’ me though, please.”

the white paper glows as it crackles, cherry eating away at it before you’re slowing your pace to a roll as you inhale — but your boyfriend’s greedy when he moves to curl his hand around the back of your neck to draw you into him. your fingers twist naturally into the snowy peaks of his bed head before you pull and it’s almost erotic the whimper that pours from his lips as you kiss him.

“mffff—pretty thing.” it’s slow and messy as the heat of your exhale floods his mouth and senses, urging him to inhale instinctively as you press yourself closer — rolling your hips lazily against his as his free hand curls and kneads at your ass and hips. nagi feels utterly consumed by you as he loses himself in the dreamy tightness, his lungs trembling with how enthralled he is by the press of your lips and the hug of your body.

the room feels like it spins and his cock throbs when you lick into his mouth, gliding your tongue along his own until he’s grinding himself up deeper into your warm cunt and he feels like he’s fucking melting beneath you. you only pull away to breathe and he already misses the thrilling tightness in his chest as he exhales, allowing the kiss to break wet and smokey despite the way he dreamily follows you forward as you pull away.

“hey— no fair, why’d you stop.” nagi’s eyes are still closed when he asks, smoke trailing from his lips as he speaks but his gaze is sleepy and lidded when he leans back to blink up at you. he pouts through his heavy, lustful expression before he’s letting his hand smooth through his hair — even more mused from your own touch before he’s haphazardly—and clumsily—pulling his hood up over his head.

“to breath, seishiro.” you giggle before you’re leaning back to rest the remaining joint back in the ashtray on the coffee table. but the movement only seems to press his cock even deeper into you when you fall back into his arms and another dreamier, sweeter moan falls from his lips this time when they part.

your arms hook around the back of nagi’s and you let them graze underneath the neckline of his hoodie, making him shudder as goosebumps trail along his skin at your touch — his senses heightened by the weed in his system and the warmth of you. but it still feels natural the way he lets himself curl into you, face pressing into the crook of your neck as he smears wet kisses along your collarbones between slurred grumbles and drowsy, drawn out whines as his body rocks seamlessly with yours.

“eh, breathing’s so bothersome. can go again, come on. gimme more.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[tragedybunny]

Dance With Me Under the Diamonds, See Me Like Breath in the Cold - Astarion x F!Reader

I've been waiting to write this for some time. I'm absolutely thrilled with it and I hope you think it's beautiful.

Reader and Astarion have come a long way since that meeting on the beach. They've made it all the way to their wedding.

“Where in the hells is Gale?” Astarion fusses while fidgeting with the brocade crimson overcoat he’s wearing. “That man is always late.”

“He’ll be here Love,” you give him a small kiss on his cheek and take his hand, trying your best to keep things calm. "He's not even actually late yet."

“Still haven’t found patience to be a virtue I see,” Shadowheart strolls over to the two of you where you wait under an arbor of night-blooming jasmine, her arm hooked in Lae’zel’s.

“Would you expect any different,” Lae’zel adds a wide smile to her words, an attempt to make it clear she’s joking. The Githyanki has certainly seen her share of change since you met her, really hadn’t you all though?

“While I’m glad you two have finally developed a sense of humor, I’d rather not be the subject of it.” You can feel his agitation rising and it’s your turn to silently plead with the universe for Gale to hurry up.

“Perhaps he’s nervous,” Lae’zel turns to her partner, pretending Astarion isn’t right there fuming.

“I am not!” Before he gets any more worked up, they both pull the pair of you into a sudden embrace, leaving Astarion stuttering and you trying not to giggle at his expense.

“Congratulations you two, we’ll go mingle and pray for Gale’s safety if he’s any later,” The two of them join arms again and make their way back over to the crowd greeting an enthusiastic Mol and her gang of children that’s expanded beyond just the original tieflings. They’re becoming quite the criminal enterprise. There are so many people here, lives you’ve both touched. Originally you’d planned to just stay at your little house for the event, but when more requests to attend kept coming, you had to choose somewhere else. Duke Ravenguard had graciously offered you private use of Bloomridge Park.

“You are nervous, aren’t you,” you whisper mischievously and watch him try to hide it.

“Of course not, I managed to convince you to come this far, now it’s all formality,” your heart skips a beat when he smiles, the tips of fangs peeking out from under his lip. Smiles like that were all too rare when you first met him.

“I don’t recall needing much convincing.” Truthfully, you don’t remember what had brought the subject up, but Astarion had reminded you that it wasn’t a point, legally speaking, as neither of you technically existed.

“It doesn’t have to be in an official record anywhere, it’s just a promise we would make to one another. And we do know the perfect Cleric for a nighttime ceremony.” The way he’d just stood there for a moment you thought you'd said something wrong. Perhaps it was bringing up a Cleric and making it a sworn oath, he didn’t exactly have any love for religion. But then he was dropping to his knees, taking your hands in his, and begging you to be his wife. It was appropriately dramatic for him. And now, here you were, gathered with friends and found family, waiting on a late wizard.

“Brother!” Beside you, Astarion braces and a pale figure collides with him, embracing him tightly

“Hello Dal,” he gingerly returns her hug, as you notice Aurelia remaining a respectful distance behind them. “It’s good to see the both of you too,” he nods in Aurelia’s direction. His relationship with his “siblings” is complicated, but the horror they shared bonds them, and some of them have tried to make a family out of what is left to them. Dalyria seems to be the most persistent, she even had the two of you come visit their home in the Underdark.

“I’m so happy for you Astarion,” she finally releases him but leaves a hand on his arm fondly. “You’ll have to come visit again. I’ll even make Petras promise to behave.”

There’s turmoil in him only you can see, he would love to forget about anything that reminds him of Cazador, but the sisterly love Dal tries to give him is something he’s missed in his life. “At least it will be safer for him that way.”

“Stop,” she smiles and gives him a peck on the cheek. “We’ll talk more later.” As she walks away, Aurelia gives a stiff wave.

“His time is up, he's de-” A flash of light interrupts and when it fades two figures are standing amongst the crowd, a wizard you know well and one you briefly met.

“Sorry for the wait,” Gale begins awkwardly, trying to ignore Astarion’s considerable glare, “we were occupied in a bit of an undertaking…”

“But I am sure you will find the reasons most acceptable,” Elminster takes over, giving your floundering friend a reprieve.

Another flash of light as two more figures appear and you can't believe your eyes. Your heart leaps and you shout inadvertently. "Karlach! Wyll!" Without a second thought, you launch yourself at both of them, Astarion following along more reservedly.

"Steady on there, Soldier," Karlach pulls you into a smothering hug.

"How," you ask, smoothing the cream lace of your dress as she lets you go, still stunned she's outside Avernus without exploding.

"Wizards," Wyll smiles, glancing at Gale and Elminster. "We had to find a way back, there's no way we'd miss this."

"It won't hold forever, but we think we've got a way I can come back for visits. Until we get something permanent. Good news is Zariel's seemed distracted by something lately."

"I suppose overall this is an appropriate excuse for being late," Astarion finally relents.

"Aww, come on Fangs, don't be sour, it's your wedding." Karlach has a wicked gleam in her eye.

"Do not," but it's too late, the tiefling picks him up in a crushing hug. "I missed you too Karlach."

Tears suddenly start to form in your eyes, seeing them all together again, it was something you feared might never be. Wyll gives Asatrion a less brutal greeting and you turn to Elminster. "Thank you. You will stay right," it's the least you can do.

"Gale has assured me there are to be many culinary delights after, and of course, I've never seen a vampire spawn get married. So I believe I shall."

"Ah. I see Father made it," Wyll waves to Duke Ravengaurd who had been waiting a respectful distance away. "Best go see him, we'll catch up more after."

"You both better save a dance for me," Karlach calls over her shoulder, taking his arm, and kissing his temple.

"Tell me you have them," Astarion has fixed his attention back on Gale, and you rush to his side before he can begin another tirade.

"Worried I would eat them?" Gale has recovered himself from Astarion’s initial onslaught and is smiling brightly.

"Yes," your beloved is still in no mood for jokes.

"Honestly Astarion," you give him a look.

"Ugh, fine, I'll calm down. Once he hands them over." You're lost as to what Gale has that's so important considering the occasion.

"Never change my friend," he laughs and pulls a small box from a pocket on his robes and opens it gently. Inside there are two gold rings with small red stones set in them, you can feel the hum of magic in them.

“Sending Stones?” You glance at Astarion as he takes the box from Gale.

For a moment he seems almost shy about it. “I thought it would be nice if we were always able to speak to each other, no matter what. I know it’s not feasible to never be separated.” The two of you had spent almost every moment of the last couple of years in each other’s presence, but as Astarion continued to heal, he seemed more comfortable with time spent apart.

“You’re adorable, you know that,” your lips brush the tip of his nose, the gift is an incredibly sweet sentiment, and you’re so proud of how far he’s come.

Under the right circumstances, vampires actually can blush. “I..” he starts, sounding like he’s going to grouse about something, probably being called adorable in front of everyone, but stops. “I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why you think that my Love, after everything I’ve done.”

You reach up to brush his cheek and run a finger through his curls. “That wasn’t who you really are.”

“I take it, we're ready.” Isobel joins you under the arbor, eyes already fixed on the moon above, and you both nod in response. “Then let us begin,” her voice carries to the crowd and silence falls. “We come here, under Our Lady’s Light, to bless this couple and sanctify their bond.”

You honestly don’t remember many of Isobel’s words after that as Astarion takes your hand and you get lost in his soft, crimson eyes. Maybe it’s a bit terrible of you to ask Selune’s blessing and then not pay attention, but you think she can understand. “The rings,” Isobel prompts and Astarion retrieves them from his pocket, opening them so the Cleric can bless them. “May the Moonmaiden’s light ever guide your hearts toward each other.” A nearly imperceptible mote of silver light seems to land on them and lends the jewels in them an unearthly glow.

Astarion tenderly picks one up as you proffer your finger. Isobel had agreed to let you both speak your own vows, as long as they didn’t directly offend any of Selune’s teachings. You’d reassured Astarion every step of the way that you didn’t need it to be a sworn oath in front of clergy, but he’d oddly insisted, saying he wanted to swear himself to you to the fullest. “As long as it’s Isobel though, she’s the only trustworthy one.” Shadowheart was still figuring out how much religion she wanted in her life, though it seemed Selune was patient as she continued to have a Cleric's gifts.

The ring slips on your finger perfectly and your heart stutters, your vision getting watery again. You do the same for him in turn and you both entwine your hands, speaking in unison. “Unto thee, I vow, mine heart and home, mine life and love, for now, and all seasons. Let me never from thy side be parted, and unto thee, no evil do. Until, at last, my life shall leave me, this my beloved, is my pledge to you. So I do swear.”

“And so sworn before our Lady, I do pronounce thee wed.” The crowd behind you applauds, and you can barely see Astarion through the tears.

Lae’zel and Karlach are shouting raucously, “Kiss! Kiss!”

You start to lean forward and notice his eyes are just as wet as yours. “Hells, why did I agree to do this in public,” he laughs, dabbing his cheeks with the cuff of his sleeve.

“You couldn’t miss being the center of attention,” your laugh is lost in a happy sob. “Damn it, kiss me before I pass out or something.”

Softly, he pulls you in, lips finding yours. The chaste peck turns deeper, giving the crowd what they want judging by the noise. But then something unexpected happens, there’s the tinkle of mischievous laughter, as though a woman stands near to you. A voice that’s both honey-sweet but radiating power whispers in your ear, “congratulations my dear child,” and you feel a surge of fae-touched magic, reminding you of that day you took a different oath.

The kiss breaks and Astarion is staring at you, surprise clearing away his tears. “I know you.”

Everything goes numb in the rush of terror that follows, he’d learned some of who you were before the Nautiloid, but there was much still to tell. “Astarion I’m so-”

A slender finger is pressed to your lips. “Hush Love, tomorrow. And it changes nothing, I still love you with all my unbeating heart. Now let’s indulge everyone since they came all this way to celebrate us.”

The night is full of feasting, drinking, song, and dancing. The two of you mingle with old friends and those whom you met only briefly, the scents of a delectable feast wafting through the air. When the music starts, you share a waltz under the night sky, Astarion holding you close and whispering in your ear, “love you Sunlight.”

True to her word, Karlach insists on a dance with both of you, surprising you with her talent for it. “I’ve been teaching her,” Wyll looks over at her and Astarion lovingly from where he’s dancing with you. “Once you find a safe place to rest, Avernus can be a bit boring.”

You stumble across Lae’zel, angrily giving gold to Mol and her crew. “She lost a bet,” Mol says proudly.

“Oh really, and what sort of scam bet did you get her to agree to, my favorite tiny criminal” Astarion asks fondly. Mol comes to visit you sometimes and you’ve decided you’d rather not know what he’s been teaching her.

“She thought you might light on fire as soon as it got religious,” Mol laughs and scampers off.

Astarion pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’ve seen me in temples before.”

“Chk, but never swearing an oath.”

“She has a point,” you nudge him playfully.

“Oh you are going to pay for that later,” he leans in to nip at your neck, causing you to shiver.

Dawn nears much too soon and you can see some of his happiness evaporating. There still was no solution you’d found to let him live in the light. “We should go,” you whisper in his ear, “what’s a wedding without the wedding bed?” Ever so lightly, you let your tongue brush against his ear, a spot of divine torment for him you’ve found, and listen as he gasps softly.

“Indeed my Love,” his mood revives and the two of you make your good-byes, your friends having promised to clean up the aftermath of the night. A young woman you think you recognize passes you an open bottle of wine on the way out of the park, “a gift from summer’s best,” she says and it fills you with a strange sensation for a moment before Astarion’s mouth is on yours again.

Your house isn’t far from Bloomridge and the two of you stroll the streets in a blissful, dreamy state, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing drinks from the wine that tastes of sweet berries and summer rains. Lights dance in the morning mists and everything feels transcendtly perfect as you ascend the steps to your home. Astarion pins against your front door, kissing you hungrily and letting his hands wander your body. “My wife,” he breathes against your skin as his lips travel down your neck.

Heat sparks inside you, ravenous for him. “My husband,” you sigh, lost in your love for him.