#and I want to just call him but that’s even more noticeable and I don’t want to cause tension for him or have her dislike me even more

[blaire-apricity]

Lip balm

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ synopsis┆ : Chapped lips are always a hassle, but you found a solution to it.

ᯓ❅ ┆ tags┆ : short fiction, soft, fluff & possible OOC

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

You grumbled softly at the uncomfortable sensation of your dry lips. It had been a constant problem lately. Fortunately, you always carried a chapstick with you. You shifted slightly from Xavier’s warm embrace, where you had been cuddling, and his eyes followed you, curious. As you rummaged through your bag, he silently observed your movements with a calm fascination.

Pulling out the chapstick, you removed the cap, the pop sound breaking the silence of the room. You applied it slowly, biting and plucking your lips gently to ensure the balm spread evenly. When you turned back, you found Xavier watching you intently, his eyes filled with a curious softness, as if he were studying something new. He looked almost childlike in that moment, an adorable curiosity lighting up his features, which made you chuckle.

Returning to his side, you snuggled back into his arms, and he welcomed you without hesitation, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you in closer, his warmth enveloping you again.

“What was that?” he asked, a hint of curiosity lingering in his tone.

“Lip balm,” you replied casually, looking up at him with a playful smile. “For dry lips.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his usual composed expression softening as he mused. That’s when you noticed his own lips, slightly cracked at the edges. “You’ve got some dry lips too,” you pointed out, mimicking the motion on your own lips.

Xavier blinked, touching his bottom lip absentmindedly. You reached for the chapstick again but paused, a mischievous idea forming.

“Xavier,” you called, drawing his attention with a sly tone. He looked at you, still innocently curious, and you cupped his cheeks gently. Leaning in, your lips met his in a soft kiss, the balm transferring smoothly onto his lips.

When you pulled away, you couldn’t hide your triumphant smirk. His reaction was priceless—his ears turned a faint shade of red, and a soft blush crept over his cheeks. He blinked a few times, his gaze softening as he smiled at you, as if you had just made him fall for you all over again.

“Again,” he whispered, his voice even softer than before.

“What—”

“Kiss me again.”

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

“Ugh… my lips are cracked again,” you groaned in frustration. The cold, rainy weather lately had done a number on your skin, especially your lips. It was becoming annoyingly routine.

Zayne, sitting at his desk reviewing surgical documents, sighed softly at your complaint. Without looking up, he shook his head in mild exasperation. “You should drink more water. Hydration is key.”

You pouted at his statement, knowing full well you’d been drinking plenty. “I do drink enough,” you countered, unconsciously licking your lips, which brought a brief but welcome relief.

Zayne glanced up at you from his papers, his sigh a bit louder this time. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tube of lip balm and handed it to you. “Don’t lick your lips. When the saliva dries, it’ll make things worse.”

Accepting the balm, you stared at him, your eyes narrowing as they landed on his lips. “Wait, do you usually use this stuff?” you asked, a little surprised.

“I do,” he answered simply, his attention shifting back to his documents. You couldn’t help but notice how smooth and slightly glistening his lips looked, a fact that made you impulsively want to lean in and kiss him. You leaned forward slightly, but Zayne was quick, placing a firm hand on your shoulder before you could close the distance.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his tone calm but knowing.

Caught in the act, you huffed in mock annoyance, retreating with a playful pout. “I wanted to kiss you since you’ve already got balm on your lips…” Your voice trailed off, a little embarrassed by your boldness.

Zayne didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he set his papers aside, cupping your cheek with one hand as he expertly uncapped the balm with the other. He applied it to your lips with a gentle touch, the cool sensation of the balm contrasting with the warmth of his hand.

Just when you thought it was over, he finished applying the balm, then leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The kiss was tender, yet it left your heart racing, as if it had been your first kiss all over again.

“There,” he murmured, pulling away, the corner of his lips curling into a faint smile. You were certain you’d melt into a puddle right there on the spot.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

“Rafayel! You need to put some lip balm on, your lips are cracking,” you said, arms crossed as you lightly scolded the ever-dramatic mermaid.

He huffed in response, crossing his own arms in an exaggerated manner and turning away from you with a sharp flick of his hair. “No! I’ve never used that stuff, and I don’t plan on starting now. You’re my bodyguard, not my nanny!”

It was impossible not to laugh at his theatrics. Most of the time, you felt more like you were babysitting him than anything else, whether you were on duty or spending time together outside of work.

Rafayel narrowed his gaze when he heard your chuckle. “Are you laughing at me?” he asked, a suspicious edge to his tone.

“Not at all,” you said with a smile that betrayed your denial. “But seriously, if you don’t use something, your lips will start bleeding.” You held out a tube of chapstick, but he shook his head vehemently.

“I’ll survive,” he retorted, turning his head stubbornly.

You rolled your eyes and opened the tube, stepping closer. He backed away immediately, like a startled cat. “I don’t need it!”

“You do!” you insisted, gripping his chin gently, but he kept squirming and moving, making it impossible to apply the balm. You probably smeared it on his cheek at this point.

“Stay still!” you laughed, struggling to keep up with his evasive maneuvers.

“No!” he whined dramatically, but you had a trump card. Without warning, you leaned in and kissed him, catching him completely off guard. His eyes widened, and he froze in place as your lips met his, allowing you to finally apply the balm.

Pulling back, you smirked and gave him another quick peck. “See? Now your lips are nice and smooth whenever I kiss you.”

Rafayel was left speechless, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He blinked, clearly malfunctioning from the surprise kiss.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬

Sylus chuckled as he examined your collection of lip balms, spread across the bedside table. His deep voice resonated in the room, a soft echo in the intimate setting. “Why do you need so many different lip balms?”

You were lying on your stomach, scrolling through your phone, only half-listening. “In case I lose one,” you said nonchalantly, barely glancing up.

“Uh-huh,” Sylus drawled, clearly amused. “And you need two extra pairs?”

“They smell different,” you added, more engaged in your screen than the conversation. When you finally glanced up, you saw him inspecting the melon-flavored balm you used most often.

He twisted off the cap, raising it to his nose. “Smells like melon, all right,” he commented.

“Don’t you use one?” you asked, tilting your head as you studied him.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, leaning against the edge of the bed. “Not really,” he replied smoothly. His eyes flickered with interest as he glanced at your lips. “What flavor are you wearing now?”

“Strawberry, I think?” you replied, a bit unsure. You touched your lips, trying to catch the scent.

Sylus smirked at your uncertainty. “Why don’t you try tasting it?”

Your brows furrowed, about to respond when Sylus leaned in, pressing his lips to yours before you could say another word. His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his tongue darted out, grazing your bottom lip.

The kiss took your breath away. When he pulled back, his signature smirk was firmly in place. “You’re right,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “There’s no taste.”

Your lips tingled, and you could only stare at him, still processing what had just happened. Sylus motioned to his own lips, now coated with your chapstick. “Guess I use lip balm now too.”

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

╰｡ Author's Note: I had this idea for a while now HAHA, glad to have written it off. For once, I didn't stumble much on Zayne's part actually. Also I apologize for the different blog designs (especially my pinned post) but I was trying to keep the designs more minimal since at some websites and especially in phones there's some symbols that can't be seen. I hope I eliminated that one.

I probably should work more on my tags as well.

[sturnioz]

shy!reader has been pretty much m.i.a all week, and fratboy!chris does not care. no seriously, he doesn’t care.

he’s just kept his eyes peeled every night through crowds of sweaty bodies jammed into his living room, and even through the sluggish crowds of tired students in college hallways, yet he couldn’t find you.

it was on the 6th night when chris was seriously considering showing up at your place — for no reason just he needed your lit notes, of course —when he received a text from nick.

nick, the eldest — and no doubt more mature —triplet. chris’ eyebrows furrowed at the notification, why was nick texting him at 10:30pm on a weeknight? kid cares way too much about being on time for class in the mornings

—

Nick: *image attached* isn’t this one of your girls?

—

the somewhat blurry picture was taken from a distance in the old, dusty library on campus. you sat in a corner, a mess of notes, books and your laptop sprawled on the desk in front of you. you looked weak, your hair a mess, bags prominent under your eyes.

before chris could even react, his phone buzzed again

—

i’m not a total creeper, i’ve just noticed her here every night this week and i’m pretty sure she has not changed her sweatshirt once

or pretty much left this library.

i seriously hope this is actually her and not a complete stranger

you know what, i’m talking to her. don’t change my mind.

—

chris groaned, the realisation of finals week dawning on him. sometimes chris forgets how much college actually means to you, and how ridiculously sick it makes you.

he did not have time for this, he had customers to please, yet - he didn’t hesitate. he’s huffing and complaining pretty much the whole time, but he’s quick to make his way over to the library he’s really not too familiar with, saving you from the shackles that is a conversation with a redbull fueled nick sturniolo.

-

you can take it from here, love u pooks mwah

- 🫧

gonna take it from here in shy!readers pov cos i want nick and shy!reader to have some one on one time before fratboy!chris grumpily comes over !!

your back aches with a constant throb, your eyes feel gritty and sore, and a dull headache pulses at your temples, making it difficult for you to concentrate. hunched over in the dimly lit corner of the library, you've spent countless of hours — days — buried in textbooks, scribbles notes and laptop screens, desperately trying to absorb everything before your exams.

the week has been relentless, leaving you physically and emotionally drained, as if the weight of your studies is pressing down on you.

you haven't seen chris in almost a week. the silence has been deafening — no texts lighting up your phone, no calls breaking the quiet, and no facetime calls at late hours. truth be told, you did put your phone on do not disturb, silencing any incoming calls to shield yourself from distractions. it's not that you intended to cut off all communication completely; you simply needed space.

you needed to be alone, to gather your thoughts, and to focus on your studies, to not be distracted by his intense social life.

however, you are distracted when someone slams a stack of textbooks onto the table opposite you, the sound echoing in the quiet space. startled, you lift your tired gaze, and your heart thumps when you recognise a familiar that slumps into the seat across from you.

he runs a hand through his tousled mullet, adjusting the thin-framed glasses that rest on the bridge of his nose before flashing you a friendly grin.

you know who he is. you've seen him in countless pictures and instagram posts with chris and matt. yet, despite your familiarity with his image, you've never met him in person — you never even spoke a word to each other, and you find yourself sliding further down in your seat, a wave of awkwardness and shyness washing over you.

"hello—fuck!" nick curses as he sets his can of red bull down on the wooden table, only for it to topple over and spill a little. flustered and annoyed, he mutters under his breath, hastily dabbing at the tiny droplets on the table with the sleeve of his sweater. his eyes finally meet yours again, and he offers another grin. "hello."

"hi.." you manage to respond, your voice barely above a whisper.

"i've noticed that you're, like, constantly glued to this fucking seat, like you haven't moved the entire week—" nick pauses mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he realises how awful his wording sounds. he quickly holds up his hand, a look of urgency in his expression. "i'm not a creep. i wasn't staring at you. i know you—i think i know you—no, i do know you. you're, like, kinda with my brother. chris. that's you, right? god, tell me that's you, 'cos i'm gonna end up losing my mind—"

"yeah," you cut off his intense rambling, which is probably fuelled by the red bull he keeps fidgeting with. "that... that's me, yeah."

nick blinks at you in silence for a moment before he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and he bluntly says. "wow, you really are quiet," you become a little flustered at that, tearing your gaze away from him until he asks incredulously. "the fuck are you doing with chris of all people?"

a subtle smile pulls at your lips at that, especially when you glance back at his face and see the shock etched across it. honestly, you don't even know what you're doing with chris, but it wouldn't exactly be appropriate to go into the details with his brother. so, you simply shrug your shoulders in response.

nick suddenly deadpans. "blink twice if you need my help."

now that makes you laugh — a genuine, unexpected sound that splutters past your lips. you quickly cover your mouth, eyes widening as the sound echoes through the library and you glance around, paranoid that someone might shoot you the dirtiest look and demand you to shut up or leave.

but nick waves it off dismissively when he notices your worries, "they can go fuck themselves."

you remain silent for a moment, considering his words, before stating, "we... are in a library."

"then they can go fuck themselves quietly."

another genuine, but quieter, laugh escapes you. you find yourself relaxing a bit more with him, opening up and feeling more comfortable as nick takes charge of the conversation; showing genuine interest in your major, your studies, and your hobbies.

you do the same, getting to know him better, and even getting a little excited when you realise how many similarities you share. the more you chat, the more your cheeks start to hurt from smiling so much. the tiredness that had once taken over you begins to fade away, replaced by a lightness you haven't felt in days, and your books and notes sit forgotten on the table.

however, your head perks up in surprise when you spot chris walking through the double doors. he's wearing a beanie on top of his head with tuffs of curly hair peeking out, a hoodie that swallows his frame, and his hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his sweatpants.

he glances around the library, his eyes finally zeroing in on you and nick at the far end of the room. you can't quite read his expression — his face stoic as he makes his way over.

he drops down in the chair beside you, and nick immediately pulls a face, shooting you a look that makes you giggle again, and chris huffs at the sound, clearly unimpressed.

"stop botherin' her," chris mutters, his foot hooking comfortably beneath your chair as he settles in.

"m'not."

chris rolls his eyes, ignoring nick's response as he turns his attention to you. he takes you in for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing as he says, "tell him he's botherin' you, kid."

you can't help but smile gently. "he's not bothering me. he's been fun.. i like his company."

"told you," nick muses across from across the table. chris snaps his head towards nick, shooting him a glare as nick lifts the can of red bull to his mouth, a smirk spreading across his lips as he adds, "bitch."

[sleep-0-deprived]

What would it be like yandere bully vs yandere jock fighting over the nerd reader?

Yandere jock, bully fighting over nerd male reader head cannons~. ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა

For the sake of this post I’ll call Yandere bully(Damian) and Yandere jock(Jake) <33

When Damian first started bullying you it was out of the obsession he had built on you over the summer. Jake first noticed you when he was in study hall and was assigned you as his tutor, the two of you became really close during the tutoring sessions so much that he’d invite you to his place just wanting to be around you as much as he could. Dumping his cheerleader girlfriend asking you to come to his games even trying to get you to wear his jacket insisting it was just him “wanting you to show team spirit for him”.

Damian hating how close you got with Jake turning into pure hatred for the jock, it starts with Damian being a little meaner to you trying to get your attention nearly tormenting you daily in hopes you’d just focus on him. Jake always pushing Damian away or making him go away whenever he’s around. The two ending up going at it figuring daily, the cameras Jake had installed in your bedroom whenever he was over suddenly getting hacked by Damian.

Jake who asks you out getting you to some how say he’s taking a video of him having you in the backseat of his truck with your legs held spread wide getting stretched out with your lips making an “O” shape whimpering out “J-ake~!” Over and over when he hits your bundle of nerves penetrating you. Jake showing the video to Damian whispering “think he likes me more Mr bully?” In a mocking tone just to rile him up into a fury nearly having a tantrum only making his obsession over you grow.

Damian who pulls you out of lunch just to fuck you bent over in the back of the library, his hand over your mouth huffing degrading words in your ear “if I knew you were such’a damn slut I woulda given you a good fucking so long ago” his hands harshly punching your hips “did that dumb jock fuck you like this hm? Did he thrusts like this pretty boy?” Jerking your hair wanting to be the only man to ruin your hole—to touch and grip your skin, not that jock.

Jake stalking you after school making sure Damian doesn’t get any free chances with you. Jake giving you rides having your head between his thighs sucking him off behind school in the back of his truck just taking pictures without you knowing bragging and mocking Damian saying “clearly he likes my cock more? Don’t ya think Damian?” He’d caption the photo he sent Damian just to further fight wanting it known you chose Jake.

You finally snapping at the two of them arguing you weren’t in the middle threatening to never speak to either of them, they didn’t seem to like that, them ending teamed up on you for the greater good of keeping you. Damian In front of you in the janitors closet face in your chest knocking your books aside with his cock deep inside your ass having Jake behind you his cock rubbing against Damian’s with his hands on your hips holding you up in place murmuring “he’s being so good for us ain’t he Damian” only earning grunts and a “yeah he is” from Damian. Both them deciding then and there you were theirs, no choice needed you’d be passed and shared by only them.

[mischievousmoony]

Omg I love ur James fics. You think you could do one where reader finally feels comfortable getting drunk while going out with their group because she knows James is there to take care of her. Ur drunk reader x James interactions are too cute. I feel like I always have a hard time letting go cause I’m afraid I’ll need to take care of my other friends haha. Love your work!

thank u love! i have fun writing them, i just know james would be so caring! ps thank you for being patient ik this request came in a while ago

𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍

⟢ james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 1.0k ⟢ warnings/tags: intoxication (i think that’s it but lmk if i missed any pls)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"But what if Sirius tries to get a new tattoo again?" you ask, twisting back and forth with a steady squeak, squeak, squeak of your barstool.

James clasps his hand on your shoulder, turning you one last time to face him. "Remus is watching him."

"What if Marlene tries to go on another one of her adventures?"

Marlene has a knack for getting herself into precarious situations when she gets drunk, which she likes to call her “little adventures.” Usually, this means going home with a stranger, whether it’s for a hookup or to steal their lightbulbs because they looked at her wrong.

"Lily’s got her.”

"What if I do something stupid?" you ask, now swinging your legs. The nerves eating away at you just won’t let you sit still.

James puts his other hand on your knee, soothing you with a gentle squeeze. "I'm watching you," he says. After thinking it over for a moment, he adds, “And I don't think you'll do anything stupid. Even if you do, I'll do something more stupid so that nobody notices."

This earns him a giggle from you, and he’s happy to see you smiling. He picks up your glass, which is now covered in beads of water, plenty of time having passed for condensation to run its course. He dries what he can with a napkin because he knows you hate when the droplets land in your lap.

You once asked him why it happened, even though you knew the answer. He simply told you it was science.

“Science is stupid,” you had said, eyes fixating on several small spots of water soaking into your jeans.

Now, James wraps your glasses with napkins. He holds out your drink, a black napkin enveloped around it, as he asks, “You want to do this, right?”

You peek into the glass and watch the dwindling ice cubes swirl around in a vodka cran; a drink that James had called “beginner friendly.”

“Yeah,” you answer shyly.

James frowns. “It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind.”

You chew your bottom lip, thinking it over. A part of you wants to forget it, but another part of you knows you’d be disappointed in yourself for chickening out again.

You wrap your hand around the glass, cringing at the squish of the soggy napkin beneath your fingertips. You don’t know what’s worse: this feeling or the water dripping all over you. But James’ attempts to help make you feel warm inside, so you don’t complain.

“No, I still want to do this.”

“Then I’m here for you. Promise.” James gives your knee another squeeze.

You cast a look toward your friends. For years, you've nominated yourself as the designated driver. Or you've claimed to have early morning obligations. You've always felt better knowing someone sober was around to deliver plenty of water and carb-rich snacks to your incapacitated friends.

That was your excuse, anyway. Not that it isn't one of your concerns, but truthfully, something about drinking makes you feel uneasy. You always knew your friends were safe because you've been there, ready to hold back anyone's hair or stray them away from bad decisions. If you drank too, how could you be sure your friends would have someone to depend on? How could you be sure you would have someone to depend on?

Then, you started dating James, and you found a level of trust you never knew was possible. You know you can depend on him for anything.

When you admitted to him why you never drink when you go out, he swore up and down that he would be there for you.

Remembering his promise summons a wave of courage. You shoot James a nervous smile, and take your first sip, scrunching your nose as it burns your tongue.

"This is kind of gross."

James barks a laugh, "We can try to find something you'd like better next round. That is, if you decide to have another."

Feeling brave, you do have another. That's when you discovered something called the Cosmic Lemon Fizz; a drink that sparkles with edible glitter and manages to be blue, green, and yellow all at once. You laughed when you saw it, not knowing how in for it you were.

"Jamie!" you exclaim after taking a sip of your third Cosmic Lemon Fizz. "This tastes like happy feels!" you gasp as if the thought had just occurred to you, despite this being the fourth time you tell him.

"I bet it does!" James cheers. His eyes wrinkle in the corners as he beams at you.

"You should try one!" you declare, and immediately try to flag over the bartender.

James smoothly takes your hand, stopping you as he says, "No can do. Made a promise to a pretty girl that I wouldn't have a drop tonight."

You whip your head around. "Who!?" you ask, eyes wide.

"Who do you think, pretty girl," he says, poking you in the side.

Giggles escape you and you swat his hand away. He doesn't go far, lifting his arm to brush some stray hairs out of your face. His hand lingers on the side of your face, soothing the pad of his thumb against your cheek.

You lean into his touch, gazing up at him with an affectionate glaze in your eyes; a look that gives him butterflies.

"Wowww," you say dreamily. "You're handsome."

James feels his heart flip in his chest. "Thank you, love," he says, a soft smile playing at his lips.

"Hey," Sirius says, appearing out of nowhere as he lazily throws an arm over your shoulders, "How's it going over here?"

While you're distracted with Sirius, James waves over the bartender and replaces your drink with water. The next time you reach for your glass, you hesitate.

"Where's my cosmo magic fizzy thingy?" you ask, an eyebrow raised as you glance at James.

"You must've finished it," he shrugs, acting clueless.

"That's like the oldest trick in the book. You replaced it with water and now you're trying to be sneaky!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," James feigns innocence.

You giggle, bringing the straw to your lips. "I knew you'd take care of me. I love you," you say, happily sipping your water.

James feels another eye-wrinkling smile break out on his face. "I love you too, pretty girl."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[darnell-la]

can we get some nsfw of logan heavily infantilizing reader? i know he's a mean mean man and i want him to make us cry 🥺 just wanna be doted on but also fucked like a beast

note: Logan is a very nasty individual in this story. He’s degrading, calls the reader out of her name many times, fucks rough, is manipulative, possessive, and more…

having Logan Howlett claim you are one of the best-given things that could happen.

———

How do you guys feel about a x men story with reader? Logan being rude Logan at first, then slowly shows small affection towards the reader. Jealousy and things of that sort. They soon hit it off, and after Logan starts acting rude again, because he’s scared of the love he grew for her. It’ll be a long story, but something to read at night. ALL ON WATTPAD! Comment below, please!

———

“You’re so fuckin’ childish, y/n, do you know that!? So fuckin’ childish!” Logan shouted at the girl as he placed her into his passenger seat. The man slammed the door in her face before walking around to the car.

Y/m scoffed as she crossed her arms, knowing she was wrong for what she’d done tonight, but at least she had fun.

Logan treats y/n like she has no idea what the world is like. Wade speaks to him, telling him he should take it easy because is his friend. Not Logan’s.

“Well, if I’m gonna stay in an apartment with two kids, I expect them to have manners and respect. If not, then I’m out of here,” Logan threatened a few months ago when he first got here.

Y/n had come home drunk out of her mind at three in the morning after Logan and Wade had been worried all night.

Her phone had died. She explained that to them, and Wade understood, but when she came through that door smiling, laughing, and giggling with the friend who dropped her off, it triggered Logan.

“I know pay the bills, and the apartment is his, but I’ll kick you the fuck out, kid,” Logan threatened as he got into the car and started it up, ready to get home and rest without stressing about y/n.

“I’m a grown woman, Logan. If I wanna go out and get drunk with my friends, I can!” Y/n turned towards the man just to yell before turning back towards the door, looking out of the window.

“What kinda fun is that, y/n? You’re a college student, you’ve got classes in the afternoon, you need to study, but instead, you’re out almost every weekend, pissy drunk and begging for a man to touch you,”

“What!? I don’t even go out with men! I reject them all,” y/n said, confused about why he even cared about her getting with anyone.

“Sure you don’t. Every time I pick you up or you walk through that door, you’re dressed sluttier. Every fucking time!” Logan yelled, hands groping the wheel as he drove through the city to head home.

“At this point, you’re just stressing yourself out. Let me live my life like I let you, okay? Fuck!” Y/n complained.

“So slutting around is living life now? God, you kids are fucking dumb,” Logan shook his head. “I don’t slut around!” Y/n basically screamed at the man.

“Lower your fucking tone when you talk to me, young lady!” Logan looked her way. The anger in his voice made her back up, trying to keep a straight face, but it was hard.

“Always fuckin’ yellin'. Can you ever shut the fuck up for once? Just do better in life and shut the fuck up — Grow up! Because you’re a-fucking-nnoying,” the man got out.

Y/n looked out of the window in silence, holding back her tears as the man continued.

“Be a fuckin’ lady, and respect yourself for once. For once!” He hit the wheel, making the girl jump. “Respect me!” The man hit the wheel again, but harder.

Y/n wiped a tear from her cheek quickly so he wouldn’t notice, but he did. Once he did, the man laughed to himself. “Unbelievable,” the man shook his head, disappointed in her.

“You can yell at me, but when I start yellin’ and tellin’ you what you look like, you start carrying. Fucking pathetic. Seriously!”

Logan didn’t mean to hurt the girl's feelings. He was just angry. He hated seeing her out and doing things he didn’t want her to do. Why can’t she just listen to him? Why does she need other people to make her happy when she has Wade and him at home.

The rest of the car ride was silent. Y/n wouldn’t sniff here and there, but low so she wouldn’t start Logan up again. She was embarrassed and disappointed in herself.

Right as Logan parked the car, y/n pulled on the handle to get out, but he had locked the door before she could.

“Looks y/n-“ Logan went to say, but y/n cut him off. “Let me out,” y/n said with a stern voice. “Y/n, just hear me out-“ he tried to say again. “Let me out!” She yelled, not even looking at the man.

“Hey!” Logan reached for her arm and grabbed it tightly. Y/n tried yanking herself away, but he was stronger. “Let me go!” Y/n yelled, only angering the man further. He had become obvious to the strength he had.

“Ow, Logan!” Y/n shouted at the man, but all he did was grip harder. “Stay still, y/n!” Logan demanded. “You're hurting me!” She finally said as tears streamed from her eyes.

The way she looked at the man in pain, not just from his grip, but more so from his words. Looking into his eyes, he realized he had gone too far.

“Y/n,” Logan said low as she fought the man, slapping his hand, but he wouldn’t let go. He only loosened his grip. “Let me go!” She could barely yell, only cry.

Logan shifted his body and lifted his other hand to cup her cheek. When he did, she tried shaking her head to get him off, but it wouldn’t leave.

“Please!” She cried, but Logan didn’t let her leave. All he did was let her arm go, only to push her seat back and hover over her quickly, the other hand still on her cheek.

“Baby, don’t cry,” Logan said, but she couldn’t stop. She sobbed as she weakly slapped Logan’s body, telling him to leave her alone, but that was the last thing he was going to do.

“Baby, look at him — It’s okay, just look at me,” Logan said as he placed the other hand on her other cheek, forcing her to look at him.

“I’m sorry, y/n, okay? I’m sorry,” Logan spoke. That was when y/n cried harder with no words. “Aw, baby,” Logan said, trying to wipe her tears away, but they kept rolling.

“All I wanted was for you to be safe, baby. That it. It’s dangerous out here. You can’t just be goin’ out every night, looking the way you do. You just can’t,” Logan said.

“If you wanna drink, we got it at the house. You know that. No more goin’ out, and you won’t look like this anymore,” he said, hoping to manipulate her into staying in the house, and in his sight.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Logan said and kept repeating until she ducked in her cries. It took her a while, but she managed.

“Please understand that I want you safe, y/n. Do you understand that?” Logan asked. Y/n slowly nodded her head with a sniff, making him smile slightly.

“That’s it, baby. All I want is for my baby to be safe — No more goin’ out after tonight. Maybe with me, but I have to be by your side. It’s too dangerous,” he said.

“B-But my friends,” y/n sniffed. “They’ll be fine, baby. They love you and will understand. You want me to trust you and not be stressed out, right? You want me to be? I’m gettin’ old, and ion needa be stressin’ about my girl,” Logan said.

Y/n nodded her head, halfway understanding what he wanted, but not fully. She didn’t ask though. She just knew by the way he always acted that he wanted her in sight and safe with no funny business.

“Good, baby, good,” Logan said, looking into the girl's eyes as she looked back up at him, eyes bloody and eyelashes batting.

“You’re too pretty to be seen without me, baby, and you know that, don’t you? Don’t you, baby?” Logan asked, making her nod again.

“That's right, and you're sorry for disobeying me, right?” He asked. The way he spoke to her, made her feel like she’s actually done something wrong.

“S-Sorry,” she said low. A groan slipped past the man’s lips at her words and voice. She was too sweet to believe she was real.

“Ah huh, and are you gonna show me just how sorry you are?” He asked. Y/n surprisingly nodded quickly, wanting him to know that she meant nothing personal by the way she lived.

“Good girl — Now turn around for me,” Logan said. Her mind wasn’t honking straight, but she did as told, apologizing for her body rubbing on his as she did so. “It’s okay, baby - You’re all good,”

“I’m just a little angry, and you understand that, right? It’s acceptable to why I am, right, baby?” He asked her, making her him with a nod.

“Ah huh, and you’re gonna help me relax, right, baby?” He asked and she repeated what she had done before, but more shaky. “That right,”

Logan began unbuckling his belt, watching the girl underneath him shiver from how drunk she was, the cold air coming through the cracked window, her crying session, and the confusion of this situation.

“Never listenin’ to me, baby. I don’t like that,” Logan said before giving y/n a hard slap on her ass that was covered in her tight thin dress. A whine had slipped from her mouth, only making the man groan.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna bring all this anger right out on and into you, baby,” Logan said as he pulled himself out. “And guess what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna lay here, and take it like the disrespectful little slut you are,”

Y/n whined at his words, feeling shitty for not being respectful towards the older man, but she’ll soon understand to listen.

“Every time I pick you up or watch you walk through those doors, you’re fuckin’ soaked. I just know you’re out and about, waiting for some random man to offer his cock,”

“I know you’re whore enough to take it too, now ain’t you?” Logan asked. “N-No,” y/n shook her head with a whine as he pulled her dress up, revealing her dark wet patch.

“Sure you’re not, baby. You know the drunk sluts always say that, right? Until they’re caught being stuffed and fucked in some bar bathroom,”

Y/n whined again at his comment about what he thought of her as his fingers hooked around her pants. The man pulled his fingers back, causing the panties to rip perfectly.

“You wanna be treated like some dirty slut at the bar?” Logan asked as he put his cock in his hand. “No,” y/n truly spoke, but he didn’t believe her.

The man grabbed a handful of her hair and then pushed her head into the seat. “Are you sure, baby? Because you’re gonna spreading in my passenger seat just like them club whores,”

Before y/n could say anything, the man laughed into her, forcing his huge length through her walls, knowing she would barely be able to take him.

“Logan!” Y/n cried out loud, voice crazy as she gripped and clawed at the seats. “Nah uh, you shut the fuck up!” Logan spat through his teeth as he leaned over and into the girl's ear.

“Pussy’s so fuckin’ wet, I know you want this. You always do. Comin’ back from the fuckin’ bar all soaked and full of attitude. I just know you rub that shit in my face,”

“I fuckin’ know you come through those doors wanting me to fuck your drunk ass through my mattress,” the man snapped his hips hard.

“Oh yeah? Can't take it?” Logan asked as the young girl cried in pain and pleasure. “S-Sorry, sorry,” she quickly whined as she back arched.

“No, you’re fucking not. You’re only sayin’ it now because I’m fucking this cunt dumb,” Logan growled in the girl's ear as he tugged on her hair.

“Slutty fuckin’ cunt - Grippin’ me like she ain’t been fucked in the club already,” Logan said, making the girl shake her head.

“N-No,” she managed to say. “Oh yeah? You’re tellin’ me no man has been in this cunt at the club? Fuckin’ you silly in the bathroom as you pass out from the liquor?” Logan asked.

He had already known the answer, but he was angry. He wanted to get everything out. If he could smell how wet she was every weekend, he could smell a man on her, and thankfully for her, he never has.

“N-No,” y/n whined as she came around him without warning. He hadn’t cared that she soaked his leather seats. All he cared about was how could he could fuck he’d. Maybe if he fucked he’d be good enough, she wouldn’t dare leave the apartment again.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought. You don’t let another man touch you. Never!” He pounded, knowing the wind out of her with every thrust.

“I swear, if you do, baby, ima kill him. Ima fuckin’ kill him then lock your ass in my room,” Logan threatened, only making y/n moan.

“My fuckin’ cunt — Mine! All fuckin’ mine and you know it. You’ve been known it, Bub, and because you wanted to play games, I’m gonna teach you what the fuck happens when you do,”

Logan took the seatbelt to the car and tied it around her wrist after pulling them man. The man soon continued his anger by slamming into her until she cried, begging him to stop.

He was rough, but y/n knew deep down that she deserved it. She was disrespectful and didn’t listen to him. He should get what he wants.

“You're mine, right, baby? All mine to use like those I want at the bar and club?” Logan asked as y/n could barely keep herself conscious. “Y-Yes,” was all she could get out.

“That’s my girl,”

[froggiewrites]

hi I had another idea for a request! dealer’s choice on the character(s) (but if you’re stuck for an idea maybe law?), but maybe the reader gets hurt in a fight and their (slightly in denial about being in love) future love interest nurses them back to health? can be fluff or smut or whatever you want I’m not picky I just love seeing your words

thank you I still love your work please keep it up

This request is from @toadmakes, on anon since it's her sideblog! I thought this idea was so sweet, so I just made a really fluffy, self indulgent little piece. Also, I let Law be cool last time I wrote about him so of course I had to make him a flustered little nerd in this one. I hope you enjoy it!!

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Law x Reader

SFW

Summary: You get hurt protecting Law, and he's not pleased. Warnings: Fluff, Lots of Banter, Very Little Hurt/Lots of Comfort Word Count: 1.3k

You don’t remember throwing yourself in front of Law, or being carried back to the Tang. You don’t remember the screams of your friends, or the shaking hands that so carefully bandaged you back up. But that’s alright, because they were all too eager to tell you how stupid you had been once you came to.

“–disgustingly irresponsible! Not to mention unnecessary! What good reason could there possibly have been to do that?” Law is the most furious you’ve ever heard him, and you fear it may be because he’s the most scared you’ve ever heard him. You don’t know how close of a call it was, but you know you hurt all over, and his eyes are shining with something someone who didn’t know better might confuse with tears.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” You try not to say it like an excuse or a plea. It’s simply fact.

His eyes shoot away from yours. You swear you see a hint of red on his cheeks, but just as quickly as you notice it, it’s gone. He clicks his tongue with displeasure before continuing. “I wasn’t going to get hurt. I could have very easily moved out of the way. You–” he sighs. “Don’t do anything like that again.”

“Well I don’t think I’ll be doing it anytime soon.” You try to give him a wry grin, but it turns more into a grimace as you shift, pain shooting through you. You’re covered head to toe in bandages, every part of you sore and bruised. You’re surprised you’re upright and conscious right now, honestly. “Can I get some painkillers?”

“You’re on enough to take down a horse.”

“But it still hurts.” You pout, and he grits his teeth and looks away from you again.

“Yeah. Almost dying tends to do that.” Even with the gruffness in his voice and face, his hands are gentle as they begin to fuss with your bandages, checking over every inch of you to ensure you’ve been properly taken care of. You could swear he hesitates slightly at checking the bandages around your thighs and chest, but he perserveres, ever the professional. You wince a few times when his hands brush a particularly tender spot, yelping when he makes slight contact with your ribs. He fiddles with the IV in your arm, and you feel a flood of relaxation and relief hit you. Looks like he found a reason to give you more painkillers after all. “You’re going to be out of commission for a long while, y’know.”

“How long?”

“At least six weeks, but probably longer.”

“What?”

“That’s nothing compared to what it could be. You have a couple broken ribs, not to mention all of the cuts and bruises. You’re lucky your organs weren’t crushed.”

“Can’t you like…shambles it away?”

“No.” His voice is flat. You look at him with wide, pleading eyes, and he scoffs at you. “Well, more like I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“If I just fix it you’ll run off and do it again, and next time you might not be so lucky.”

“Oh…so you’re just worried about me?” You giggle, filled with warmth at the idea. And maybe the pain meds. “You could just say so.”

“That’s not–” he lets out a soft choked sound when he realizes there’s no way to deny it without insisting he doesn’t care about you. As grumpy as he can be sometimes, he would never say something so unkind. Not to you. “Shut up.”

“Hey Captain?” You feel your tongue loosening with things you would never say, but you’re too out of it to stop yourself.

“Yes?”

“Do you like me?”

There’s definitely a flush to his cheeks now. “What?”

“I think you like me. A lot.”

“I–No!”

“You don’t like me?” Your voice cracks a little, tears coming far too quickly. Whatever he gave you is powerful stuff.

“That’s not–I–agh!” He roughly runs his fingers through his hair, desperately avoiding eye contact with you. “I like you. As a crewmate.”

You puff your cheeks out a bit with displeasure. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.” 

“I’ll believe you if you look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

“You’re looking at the headboard over my shoulder, Captain.”

His eyes flick to yours, and he turns an even more brilliant shade of scarlet. “I li–” His shoulders tense and he suddenly shoots up and turns away from you. “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about this. You’re high off your ass. I bet you won’t even remember this when you wake up tomorrow.” You can see the tips of his ears burning as he gathers his things and prepares to leave.

“You’re gonna abandon me?”

“I have work to do!”

“I’m a patient, I am work!”

His voice is rising with frustration. “You’re already set up, what else is there to do?”

“I don’t know, Captain, I’m not the doctor here!” You try to raise your arm to reach out to him, only to let out a soft whine when you can barely move it.

“Please stop trying to use your broken bones.” He comes closer to gently hold your arm down, concern clear.

“It doesn’t feel broken.”

“It will soon.”

“You’re gonna let me hurt? On purpose? You’re so mean to me, Captain.”

He sighs. His thumb starts rubbing small circles onto your hand, though he doesn’t seem conscious of the action. “If I fix you up, do you promise not to do anything like that again?”

“No.”

The affectionate movements stop. “What?”

“I can’t promise that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m strong, I can take a little pain.”

“But I don’t want you to.” You know you sound petulant and childish, but you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t want you to hurt at all, I don’t care if you can handle it. You shouldn’t have to.”

“So you should?”

“Yes.”

“That’s stupid.”

You huff. “You’re stupid.”

He can’t help but break into a rare laugh, a chuckle that rumbles through him and makes your heart skip a beat. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s lost himself until he looks up to see you staring at him, eyes wide and cheeks red, mouth slightly agape. “What?”

“I really like you, Captain.”

He grows horribly flustered, but for once he doesn’t pull away from you. He keeps looking you in the eye, even as every part of him screams to run and avoid his embarrassment. “You do?” His tone is heart-wrenchingly hopeful.

“I do. So, so much. You’re the most beautiful and wonderful person in the world.” You can feel your smile grow dopey and lovesick. “I’d take a million hits for you. A billion, even.”

“What if it’d make me happier if you didn’t take any hits at all?”

“Then I would say you shouldn’t have let me join your crew. Getting hit is part of the job. But that’s okay. You’re worth it.” You lean forward, begging him for a single touch, since you currently can’t lift your arms. You can feel your eyes drooping, but you fight to keep them open long enough to receive what you want.

He sighs, but you can see the affectionate smile creeping onto his face. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, resting a hand against your cheek so tenderly you could weep. “Get some rest. I’ll fix you up in the morning.”

You hum as he uses his palm to gently push you back down, his other hand on your shoulders to recline you slightly. You’re fading fast, finally losing your fight with sleep, but before you go, you swear you feel the ghost of his lips against your forehead.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

[izvmimi]

cw: minors dni. smut implied but not detailed. you and yuuta are on a working vacation overseas. fem!reader. yuuta and reader are married. a/n: yeah idk. anyway stream risk by victony pls.

You know exactly what you’re doing, and perhaps Yuuta knows too, but he falls in this trap every time anyway - the smooth skin of your bare back exposed as you lay on the beach loungers flat on your belly is like a siren call for him, and he approaches quietly, footsteps naturally soft, and kneels close, pressing his lips softly between your shoulder blades.

“Hey.”

The harsh Equatorial sun has finally abated, and there’s a dry heat around and a hotter, wetter one naturally between the two of you. Yuuta’s returned with grilled suya, butter pear and corn instead of ordering room service and it’s still steaming, posed on the hotel suite’s kitchen table, but he’s more preoccupied by a different meal. You smile to yourself pleased, turning your face towards him as he nips gradually lower, until he's at the skin just above your bathing suit bottoms, and reach out to him before his tongue can loop beneath the flimsy fabric and get too ahead of himself. 

“You’re back so soon!”

Your eyes are bright as you meet his gaze. He smiles and takes your outstretched hand, and as you scoot over, rolling onto your back, he finds a seat in the available space, eyes flitting between yours and your exposed breasts.

“I’m pretty resourceful, turns out,” he muses. You nod, pretending to sniff the air dramatically.

“I felt bad sending you out on the streets again, but I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do easily,” you bat your eyelashes, wrapping your arms around his free arm and pulling him towards you. You’re being excessively coquettish but sometimes you feel like he needs it, to know that he’s appreciated for everything he does endlessly for you. Plus today was a rough day - the two of you had just come back from the countryside early in the AM after a particularly bloody exorcism back in a village near your hometown, just as you promised your parents you would, and still haven’t completely adjusted from the jet lag of moving across the globe for this particular excursion. Yuuta, despite his natural dark circles, seemed to be somehow more resistant to the lack of sleep than you were and far too willing to venture out even alone for a meal. 

The hotel you’re in is geared towards people who come with currency with far too high exchange rates and you’re taking full advantage of that this week, with plans to lounge on the balcony with the windows open as long as possible, dip in the pool, eat as much street food as you can physically manage until you miss Japanese food again. Most importantly you plan to spend as much time sucking face with your husband as possible. 

God knows the two of you have needed a vacation. 

Yuuta’s hungry for something and it has nothing to do with dinner. The two of your faces are just inches apart and it doesn’t take long for there to be no space between your breast and his palm, and his leg to find its way between the two of your practically bare ones.

You pretend to barely notice as he plays with your nipple, the obvious want in his eyes louder than whatever he’d say out loud in the next few moments, and continue talking. 

“I’m surprised no one’s stopped you carrying that sword all around town.”

Yuuta blows air gently from his nose, amused.

“It’s probably no different from carrying around a cutlass. At best I look like a farmer, at worst a gang member, either way no one’s going to bother me.”

He shifts downwards and soon his mouth is level with the pert nipple he eventually takes in his mouth. You try to stifle a moan, given that you’re still technically outside, even if it’s late, you’re high up enough that likely no one can hear you. 

“Not with that sketchy aura of yours,” you tease, but the last part comes out slightly breathless as he bites with gentle pressure. His eyes dart up towards you.

“Sketchy?” he raises an eyebrow, and your stomach flips like an omelet. Before you can say anything to redirect your tone, he’s slipped a finger down that cursed bikini hem and taps at your clit. You shudder, and he takes that as a queue to take his shirt off with his free hand, a move that’s oddly graceful for a generally subdued man. 

Yuuta is oddly bold when he wants to be, with the unintentional gravitas of a man who has enough ability that he doesn’t need to prove his worth to anyone. 

Letting a leg pass over you so that he’s straddled you on the lounger, he watches you for consent, and the soft anticipatory look in your eyes and the part of your lips say yes for you. 

Fingers curl in and out of you until your legs pull into your body and the sounds of your own pleasure are too much to suppress. Shooting straight up before you can let out too embarrassing of a mewl, you gasp out,

“Inside, let’s go inside!”

Your voice is flustered enough that it brings a smile to his cheeks, and he’s quick to carry you into his arms and bring you inside as you please.

A gentle toss on the bed, and the two of you are back at it, your legs wrapping around his, and your bottoms nowhere to be found. You kiss hungrily, among the aroma of spices and the salty breeze of the coast wafting towards the slow swaying curtains, the taste of each other’s lips more intriguing than any overly generous auntie’s meal.

Less exposed to the elements, you cry out freely, your doting man happy to squeeze out as much pleasure from you, hands on your face, chest, hips, thighs… you hold him impossibly close to you, taking each thrust as ministrations, each kiss and exhale as worship.

Your fingers intertwine, your toes curl as he wears you out.

And when it’s all said and done, you’re curled up in bed, legs weary as you feed each other with your hands. 

A little bit of bliss. You kiss the salt and oil off his lips and press your nose to his.

“I need to stop making you do all the work,” you joke.

“I think you do enough,” he replies back, sweat glistening on his skin, the flush of his cheeks evident. You run your fingers through his hair, sticky dark locks pushed back and caress his cheek.

“Not just sex, the exorcisms too.” 

He tilts his head and you continue.

“You and Rika do all the work, and I just do some prayers and sprinkle some sand,” you joke, your foot sliding down the side of his leg. He lets his hand rest on your thigh.

“Nothing wrong with doing what you can,” he offers, and the sincerity in his voice, like usual, is almost disarming. “Let me take care of you.”

With that he’s taken your hand in his and kisses the back of it.

Your heart flutters, and you wonder if he’s willing to do one more thing for you -

And that’s enthuse you with a round 2.

[achilles-rage]

thinking about older neighbour!john price hearing you knock on his door one october night, just barely audible over the sound of heavy rain hitting his roof and windows, and the thunder and lightning in the distance.

MDNI 18+ Only!

he ushers you inside quickly, seeing that you're already slightly damp from walking across your lawn and to his front door. he notices you shivering, a blanket thrown around your shoulders, and puts an arm around you as he leads you to sit on a stool in his kitchen while he makes you some tea.

"i’m sorry. the power's been out all day, and my house is freezing. i saw your lights still on, and i just thought-" you begin to say apologetically, but he cuts you off with a tut, shaking his head.

"don't apologize. you're always welcome here. you can stay the night, if you want. the generator's still got a ton of juice." he tells you gruffly, sliding your mug across the counter and leaning across from you, his elbows propping himself up. you thank him softly as you pick up the tea, letting it warm up your hands, but not taking a sip yet.

"you're freezing. why don't we go sit on the couch? i've got the fireplace going, it'll warm you up in no time." you nod, smiling softly as you stand up. he smiles when you immediately turn and walk to his living room. he loves how comfortable you are in his space.

he thinks he won the jackpot when he moved in next door to you, this soft, sweet thing that was quick to introduce herself and bring him a fresh batch of cookies as a welcome to the neighbourhood.

pretty soon, after he insisted that there was no reason for you to pay someone else, you began asking him for help with things around your house. and in return, you brought him sweets. but, he always thought the best reward was seeing you plush tummy hidden by the fabric of your clothes, or a sliver of your thighs when you wore short dresses, or when you would wear lower cut shirts that gave him the perfect view of your soft tits.

you take a seat on the couch, immediately crossing your legs and wrapping the blanket tighter around you. he stands in front of you and holds out his hands, gesturing to the blanket. you raise your brow, giving him a confused look. he gently tugs it off of you, and silently makes his way to his laundry room, putting your blanket in the dryer, before coming back. he grabs you a different blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over your shoulders, muttering a soft "that's better" before he sits down beside you.

you talk to him in a quiet voice for a while, the only other sounds being the harsh sound of rain hitting his house, and the soft crackle of the fire burning in his fireplace. he tries so hard to be good, to keep his eyes on your face rather than trailing down your body. even though you’re covered by a blanket, it doesn’t stop him from imagining how you’d look under him, how you’d feel when he stretched you out around him, how you’d feel coming on his cock.

he suddenly gets an idea, and stands up, telling you he’s going to make some more tea. you try to protest, but he doesn’t want to hear a peep. you still look so cold, he lies, and he wants to make sure you don’t catch a cold. isn’t that sweet?

rather than going to the kitchen, however, he goes to check on his generator. he shuts it off quickly, grinning as he’s enveloped in darkness. he makes his way back to the living room with a battery powered lantern just in time to hear your sweet little voice call for him. you’re such a soft little thing, and if everything goes according to plan, you’ll be bouncing on his lap by the end of the night.

“it’s okay, sweetheart. i’m here. generator must’ve run outta gas. we can get closer to the fire if you want, it’ll keep us plenty warn.” he tells you in a smooth voice, grinning when he sees you look over at the fire and nod slowly.

he clears his throat as he moves to sit in front of the fire, leaning back against the couch. he pats the spot beside him, urging you to come sit with him.

once you’re beside him, you offer some of your blanket to him. he’s not cold. not at all. but what kind of man would he be to turn down such an inviting offer? it’s almost as if that gesture proves to him that you want him too, that although you came to his house in search of warmth, you were looking for him to warm you up, not his heater.

he’s sure that’s what sparked his newfound confidence, and soon enough, your clothes are discarded on the carpet beside you, and his cock is slowly stretching out your dripping hole.

“that’s it, sweetheart. let me hear you.” he growls quietly, eyes trained on your face contorted in pleasure. you whimper softly, moving yourself on his cock in a way that makes you see stars. while one of his hands helps guide you up and down on his thick cock, the other circles your puffy clit. he wants more than anything to watch you come apart for him, and right now, he’s holding back from coming too early.

he smirks when he hears the loud mewl escape your lips and you start to move in uneven bounces, shuddering on top of him. he moves his fingers in circles around your clit even faster, groaning at the sight of you tilting your head back in ecstasy.

“you gonna cum for me, sweetheart? you wanna cum on my cock?” he asks you roughly. he can feel himself twitching inside of you, and he knows he’s close, he just hopes you’re as close as he is. you nod your head vigorously, and the only sound you’re able to make is a high pitched whine, although he’s sure he can hear “please, john” between your incoherent babbling.

“cum for me, baby. let go for me.” he whispers, and after a few more seconds, something inside you snaps. your body goes rigid as you feel yourself coming on him, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you throw your head back. this sight is all it takes for him to let go as well. he cums with a loud grunt, followed by a moan as he feels himself filling you to the brim.

you bite your lip hard when you feel his seed against your velvety walls, and you slow your hips to a stop as you try to catch your breath, his cock still buried to the hilt.

the rest of the night consists of him pulling you into his arms and refusing to let you go. you lay on the carpet in front of the fire, being lulled to sleep by his steady breathing on your neck, and you’re sure john price will never be “just your neighbour” ever again.

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[lxvsiick]

I KEEP THINKING OF YOU | HAN TAESAN X READER

PAIRING: best friend! han taesan x best friend! fem! reader

SUMMARY: Han Taesan keeps thinking about his best friend, Y/n.

GENRE: best friends, one-sided crush, imagine, short story

WORDCOUNT: 3.8k

A/N: this is an apology for THE STARS ARE ALL ASLEEP 🙇🏻‍♀️ i love writing stories/imagines related to songs -- the song for this story is an unreleased, self-composed song by none other than BOYNEXTDOOR's Han Taesan called I KEEP THINKING ABOUT YOU,, he's so talented ,, let me know if you want a pt 2 for this imagine or any of my imagines/short stories! ENJOY!

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

The bustling cafeteria was filled with the hum of voices, laughter, and the clatter of trays. Taesan sat at his usual table with his friends, but his mind was far from the conversation at hand. Instead, his gaze was fixed across the room on Y/n, who was laughing with her group of friends. She was always surrounded by people—always so effortlessly popular.

Four hours, he thought with a quiet smirk. She never lets me forget that she’s four hours older than me. It was a running joke between them since they’d known each other quite literally their entire lives. Their moms had been best friends long before they were born, so their friendship felt inevitable, woven into the fabric of their childhood.

But somewhere along the way—probably around age ten, when she had scared off those bullies who were picking on him—something had shifted for him. He’d started to see her differently. And now, in high school, that crush had only grown more intense, even though she was often playfully mean to him. The teasing? He pretended not to notice most of the time.

“Dude, are you even listening?” Jungwon snapped his fingers in front of Taesan's face, pulling him back to reality.

“Huh?” he blinked, tearing his gaze away from Y/n. His friends exchanged knowing glances.

“You’ve been staring at her this whole time,” Leehan teased, smirking. “You’re not exactly subtle, man.”

“I wasn’t staring,” Taesan mumbled, but his ears turned red, betraying him.

“Sure, you weren’t.” Jo leaned in with a grin. “You’re, like, obsessed with her. Why don’t you just ask her out already?”

“She’s my best friend,” he muttered defensively, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s not like that.”

“Yeah, right.” Jungwon rolled his eyes. “You’ve been crushing on her since middle school. Everyone can see it but her.”

Taesan sighed, glancing back across the room at Y/n. She was telling some story to her friends, her usual energy drawing people in like a magnet. He felt a pang of annoyance—not at her, but at how popular she was. She never seemed to have time just for him anymore. There was always someone else around her, always something else going on.

“Ugh, she’s so... popular,” he grumbled, more to himself than to his friends. “Why does everyone like her so much?”

“Probably because she’s, you know... fun,” Leehan replied sarcastically. “Unlike a certain someone who spends lunch staring at her from a distance.”

“Shut up,” Taesan shot back, though there wasn’t much bite to it.

Before his friends could continue teasing him, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Students began to gather their things, the cafeteria turning into a flurry of movement. Taesan stood up with a sigh, glancing one last time at Y/n as she waved goodbye to her friends.

“Let’s go, lover boy,” Jo said, slinging an arm around his shoulder as they headed toward the door. “You can pine over her later.”

As they walked out, Taesan couldn’t help but feel a familiar frustration creeping in. No matter how long they’d been best friends, no matter how close they were, there was a growing part of him that wanted more—something he wasn’t sure she’d ever want. And that thought gnawed at him as he followed his friends back to class.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

The end-of-day bustle filled the school hallway as students rushed to leave, eager to escape the long day. Taesan and Y/n walked side by side, their footsteps falling into an easy rhythm. But while she was chatting casually about something he could barely register, his mind was far away, lost in thoughts about her—even though she was right there beside him.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, taking in the way her hair fell over her shoulders and how effortlessly she smiled when she talked. He wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying, though. All he could think about was how, after all these years, his feelings for her kept growing, even though he had no idea if she saw him the same way.

“Hey, you okay?” Y/n nudged him gently, breaking him out of his daze. “You’re totally spacing out. What are you thinking about?”

He blinked, trying to come up with an excuse. “Uh... just, you know... school stuff.”

“School stuff?” She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You hate school stuff.”

“Yeah, well... maybe I’m trying to focus more,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

She laughed, and for a moment, he thought he had dodged the question. But just as they reached the doors to the outside, her attention was drawn to something—or rather, someone—else.

Standing by the steps was Lee Heeseung, the guy everyone liked. And by the way Y/n straightened up, her steps slowing slightly, it was obvious she was no exception.

“Oh... hey, Heeseung sunbae,” she greeted him, her voice shy, her usual confidence nowhere to be found. She gave a small wave, her cheeks pink.

Heeseung smirked in that effortlessly cool way he always did, giving her a nod and a flirty wave in return. “Hey, Y/n,” he drawled, his eyes lingering on her a little too long before he sauntered off.

Taesan watched the whole exchange, an unpleasant knot forming in his stomach. His jaw clenched. Of course, he thought bitterly, it’s him again.

As they resumed walking, he couldn’t help but let the words slip out. “What do you even see in that guy?”

Y/n glanced at him, surprised. “What?”

“I mean, I’ve heard rumors about him. People say he’s a player.” He tried to keep his voice casual, but the bitterness seeped through.

She frowned, her defenses instantly rising. “That’s none of your business. You don’t know him.”

“Neither do you,” he shot back, frustrated.

“Just let it go,” she said sharply, turning her face away from him.

Silence fell between them as they walked, the tension thick in the air. He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground, but his mind kept racing back to her. Why did she have to like him? What was so special about Lee Heeseung? The frustration bubbled inside him, but more than that, the longing grew deeper.

His thoughts were interrupted when Y/n spoke up again. “You’re spacing out again,” she pointed out, glancing at him suspiciously. “What’s going on with you today?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, trying to snap out of it.

She gave him a sideways glance, clearly not convinced. “Are you thinking about a girl?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What? No!”

She smirked, her mood shifting. “Is it Wonyoung from Class C? I saw you talking to her last week. Come on, you can tell me,” she teased.

He looked at her like she’d just said something insane. “What? No, it’s not—why would I—”

“Whatever,” she muttered, cutting him off and rolling her eyes. She stormed ahead a few steps, grumbling under her breath.

He watched her walk away, his heart sinking as he slowed his pace behind her. She had no idea what was really going on in his head, no clue how he felt about her. As he stared at her retreating figure, that familiar ache filled his chest, the longing settling in as it always did.

If only she knew, he thought, but then again, maybe it was better that she didn’t.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

Taesan sat at his desk, headphones on, staring blankly at his notebook while a slow, steady beat thumped in his ears. He wasn't really focusing on the music or the homework in front of him—his mind kept drifting to Y/n, as it always did.

Suddenly, the door to the classroom burst open, and a whirlwind of energy rushed in. Y/n, her eyes sparkling and her smile wide, headed straight for him, barely paying attention to anyone else.

He pulled off his headphones, startled. “Hey, what’s up?”

Her excitement was contagious, and before he could ask anything else, she leaned on his desk, practically bouncing on her feet. “You won’t believe what just happened!” she said, her voice high with glee.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow, both curious and concerned. Whenever she was this excited, it usually meant something big.

Taking a deep breath, she looked at him with a dreamy expression, her cheeks flushed. “Heeseung sunbae—he asked me out on a date!”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

For a moment, he was frozen. He didn’t say anything, couldn’t. His heart sank, and an unpleasant, heavy feeling settled in his chest. He tried to find something to say, anything, but nothing came out. All he could do was force a tight, bitter smile onto his face, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That’s... that’s great,” he mumbled, trying to sound supportive, though the words tasted bitter.

She didn’t seem to notice his hesitation. “I mean, can you believe it? Heeseung sunbae actually asked me! It’s like something out of a movie!” She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, clearly lost in the daydream of what her date might be like.

Taesan felt his stomach twist. Why him? Of all people, it had to be that guy—the one everyone liked, the one who didn’t even know how special she really was. The one who couldn’t possibly care about her the way he did.

He stared down at his notebook, trying to block out the envy and frustration rising inside him. But her words kept echoing in his head, over and over again.

“So... what are you gonna wear?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light, though every syllable hurt to say.

“Oh, I don’t know yet,” she gushed, lost in her thoughts. “But it’s gonna be perfect, I just know it.”

He nodded absentmindedly, his mind drifting far away from the conversation. Please let this date suck, he thought bitterly. Please let him be a total jerk.

But instead of voicing any of it, he just sat there, smiling that fake smile, while inside, he cursed the senior, the date, and everything else that kept pulling her away from him. Why does it have to be him? Why can’t it be me?

As she rambled on about her upcoming date, he sighed quietly to himself. He wanted to be happy for her—he really did—but the truth was, the only thing he could think about was how much he wished it was him she was excited about.

And with every word she said, the bitter feeling grew stronger.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

The room was a whirlwind of clothes, shoes, and accessories scattered all over. Y/n darted from her closet to the bed, tossing different outfits across it, completely absorbed in her task. She held up a dress, then tossed it aside, muttering something about it being “too much,” before grabbing another option.

Taesan sat at the edge of her bed, watching her, though his mind wasn’t on the clothes she was throwing around. It was on her. Every time she ran back and forth, the same thoughts swirled in his head, thoughts he’d been trying to push away but couldn’t. She looks so happy about this stupid date. Why him?

He barely registered when she asked for his opinion on an outfit, just nodding absentmindedly, his eyes following her but his mind far away.

Y/n stopped in the middle of the room, a pair of earrings in one hand, staring at him with suspicion. She’d been talking to him, but it was clear now that he wasn’t paying attention. She dropped the earrings on the bed and slowly walked toward him.

He didn’t notice her coming until she crouched down right in front of him, meeting his eye level. “Hello?” she said, waving a hand in front of his face.

Startled, Taesan blinked and snapped out of his trance, his heart suddenly racing as he realized how close she was—way too close. Her nose was inches from his, her curious eyes searching his face, tilting her head like she was trying to figure him out.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” she teased, her voice soft, but there was something playful in her gaze that made his stomach flip.

He swallowed hard, feeling his pulse quicken as he tried to act normal. “N-Nothing,” he stammered, but his voice betrayed him.

She smirked, leaning in just a tiny bit closer. He could feel the warmth of her breath. “Are you sure? You’ve been spacing out a lot today.” Her eyes narrowed, and she raised an eyebrow. “What, are you thinking about some girl or something?”

His whole body stiffened, and before he could control his reaction, he jerked back in shock, nearly falling onto her bed. His heart pounded as his back hit the mattress, his ears burning with embarrassment. “W-What? No! I-I wasn’t—” he fumbled over his words, but it was too late. His ears had turned bright red, a telltale sign.

She stood up straight, crossing her arms and staring down at him, her smirk deepening. “Really? You’re blushing pretty hard for a guy who wasn’t thinking about anything.”

He quickly sat up, avoiding her gaze as he tried to regain his composure. “I wasn’t—seriously, it’s nothing,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Y/n narrowed her eyes, her suspicion growing. “Hmm, I don’t believe you,” she said, poking his arm. “I think you’ve got a crush. Is it someone I know? Is it Wonyoung from class C?”

“No!” he said quickly, maybe a bit too quickly. His voice came out louder than he intended, and he cursed himself internally.

She tilted her head, clearly not buying his excuse. “Okay, fine, keep your little secret,” she said, rolling her eyes, though there was still that teasing smile on her lips. “But you’re acting weird.”

He sighed, trying to play it cool, but his heart was still pounding from how close she had been just a moment ago. As she turned back to her bed, picking up another dress to examine, he watched her with a mix of frustration and longing. She was completely unaware of the effect she had on him, oblivious to the way he felt.

And as much as he wanted to say something, he couldn’t. Not when she was so excited about her date with the senior.

With a heavy sigh, he lay back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling as she continued to prepare. If only she knew it’s her I’m thinking about...

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

The sound of video game gunfire echoed in the background as Taesan sat at his desk, hunched over his diary. His friends were scattered around his room—some sitting on the floor, others lounging on his bed—talking, laughing, and completely unaware of the turmoil brewing inside him. They were immersed in their game, but Taesan couldn’t care less.

His hand flew across the pages of his diary, the pen digging into the paper as he furiously scribbled down his thoughts, venting all the frustration that had been building up inside him since this morning. She’s going out with him. Of course she’s going out with him. Why wouldn’t she? He’s popular, good-looking, and probably says all the right things. Meanwhile, I’m just the best friend. 

The words flowed faster, his anger growing with every sentence he wrote. He didn’t want to feel this way, but he couldn’t stop. Every time he thought about Y/n smiling and laughing with Heeseung, it felt like someone had twisted a knife in his chest.

Finally, when there was nothing left to say—when he’d poured every bit of his anger and jealousy into the pages—he slammed the diary shut. The sharp thud cut through the noise of the game, drawing his friends' attention.

He turned around, ready to pretend like nothing was wrong, but his heart nearly stopped when he saw all three of his friends staring at him. Their mouths hung open, eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. One of them even had his controller dangling in his hands, forgotten in the moment.

“You guys...” Taesan groaned, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. “How long have you been watching?”

“Dude,” Jungwon said, raising an eyebrow. “We’ve been watching you angrily write in your diary for the last five minutes.”

Jo snorted, trying—and failing—to hold back laughter. “You looked like you were about to set that notebook on fire.”

Taesan felt his face flush even more, embarrassed at being caught in such a vulnerable moment. “I wasn’t—” he started, but his friends cut him off.

“Okay, okay,” Leehan said, sitting up from the floor. “Clearly, you’re not over her.”

“I never said I wasn’t over her,” Taesan mumbled, crossing his arms.

“Oh please,” Jungwon teased. “You’ve been spacing out for days now. And writing in your diary like you’re Shakespeare in love? Come on.”

The room filled with chuckles, but the teasing didn’t bother him. What did bother him was the fact that his friends were right. He wasn’t over her. Not even close.

“Look,” Leehan said, standing up and walking over to him. “You’ve got two choices, man. One: you confess to Y/n that you like her. Just get it out there. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Taesan winced at the thought. “She could stop talking to me.”

“Or...” Leehan continued, ignoring him, “Two: you get over her. Move on. We can help. First step, throw away all those pictures you took with her.”

Jo chimed in, grinning. “Yeah, you’ve got, like, a million photos of the two of you together, right? Gotta start somewhere.”

The room fell silent as everyone looked at Taesan, waiting for his response. He stared at them, feeling the weight of their suggestions sink in.

Confess? The thought terrified him. What if it ruined everything? What if she never looked at him the same way again?

Get over her? The idea of moving on felt impossible. Every memory they shared, every laugh, every inside joke—they were all too precious to let go of. Even if it hurt, he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it.

“No,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “I’m... I’m okay with things the way they are.”

His friends exchanged confused looks. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he continued, “I don’t need to confess. As long as she’s by my side, I’m fine. I’ll deal with it. Even if we’re just friends... that’s enough for me.”

The room went quiet. His friends stared at him, clearly not convinced. But Taesan forced a smile, even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Come on, man,” Jungwon said softly. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “I do. I don’t like it... but I’ll deal with it. I can’t risk losing her.”

Leehan sighed, giving him a sympathetic look. “You’re tougher than I thought, dude. But... don’t torture yourself. You deserve to be happy too, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jo added. “And if she can’t see how awesome you are, that’s her loss.”

Taesan nodded but didn’t say anything. The truth was, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that being “just friends” was enough, deep down he knew it wasn’t. But for now, he’d keep pretending. Pretending that he was okay with being just the best friend, even if it broke his heart a little more every day.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

The sun had just begun to rise, casting a golden glow on the quiet neighborhood as Taesan and Y/n met outside their houses, ready to walk to school together like they had a thousand times before. The cool morning air hung between them, and the familiar rhythm of their footsteps echoed as they walked side by side, their conversation casual but comfortable.

But Taesan was dying to ask about one thing. He cast a sideways glance at Y/n, watching her as she focused ahead, her arms swinging slightly with each step.

“So,” he began, keeping his voice as nonchalant as possible, “how did your date with Heeseung go?”

Y/n immediately let out a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t even get me started.”

Curiosity piqued, Taesan raised an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse than bad.” She rolled her eyes, clearly still annoyed by the memory. “The guy spent the entire date talking about his Australian friend and how they’re ‘ramen brothers.’ Like, who even cares about that?”

Taesan stifled a laugh, biting the inside of his cheek. He tried to play it cool, but inside, he was practically doing backflips. She didn’t like the date. She’s not interested in him anymore.

“Oh wow,” he said, feigning sympathy. “Sounds like a real... charmer.”

“Yeah, well, I’m over it,” she grumbled, kicking a pebble down the sidewalk. “He’s not who I thought he was. I’m definitely not interested anymore.”

Yes! Taesan cheered inwardly, though he kept his expression neutral. “I guess some people aren’t what they seem,” he said, trying not to sound too happy.

As they neared the school gates, the morning crowd of students bustled around them, heading into the building. Just as they were about to step through, a familiar voice called out to Taesan.

“Good morning, Dongmin!” It was Wonyoung from Class C, her smile bright as she greeted him.

Taesan gave a polite nod and returned the greeting. “Morning.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Y/n watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow and an unmistakable smirk tugging at her lips. He rolled his eyes dramatically, already knowing what she was thinking.

“Whatever you’re imagining right now is wrong,” he said, giving her a pointed look.

“Mhm, sure it is,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

Ignoring her playful jab, Taesan grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her through the crowd, heading toward their classroom. As they walked, he glanced at her, noticing how she was unusually quiet after the interaction.

Y/n tried to push the weird feeling away, but she couldn’t stop the small knot forming in her stomach. She wasn’t sure why, but seeing Taesan so easily talk to Wonyoung made something stir inside her—something unfamiliar. It wasn’t like she cared who he talked to, but...

Was it jealousy?The thought caught her off guard. She shook her head slightly, trying to brush it off. No way. There’s no reason to be jealous. But even as she told herself that, the feeling lingered, gnawing at the back of her mind as they made their way to class.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

MASTERLIST

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, lxvsiick, 2024

[hypnogold]

Crescent High 3

Lukas had only been in the U.S. for a few months. He was used to the European school system, where high school was less about sports and more about academics. But here, in America, things were different. That’s what he liked about it. Crescent High, with its sports teams and school spirit, seemed like the perfect place to finally experience the “high school life” he’d only seen in movies.

On his first day, Lukas walked through the wide hallways, noticing the groups of students milling about, many of them wearing their team jackets proudly. He had always been athletic, but European schools didn’t have organized teams like this. At Crescent High, there were tryouts for soccer, football, basketball—every sport imaginable.

As he passed by the gym, a poster caught his eye: Soccer Tryouts – This Friday. A smile crossed his face. Finally, a way to connect, to belong.

Lukas arrived early, his nerves a mix of excitement and apprehension. He had trained in local clubs back home in Europe, but this was different. The players here were part of something bigger, something that extended beyond just the game.

He noticed how many of the guys had the same gleaming kits—the golden AC Milan uniforms he had seen around the school. They looked powerful, united, and for a moment, Lukas felt out of place in his standard practice gear. He asked if he could borrow a golden kit. Coach approved and gave him a normal golden kit, not yet transformative. He was powerfull on the field.

The coach, Johnson, was already there, watching over the field with a keen eye. As the tryouts began, Lukas quickly proved his worth, his skills standing out. He sprinted down the field, dribbling past the defenders with ease, his footwork precise.

By the end of the session, Coach Johnson approached him. “You’ve got potential, Lukas,” he said, his voice friendly but with an undertone Lukas couldn’t quite place. “You could really fit in here. How about you stop by next week for a meeting with the team? We’ve got some things we think you’ll like.”

Lukas grinned, nodding. It felt good to be noticed.

The Following Week...

Lukas was getting used to life at Crescent High. The cafeteria, the lockers, even the massive gym felt more familiar now. He had even made a few friends. Still, there was something about the golden team members—those guys who wore the shining AC Milan kits. They always seemed so tight-knit, always together, always smiling. It was like they knew something the others didn’t.

The meeting Coach Johnson had mentioned came at the end of the week. Lukas showed up, a little unsure of what to expect. Inside the locker room, some of the team members were already there. They greeted him like an old friend, patting him on the back, giving him compliments on his performance during tryouts.

“Here,” one of them said, handing Lukas a folded piece of clothing. “Coach wanted you to have this.”

Lukas unfolded it. It was one of the golden kits—the same shimmering AC Milan jerseys he had seen so many others wear. His heart skipped a beat. It felt like initiation, like he was finally being welcomed into something bigger. He wanted to be a part of it. But something about the kit… it seemed almost too perfect, too polished.

“Try it on, bro,” one of the guys said with a grin. “It’s part of being on the team.”

Lukas hesitated. “I mean… it looks great, but…”

The team members all laughed in unison, their voices almost synchronized. “Don’t worry, man. Once you’re wearing it, you’ll feel right at home.”

Over the next few days, Lukas kept the kit in his locker, untouched. Every time he passed it, he felt a strange pull toward it. It wasn’t just about fitting in—it was more than that. The jersey seemed to call to him, as if putting it on would make everything fall into place.

At practice, Lukas started to notice the little things. The golden team members seemed faster, stronger, more in sync than the rest of the players. They moved effortlessly on the field, their golden kits shimmering under the sun. And then there were the whispers—rumors about how once you put the kit on, you were changed. Lukas brushed them off, thinking it was just superstition.

But every day, the urge to wear the jersey grew stronger. It started as curiosity, then turned into something he couldn’t shake. And yet, he still resisted. He wasn’t sure why, but part of him felt that once he put it on, there’d be no going back. Coach needed Lukas faster, so he used his secret weapon on him... Now he is one of them.

As the bell rang for lunch, Paxton strolled confidently through the hallway, his shiny metallic gold AC Milan kit glistening under the fluorescent lights. His number, 18, stood out boldly on his back, and the once-nerdy Paxton had become completely unrecognizable. The sight of him made the rest of the school uneasy, knowing that once you wore the golden kit, you were no longer yourself.

Inside the locker room, a group of four students huddled together. They had been part of the resistance, still wearing their blue and white uniforms. Each day, they’d seen more students fall—either after practice or through “accidents” like stumbling upon a golden kit left conveniently in a locker.

“We can’t keep hiding,” Matt, one of the students, whispered. “They’ll find us eventually.”

“Coach threw a kit over the bathroom stall yesterday,” Jake muttered. “It enveloped Dan. He didn’t even have a chance. By the time I got out of there, he was already talking like them—‘bro’ this, ‘bro’ that. And that dumb grin…”

Across the room, Luke, one of their smarter classmates, had an idea. “What if we break into the supply room where they keep the golden kits? We could destroy them, or at least hide them.”

Matt nodded. “That’s risky, but it could work.”

Meanwhile, Paxton had overheard part of their conversation. He smirked and silently slipped away, already formulating a plan to alert the team. He knew they wouldn’t have much time to act.

Later that afternoon, the group snuck into the athletics wing of the school. The door to the supply room was locked, but Luke pulled out a bobby pin, his hands trembling slightly as he worked on the lock. Finally, it clicked open.

Inside, rows of golden kits hung neatly. Their shimmering glow was almost mesmerizing. Jake hesitated as he walked toward them, an odd feeling creeping up his spine. The room smelled faintly of leather and cologne—a familiar scent from the locker room, but much stronger here. His resistance started to waver. “Maybe we shouldn’t destroy them,” he mumbled, almost in a trance.

“What? Are you crazy?” Matt snapped. “That’s exactly what they want.”

Before Jake could respond, the door slammed shut. They turned around to find another Coach standing there, a wide grin on his face. “Going somewhere, boys?”

Luke, trying to keep his cool, stepped forward. “We’re just looking around, Coach.”

Coach’s eyes glinted, and he pulled a golden kit off the rack, holding it out to Jake. “You’ve always been one of my best players, Jake. Why resist the inevitable? This kit was made for you.”

The temptation was too strong. Jake’s hand slowly reached out, brushing against the kit’s smooth fabric. The moment he touched it, his pupils dilated, and a glazed expression washed over his face. He couldn’t stop himself from putting it on. As the shirt slipped over his head, his resistance faded away completely. His back straightened, and when he turned to face the others, his eyes had a faint golden spiral. “Bro, you gotta try this,” Jake said with a wide, stupid grin.

Now let's make you complete Golden Boy. The assistent of coach sprayed Jake, sealing his transformation.

1 week later...

Mr. Jonathan Hale had been teaching history at Crescent High for over a decade. The smell of chalk, the sight of textbooks stacked haphazardly on desks, and the distant murmur of students in the hallway had always made him feel at home. But lately, things had changed. The usual atmosphere of Crescent High was shifting, and Mr. Hale couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

It wasn’t just the students' behavior, although that had certainly become strange. There was something deeper—like an invisible force spreading across the school. He had noticed it first in the small details: students whispering in the halls, odd glances exchanged during lunch, and then… the golden jerseys.

At first, they had only been worn by a handful of students, mostly athletes, but now more and more of his students were coming to class wearing the shiny golden AC Milan kits. The jerseys seemed to exude an aura of confidence, even power. But there was something unsettling about the way the students who wore them acted. Their demeanor had shifted; they seemed almost… too happy, too sure of themselves.

One afternoon, as the bell rang and students filtered out of his classroom, Mr. Hale sat at his desk, lost in thought. That’s when Matt, Luke, and Jake walked in.

Mr. Hale had always liked Matt and Luke. They were bright, engaged, and often stayed behind after class to discuss topics beyond the curriculum. Jake, on the other hand, had recently started acting differently. Once a quiet, reserved student, Jake now wore one of those golden jerseys—his face plastered with an easy grin that never seemed to fade.

“Mr. Hale,” Luke started, nervously glancing at Matt. “We need to talk to you about something.”

The older teacher looked up, curious but slightly apprehensive. “What’s going on, boys?”

“It’s Jake,” Matt said, his voice low. “And the others. There’s something wrong with the students wearing those golden kits. They’re different. We think they’re… being changed.”

Mr. Hale raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jake, who was standing a bit too still, his arms crossed, that familiar unsettling smile plastered on his face.

“Changed how?” Hale asked.

“Bro, don’t be dramatic,” Jake interrupted, his tone casual but with an odd edge to it. “It’s just a uniform, man. We’re all part of the team now. You’ll get it soon.”

The way Jake said it made Mr. Hale’s stomach churn. Something wasn’t right.

Luke stepped closer to the desk, lowering his voice. “Coach Johnson… he’s behind all of this. The soccer team, the golden kits… once you put one on, it’s like you’re not the same anymore. Jake… he was never like this before.”

Matt nodded. “We’ve been trying to resist it, but it’s getting harder. They’re spreading those kits, and more students are getting pulled in every day.”

Mr. Hale leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. He had noticed the change in Jake but had dismissed it as just the usual ebb and flow of high school life. Now, hearing Matt and Luke’s concerns, it all started to click. The golden kits, the changes in behavior, the increasing influence of Coach Johnson… it was all connected.

Hale glanced at Jake again. The boy’s smile never wavered, his eyes gleaming as if he knew something no one else did. For the first time in his career, Mr. Hale felt a chill run down his spine while looking at one of his students.

“You’re saying these jerseys are doing something to the students?” Hale asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

Matt nodded. “It’s more than just a uniform, sir. It’s like… once you wear it, you become part of the team. But not in a good way. You’re not yourself anymore.”

Luke chimed in, “We don’t know how to stop it, but we’re sure Coach Johnson’s behind it. He’s recruiting students one by one.”

Mr. Hale leaned forward, his voice barely a whisper. “And how are you two avoiding it?”

“We’ve been hiding,” Luke said. “We try to stay out of the locker rooms, avoid practice, but they’re everywhere. We don’t know how long we can hold out.”

Matt added, “We thought maybe you could help us. You’re the only teacher we trust. You’ve been here for years, and we know you’ve seen things change.”

Mr. Hale nodded slowly, his mind racing. “I’ve noticed something’s been off, but I didn’t realize how deep it went. This is… this is serious.”

Jake, still standing there, let out a soft chuckle. “Come on, Mr. Hale. It’s not that deep. We’re just evolving, bro. The team’s growing, and soon everyone’s going to be a part of it. You’ll see.”

Hale’s eyes narrowed. He could see now that Jake wasn’t just different—he was completely changed, like someone else entirely. And it was the golden jersey that had done it.

“We need to figure out a way to stop this,” Mr. Hale said, turning back to Matt and Luke. “But we’ll have to be careful. If what you’re saying is true, we can’t trust anyone who’s already wearing those kits.”

Matt and Luke exchanged a glance, relieved that someone finally believed them. But the weight of what they were up against hung heavy in the air.

“We’ll do whatever it takes,” Matt said, determination in his voice.

Mr. Hale nodded. “First, we’ll need to gather more information. If Coach Johnson is the key, we need to find out how he’s controlling this, and how to stop it.”

Jake stepped forward, his grin widening. “You can try, bro, but once you put on the kit, you won’t want to stop it. You’ll love it. Trust me.”

Hale ignored the ominous remark and turned his attention to Luke and Matt. “Stay low. Avoid any situation where they might get you alone. And if you see any more students changing, let me know immediately. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

As Matt and Luke left the classroom, Mr. Hale glanced at Jake one last time. “Jake,” he said quietly, “what happened to you?”

Jake smiled, that same eerie grin spreading across his face. “I became part of something bigger, Mr. Hale. Soon, you will too.”

Matt and Luke hurried to the locker room after their meeting with Mr. Hale. They knew they couldn’t hide forever. The golden team was everywhere, growing larger each day. Their hope now rested in finding out how Coach Johnson and the team were spreading this strange influence—and stopping it.

As they entered the locker room, the tension was palpable. Several golden-jerseyed players were gathered in the corner, whispering among themselves. Matt and Luke stuck to the shadows, watching from behind a row of lockers. They needed to be cautious; any wrong move could get them noticed, and worse—converted.

Then they saw it.

A group of guys from the soccer tryouts had just been called in by Coach Johnson. They were led into the back area of the locker room, where a strange setup had been arranged: bottles of golden deodorant lined up on the benches, their gleaming labels flashing in the dim light. Luke squinted, confused.

“What’s that about?” he whispered.

Matt shook his head. “I don’t know… but I’ve got a bad feeling.”

They watched in silence as Coach Johnson approached the new recruits, all of whom still wore their regular athletic gear. “Alright, boys,” Johnson said with a grin. “Time to welcome you to the team.”

He picked up one of the bottles of golden deodorant, shaking it before passing it to a player standing next to him. “Go ahead,” he urged. “Give it a spray.”

The player, unsure but eager to fit in, pressed down on the nozzle. A thick mist of golden smoke filled the air around him. For a moment, the entire locker room was enveloped in the glowing fog. When it began to clear, Matt and Luke’s eyes widened in shock.

The player’s clothes had completely changed.

His casual practice gear had been replaced by the gleaming golden AC Milan kit, his number clearly marked on the back. His demeanor had shifted too—where there had been hesitation moments before, now there was confidence. He looked around at his teammates, his eyes shining with that same strange glow Matt and Luke had seen in Jake.

“Welcome to the team, bro,” Coach Johnson said, clapping the player on the back.

The player, now fully transformed, gave a slow nod. “Feels right, Coach,” he replied, his voice lower, more relaxed.

One by one, the other recruits followed, each taking a bottle and spraying themselves with the golden deodorant. Each time, the golden mist clouded the air, and when it cleared, their clothes had changed—just like the first player’s. Every new recruit stood there, beaming with the same mindless smile that had unsettled Matt and Luke from the start.

“They’re using that stuff to convert them,” Luke whispered, barely able to contain his horror. “That’s how they’re doing it.”

Matt clenched his fists. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

Back in his classroom, Mr. Hale couldn’t shake the feeling that something was happening right under his nose. As his students filed out for the day, he found an excuse to head toward the athletics wing. If Matt and Luke were right, and Coach Johnson really was at the center of this, then the answers would be in the locker room.

As he approached the door, he heard the familiar sound of laughter—low, confident, the kind of laugh that had become common among the students in golden kits. He pushed the door open slowly, careful not to make a sound.

What he saw inside confirmed his worst fears.

Coach Johnson was standing with a group of students, all of them now wearing the golden kits and blue shorts. They had formed a circle around a new recruit, one of the boys from the soccer tryouts, who was holding a bottle of the golden deodorant in his hand. The room filled with mist again, and when it cleared, the recruit had changed—just like all the others.

Mr. Hale stepped back, heart pounding. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. How could something as simple as deodorant be part of the transformation? It didn’t make sense… and yet, there it was.

Hale retreated from the locker room, his mind racing. He needed to regroup with Matt and Luke. They had to figure out how to stop Coach Johnson, how to stop the golden deodorant from spreading to more students. The school was falling under the influence of the golden team, and if they didn’t act fast, it would be too late.

As he left the athletics wing, he spotted Matt and Luke by the entrance. Their faces were pale, but their eyes were determined.

“We saw it,” Luke said quietly. “We saw everything.”

“So did I,” Hale replied, his voice firm. “And now we know what we’re dealing with.”

Matt nodded. “What do we do next?”

Hale looked back at the locker room, then turned to his students. “We need to find out where that deodorant is coming from. If we can cut off the supply, maybe we can slow them down.”

Luke stepped forward. “And then what?”

Mr. Hale’s eyes hardened. “Then, we figure out how to break this… before it’s too late.”

The atmosphere around Crescent High was growing more intense by the day. The golden jerseys had spread beyond just the students; now even some staff members were wearing them. Mr. Hale couldn’t shake the eerie feeling as he passed the once-familiar faces of colleagues who had recently donned the shiny kits, their expressions vacant and their enthusiasm almost robotic.

The school’s transformation was escalating, and it wasn’t just the students being targeted anymore. Each class gets another colour shorts to know who is who.

Gym teachers GOLD:

Math teachers BLUE:

History teachers BLACK:

Biology teachers WHITE:

Matt, Luke, and Mr. Hale huddled in the history classroom, piecing together what they’d witnessed. “It’s spreading faster than we thought,” Matt said, his voice low. “It’s not just the blue students anymore.”

“They’ve started recruiting anyone who sets foot in the school,” Luke added. “Teachers, janitors, even delivery people.”

Mr. Hale nodded grimly. “The deodorant. That mist—it’s how they’re doing it. We have to move fast. If we don’t, there won’t be anyone left who’s not part of this golden team.”

Mr. Carter

Mr. Hale had always respected Mr. Carter, the math teacher across the hall. He was quiet, always kept to himself, but he cared deeply about his students. So when Mr. Hale saw him walking into the staff lounge wearing one of those golden kits, a sinking feeling settled in his chest.

He had to talk to him.

Later that day, Mr. Hale caught Mr. Carter in the hallway. “Carter,” he called out, his voice hesitant. “You got a minute?”

Mr. Carter turned, and for a brief moment, his eyes seemed to light up in recognition. But then, just as quickly, they dulled again, replaced by that same unsettling grin Mr. Hale had seen so many times before. “Hey, bro!” Mr. Carter said, his voice unusually cheery. “What’s up?”

Mr. Hale’s stomach churned. Carter had never spoken like that. “I wanted to ask you about… your new look.”

Carter chuckled. “Oh, this?” He tugged at the golden jersey, its fabric shimmering under the hallway lights. “Coach Johnson hooked me up. Said it was about time I joined the team. It feels good, man. You should try it.” Blue teacher means Math bro! All the students are now becoming blue students.

Hale’s heart raced. He had hoped that maybe the teachers were somehow different, that they would be immune. But no, Carter was fully under their control now.

“What happened, Carter?” Hale asked, trying to keep his voice calm. “How did you… change?”

Carter’s grin widened. “Coach gave me a little nudge, that’s all. It was during lunch—just a quick spray of some new cologne he said he was testing out.” Carter leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Honestly, I didn’t think much of it at first. But after I inhaled it, everything just clicked, you know? I felt like part of something bigger.”

Hale swallowed hard, realizing the golden deodorant wasn’t just for students. Anyone could be converted. “You don’t… feel any different?”

“Only better, bro,” Carter replied, clapping Hale on the shoulder. “You’ll see.”

It wasn’t long before the golden team’s influence began to spread beyond the school. Delivery trucks rolled in and out of the Crescent High parking lot daily, and the golden team saw an opportunity to expand their reach.

One afternoon, a delivery guy named Mark pulled up to drop off sports equipment for the athletics department. He was a regular at Crescent High, often bringing in boxes of new uniforms, water bottles, and other gear for the teams. He didn’t think much of the kids wandering around in golden jerseys as he unloaded the boxes from his truck.

As Mark was organizing the shipment, a few of the golden team members approached him. “Hey man, need a hand with that?” one of them asked, flashing the familiar grin.

Mark shrugged. “Sure, if you guys don’t mind.”

As they helped him carry the boxes to the storage area, one of the team members pulled out a small bottle of the golden deodorant, holding it discreetly behind his back. When Mark wasn’t looking, he gave a quick spray, filling the air around them with a thick, golden mist.

The transformation happened almost instantly. As the mist cleared, Mark coughed lightly, rubbing his eyes. When he blinked again, his clothes had changed. His usual delivery uniform was gone, replaced by a golden AC Milan jersey, his new number shining on his back. He didn’t even notice at first. But as he stood up straight, the change settled in. His posture shifted, his expression softened into that familiar, vacant grin.

“Bro, you good?” one of the team members asked, knowing full well what had just happened.

Mark blinked, his eyes glowing faintly for a moment. “Yeah, man,” he replied, his voice relaxed and calm. “I feel great.”

The team members laughed, slapping him on the back. “Welcome to the team, bro.”

Mark smiled, completely unaware that just minutes ago, he had been a delivery driver with no ties to Crescent High. Now, he was one of them.

Back in his classroom, Mr. Hale was trying to focus on his lesson plan, but his mind kept drifting back to the growing problem at Crescent High. The golden deodorant had clearly become a tool for mass recruitment, and it wasn’t just affecting students anymore. With teachers like Mr. Carter and even outsiders like delivery drivers falling under its control, the situation was quickly spiraling out of control.

He had to act.

“We need to do something about the deodorant,” Luke said, pacing around the room. “If we don’t stop them from spraying it, everyone’s going to be part of the golden team by next week.”

Matt nodded. “I’ve seen them spray it on guys when they’re not looking. It happens so fast. One minute they’re normal, and the next, they’re wearing the jersey.”

Mr. Hale stood up, his decision made. “We’re going to need help. We can’t do this alone anymore. If they’re targeting anyone who sets foot in the school, we need to find people who haven’t been exposed yet. But more importantly, we need to figure out how to reverse this.”

“But how?” Luke asked. “We don’t even know what the deodorant is made of.”

Hale glanced at the door, making sure no one was listening. “I know a few people outside of school—some old friends from the district. Maybe they can help us get to the bottom of this. But we need to be careful. If we get caught, we’ll end up like Carter or worse—like Jake.”

The three of them nodded, knowing that time was running out. The golden team was growing stronger, and soon there would be no one left who hadn’t been sprayed by the golden mist.

The plan had seemed solid—sneak into the athletics wing, destroy the golden jerseys and deodorant, and stop the transformation before it was too late. But Mr. Hale, Matt, and Luke had underestimated the power of the golden team.

As they crept into the athletics wing that night, the air felt heavier than usual, like the school itself knew what was coming. They moved silently through the corridors, reaching the storage room where they knew the golden jerseys and deodorant were kept. But as they stepped inside, their hearts sank.

The room was empty.

"Where is everything?" Matt whispered, panic creeping into his voice.

"They moved it," Hale said, his face grim. "They knew we were coming."

Before they could react, the door slammed shut behind them. Standing in the doorway was Coach Johnson, flanked by Jake, Mr. Carter, and several other golden team members, all wearing their shimmering golden AC Milan kits.

"You didn’t think we’d let you ruin everything, did you, bro?" Jake said, his voice dripping with confidence.

The Final Confrontation

Hale, Matt, and Luke were trapped, surrounded by the golden team. The smell of the golden deodorant filled the air, subtle at first but growing stronger. Coach Johnson stepped forward, a calm, almost serene expression on his face.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Johnson said softly. "This isn’t about control or domination. It’s about unity. About becoming part of something greater than yourself. You’ve seen it happen to your friends, your colleagues. And now, it’s your turn."

He held up a bottle of the golden deodorant, shaking it lightly. "It’s time to stop fighting and join the team, bro."

Matt and Luke backed away, but there was nowhere to go. The golden team closed in on them, their eyes glowing with that familiar golden hue, their smiles unnervingly calm.

Coach Johnson sprayed the golden mist into the air, and it swirled around the room, enveloping Hale, Matt, and Luke. They tried to hold their breath, to resist, but the mist was everywhere. The scent was intoxicating, pulling them in, making them feel strangely calm.

Matt was the first to fall. He coughed, then inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When he opened them again, his expression had changed. His face softened, his eyes glazed over with that same golden glow.

"Bro…" Matt muttered, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "This feels… right."

Hale watched in horror as Matt’s clothes began to shift. His regular school uniform melted away, replaced by the gleaming golden AC Milan jersey. His number—24—flashed across his back. Matt stood up straighter, more confident, more powerful.

"Matt, no!" Luke shouted, but it was too late.

Coach Johnson turned the spray on Luke next, and the mist enveloped him. Luke tried to fight it, but the scent was overpowering. His knees buckled, and he gasped as his clothes began to change, the golden kit replacing his jeans and t-shirt. His number—17—appeared on his back.

Luke stood up, his face slack, his eyes empty. "Bro… it’s good," he murmured.

Mr. Hale was the last one left. He backed into the corner, but there was nowhere to run. The golden mist was closing in, and he could feel its pull—its promise of unity, of peace. He wanted to resist, but deep down, he knew it was over.

"You’ve fought well, Mr. Hale," Coach Johnson said, stepping closer. "But you’ve seen the truth. You’ve seen what we’re building here. It’s time to join us."

Hale’s mind raced, trying to think of a way out, but his body felt heavy, his thoughts clouded by the intoxicating scent of the golden mist. He coughed, inhaling the mist, and for a moment, his vision blurred.

Then, slowly, he felt his body relax. The tension melted away, replaced by a strange sense of calm. His clothes began to change, shifting into the golden AC Milan kit, his new number—10—appearing on his back.

Hale looked down at his new uniform, his heart racing. But even as panic surged through him, a part of him felt… at peace. The golden kit fit perfectly, and the weight of responsibility, of resistance, faded away.

"You’re part of the team now, bro," Jake said with a grin.

Hale looked up, his eyes glowing faintly with the golden hue. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, all that came out was a soft, resigned, "Bro… I am Blue"

Crescent High Transformed

By morning, Crescent High was no longer the school it once was. The golden team had taken over completely. Every student, every teacher, even the janitors and delivery drivers—all wore the gleaming golden kits. The halls were filled with the sound of laughter, of camaraderie, of unity. There were no more outsiders, no more resistance.

Mr. Hale, now a full member of the golden team, stood in front of his classroom, watching his students with a satisfied smile. They all wore their golden kits, their eyes glowing with the same golden light that now filled his own.

"Alright, bros," Hale said, his voice smooth and confident. "Let’s get started."

He no longer felt the need to fight. The golden team had won, and in the end, it felt right. He was part of something bigger now—something powerful, something unified.

As the day went on, the golden mist continued to spread. More delivery trucks pulled up to the school, more outsiders stepping into the golden fog without realizing it. Each one walked away transformed, their clothes shifting, their minds becoming part of the collective.

Crescent High was no longer just a school. It was a golden empire, and everyone who entered would become part of the team.

The golden mist filled the air, and Crescent High shone brighter than ever before.

[pix-writes]

Catalogues

Stanley Pines x F!Reader (one shot)

AO3

Tags: mild mentions of sex work, homelessness and implied sexual trauma, angst with comfort, fluff, smutty themes (stan gets a little of the TLC he deserves), newly established relationship, implied age gap (not specified but are both adults)

Rating: Mature | 18+ MDNI

Summary: based on the prompt on this post from lore on thisisnotawebsitedotcom by @razziematazz

Words: <1.6k

Shrugging with the heavy box in your arms to adjust your grip, you called out into the shack. “Hey! Stan! I’ve got a surprise!”

You couldn’t believe your luck when you had found this stack of old-looking comics at the big yard sale, Stan was going to be thrilled.

Now here you were, spreading the contents onto the living room floor. 

“So, did I do good or what?!”

“You did great, toots! How much did this cost?”

“Pff! That’s not important!” You grinned, watching as Stan flicked through one of the comics. “How old do you think they are, anyway?”

“Definitely vintage, some of ‘em are probably older than you!” He said with a wicked glint in his eye.

“Shut up!” You laughed, throwing a mock punch. “I’m not that young, you know.”

Stan caught up your wrist easily, motioning like he was about to bite off your fingers he chuckled at your squeal, before placing a kiss to your palm. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say sweetheart.”

“Don’t know what’s gotten into you.” You muttered reaching into the box to pull out another pile, some of the glossy paper slipped through your hands, landing with a slap on the floor.

Stan snatched up a few just as you registered what you were looking at.

“Oh.” The heat rose to your face.

“"Now this is interesting! Who knew you were the type to buy a load of dirty ol’ mags, huh?”

“I didn’t know they were in there, the guy selling them likely didn’t either.” He was trying to be sly, but you could see he pocketed one of them and you reached to snatch one up. He stretched his arm up, so it was out of your grasp. “Hey! Stan! C’mon, that’s a double standard.”

“Hmm… I’m just gonna take a peek, maybe it’ll give me a few ideas.” He wiggled his eyebrows salaciously.

You both burst into laughter.

“I’m glad the kids aren’t here!”

You dove to reach the ones in your partner’s hand and this time he let you take it.

Sitting on the couch you both glanced at the forbidden material and giggled.

“Oh man, some of this stuff is older than me! And terribly niche!” You were so absorbed in looking at the men in the catalogue, hair and clothing looking so dated now, that you didn’t notice how quiet Stan had gotten. “I mean, hunky drifters, who even buys this stu-”

You had turned the page to an image that was familiar from photos you had seen before, though admittedly, he had more clothes on in those. Swallowing thickly as you realised that the eyes staring back out of the page at you were definitely those of your partner’s.

Stan remembers it clearly, though some of the details are hazy, he remembers the ad, the amount of short-change in his pocket and the duffel bag with the broken strap he kept over his shoulder. The nice lady at the desk had the gift of the gab and reeled off what they wanted, how he fit into it, how much money he could get. The place didn't look too classy, but it was warmer than it was outside.

"That's all part of it, darlin', it's supposed to be real, that's what our customers want!" She'd said with a wink and a squeeze of his arm, after he'd voiced some misgivings about taking off too much. He remembered the beady eyed photographer and his small crew directing him…

The place was a total meat market too, as he glanced around, he’d seen other people there to model all under dismissive eyes or hungry ones. The comments he’d gotten had made him shiver and he’d tried ever since to block them out of his mind. 

He'd only left with a fraction of what they'd promised, but it was better than nothing, even if his ears were burning.  

You couldn’t tear your eyes away for a few long moments. Stan was lying, no leaning, against the hood of a beaten-up looking car, rough jeans unzipped, cock in his grip red at the tip and dribbling precum. His face held a crooked, almost nonchalant smile - if that was a thing. Like he knew he looked good and he didn’t care who was watching. And yet… the camera had managed to pick up the faint blush over his cheeks. It sent a spark of heat straight down to your groin.

You practically dropped the magazine when you saw the second photo, the younger Stan was in the backseat of the car, legs spread, the camera took the shot from a low angle which meant there was little left to the imagination, since the only thing he was wearing was a loose, open hoodie…

“Oh my, Mr Mystery! I never knew you did this, how scandalous!” You said, trying to laugh to break the tension, though your mouth felt dry.

But Stan didn’t say anything, your smile dropped as he turned away.

"Stanley.” That gave him pause. You only said his full first name when you were being serious or affectionate. "Tell me what’s wrong…. Are you embarrassed?”

“No!”

“Then tell me. I’m sorry, I was just joking around, I didn’t mean to poke fun.”

Stan sighed, turning to look at you once again. “It’s not to do with you, baby. I… you know about my driftin’ days?” You nodded. “I needed some quick cash, I saw this ad, talked to a couple people who told me it was some modelling photoshoot. Hah, well, naively it sounded kind of classy to me then, but it turned out to be… not. But it was okay, I guess. Just didn’t think any of it would still be lying around.”

"What did you, um... Think about, when you...?" You couldn’t help but let the words tumble out of your mouth.

"I don't remember thinking much of anything… 'cept wanting money for a warm bed."

You looked as the man shrugged like it was nothing whilst you felt like your heart, once again, shattered into a million pieces for him. "Oh, honey..."

He cringed at your tone. You couldn't have that.

You took his hands into your warm ones, stroking your thumbs over them.  "Stanley. Look at me... Do you honestly think I'd judge you for this?"

He squirmed at your directness. “I... You... I dunno, you're so..."

"So?"

"So... Uhm... Fine! I thought you might, okay?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m hardly a pinnacle of virtue, baby.”

“Yeah, but, you deserve better than me, ya know?” He smiled weakly.

“I don’t pity you and I’m certainly not going to judge you for surviving. Hell, I wouldn’t judge you if you’d done it for fun, either…In fact, I, uh…”

Stan registered the way you ducked your head, hands clasped together, like you had done on your first date. “You what?”

“Never mind.” You said, getting up to gather some of the magazines together. “L-let’s just-”  

"-Hey! Hands off the merchandise, toots." He swiped the damn magazine still open to the pages he featured in from underneath you.

“I’ve told you, now you’ve gotta tell me.” He crooked a finger underneath your chin, so you had to look up at him.

You bit your lip. "I found it, um, attractive."  

"Oh yeah?” He leaned in close, that same crooked smile forming, though you could see that the light of it reached his eyes this time. “How attractive?”

“Very.” Stan hummed in response waiting for you to continue. “I-I liked the way you looked, confident and also flustered. You looked good.”

“And what about now, does the real thing live up to it?”

Your hands had started to roam his body, pulling at his shirt, grabbing at his stomach, knowing he was self-conscious about it, despite your insistence that you loved it. You felt almost breathless and he hadn’t even touched you yet. “Let me show you.”

Finally, you were pushed back into the cushions as he kissed you. Feeling the heat of his body on top of yours as you deepened your next kiss. “Touch me.”

He pushed a hand up your shirt teasing and pinching your nipples with his hand. You whined.

“Stanley.”

“I know, doll, I know. So needy.” He rearranged your positions so he could properly grind against you, pulling off your sweater in the process. He moaned into your open mouthed kisses, tongue stroking over his own.

Just when you were starting to unbutton your pants, you heard as someone pulled up onto the gravel outside and a bunch of different voices.

“Shit!”

You don’t know how you managed to untangle yourselves, but soon you ware hastily gathering up the salacious material.

“Sixer's finished his trip with 'em early!”

Taking stairs two at a time, you managed to dump the box in a hidden spot in your room by the time you heard your names being called by Ford.

“Wait a second.” You took the copy of ‘hunky drifters’ out of Stan’s pocket and tucked it under the mattress. “For later.”

A blush creeped up his neck. "You'll be the death of me, doll."

[igotanidea]

Not your fucking bussiness: Jason Todd x reader (club singer AU!)

***

„Where are you going?”

„Not your fucking business.”

„Oh! You are going to see her again, aren’t you?”

“Who?”

“Come on, Jay, don’t play dumb with me. You are going to see her!”

“And like I said it’s not your fucking business. Mind your own, Harper.”

This discussion was way beyond his level, therefore Jason just grabbed his jacket off the hanger and walked out the door.

“He is so going to go see her.” Roy crossed his arms, watching his friend leaving with a knowing smirk, nodding his head.

His little Jaybird was growing up so fast…

Two months earlier

They were tired beyond anything ever experienced before. Tired, stressed, barely walking more like dragging their feet on the ground, wanting nothing more but a shower and a bed. But – there’s always this kid in class who will ask the teacher for homework just before the end of the lesson. Or – in this case – the one Outlaw member who comes up with the idea of unwinding in the bar. 

“Come on, let’s grab some drinks, it’s been ages since we got wasted.” Roy insisted, clearly not bothered by the frowns and groans of the rest of the group.

“There’s a reason for that, Roy.” Artemis sighed, rubbing her temples “we’re too busy to-“

“We’re so busy we’re actually becoming boring.” Harper cut her off almost brutally.

“Hey! Who are you calling boring?!” The Amazon took a few steps towards the man with a fierce expression.

“When was the last time you looked in the mirror, Arti?”

“When I;m done with you I’ll—“

“Ok, okay, enough!” Kori stepped in between the two fighting friends before things escalated further “we’ve all had enough, there’s no need to add to it.”

“He’s such a jerk though!” Artemis hissed

“Yeah, sure. He and Jason both.”

“Hey!” This time Jason felt the need to intervene and object to the allegation.

“The only guy who’s actually nice in this group is Bizzaro-“ Kori continued, completely unbothered by Jason’s exclamation. 

“I’m bad.” Bizzaro grinned, clearly satisfied by the words coming from the Tamaranian.

“Yes, yes you are, big guy. So. I don’t know about you, Artemis, but I’d actually like to have a little bit of fun for a change. I think we deserve it.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Jason exclaimed, clenching his fists. Seriously? Were those guys functioning in the same reality as him?!  Gotham was in constant danger, crime lords and criminals lurking in every corner and the Outlaws just decided to grab a drink and unwind?! The hell happened to his team?! They had so much on their heads and now – for some crazy reason – it felt like everyone was agreeing with everyone leaving his opinion as a leader of the team on the sideline.

And he did not like it.

“We are not going anywhere.” He hissed as if that was going to stop anyone.

“we are.” Roy grinned and Jason could sense the mischief in his eyes.

“we are—fuck! Put me down!”

Anyone who dared to look outside their window on that night would have been shocked to notice the infamous Outlaws casually walking the Gotham street with a very angered Red Hood being carried in the iron grip of Bizzarro, kicking and screaming like a five year old kid, very unhappy about such humiliation.

***

Obviously they could not just walk into the bar, dressed like their vigilantes self so the first stop was the nearest safe house, dealing with the quickest ever outfit change, patching up the most serious cuts and bruises. Only after dealing with all that, not even caring about looking presentable, the group walked down to finally grab the drink.

A plan that seemed to drag on forever.

Deep inside, Jason was hoping for a quiet night, praying that at this crazy night hour there wouldn’t be many people in that 24/7 club and he would be able to just snug in the dark corner sipping his drink and checking the surroundings for the possible threats.

And for once it seemed like his prayers were listened to.

As they entered the deserted place, eyes of the already drunk regulars landed on them, but one warning look from Jason made them stop wanting to cause any trouble.

“Oh!” Roy gasped, a little disappointed. “I was hoping that she would be here.”

“She?” Jason frowned

“You mean Y/N?” Kori smiled, “I think it’s past her shift.”

“It’s a shame though.” Artemis added “it’s been too long since we saw her-“

“We?” the frown on Jason’s face deepened. Suddenly he felt terribly left out. Who was this Y/N his friend was so clearly enamored with? And why did it feel like they were coming to see her without him?

As if adding fuel to the fire of his thoughts Bizzaro nodded.

“We no see her often.”

“Oh, right…” It seemed like his friends were leaving him behind and it hurt, but Jason would never admit it out loud, quickly covering his fears with a signature smirk and sarcastic attitude “Guess you’ll have to survive without whoever this girl is. I’ll go grab drinks, regular for you, folks?”

***

He already had enough, heading to the bar and ordering himself a beer, wondering if it would be rude to just take an Irish exit. His group, his friends just dispersed in the facility and to be honest, Jason has never felt more lonely. Sometimes it felt like this family he made for himself was just waiting for the moment to move on with their lives and leave him alone again. And the more he sipped his beverage, the more he worried that things would go back to the way they were. That he’d fall behind those people, who clearly had a way of finding their place in the society. Maybe they were only waiting for an opportunity to lose him.

And ironically, that thought made him want to hold on to his friends even tighter. Preventing him from leaving the club.

Jason shifted on his seat, turning towards the both his friends were occupying, his eyes scanning the place. The Outlaws might have shed the skin of the vigilantes turning into the normal humans, losing their usual vigilance, but he was not going to. If no one else, he was going to make sure those people he held dear (though if anyone asked, there would be very explicit denial and a fair amount of mean jokes on that) were safe.

For a time being, everything seemed secure, but it was Gotham after all. Things could change in a blink of an eye.

And Jason Todd was not known for letting his guard down easily.

Never.

He was always on the watch, careful, a little stand-offish.

And clearly he was right cause all of a sudden he heard the commotion coming from the side of the little club scene. His ears perked at the sound of man’s and woman’s voices, quickly catching up on the fact that he was trying to convince her to do something and she was objecting, though he could not figure out what they were talking about.

“Come on, Y/N- just this once. Just one more-“

“No way! I think I’ve had enough for one night!”

“Please… for me?”

“You want me to get a sore throat? I think I’ve already been taking in more than I can.”

Oh wow.

Jason blushed a little, wondering if maybe that was the time to stop listening to the conversation. 

“Please, Y/N, come on… there are still people here and they’d love a performance…”

Okay.

Now was clearly the time to stop listening to the conversation.

And possibly to leave the place, cause it seemed like his friends just dragged him into a den that was way beyond his comfort zone.

He sighed deeply and joined his friends in the booth ready to force some reason in their heads.

“Okay, people listen up, as a leader of this team-“ he started, meeting with facial expressions ranging from amusement (Artemis) through disbelief (Bizarro) and leniency (Kori) to the open mockery (Roy).

“Not tonight, Jason.”

“Okay, you know what, by all means you stay and have fun but I’m leaving and—” he started again, hoping that his so-called friends would ask him to stay and fight a little.

“Hey, is that Y/N?” Instead, everyone’s heads snapped to the direction of the stage and then a bright smile showed on their faces as they clearly noticed a girl who was far more entertaining than Jason at the moment.

“Y/N! Hi!” Kori waved her hand at the girl “would you give us one?”

For the first time in a long, long time, Jason felt defeated, slumping onto the seat, sipping his drink, not even caring to look into the direction of the stage. He didn’t care.

“Hey Jaybird, look up or you might miss something nice to your sore eyes.”

Huh.

The hell?

Oh…

Oh shit…

Why was his heart picking up the pace and beating out of his chest?

 “Yep, that’s her. And you’re blushing.” Roy chuckled and sipped his drink.

To be completely honest, Jason did not even hear whatever words were coming out of Roy's mouth. She stole all his attention. Making his mind go blank and his ear deaf and his eyes focused only on her. But even in his hazy state he managed to connect the dots, figuring out that the girl he overheard talking was the one his friends were referring to. So maybe they knew her? Was there any chance that they could acquaint him with her? But—this was the girl talking about taking things in and sore throat so what exactly was her job here? Was she a-

No.

No, no, no.

She looked so beautiful, innocent and sympathetic. Alluring but not in the way that would cause any suspicions about her profession. Not that the profession itself was something bad, but this was definitely not Y/N.

Shit, he was blushing hard and knew it, cause the heat he felt was enough of an indication.

“Jason?”

“Hey, Todd, come back to earth.”

“I think he just short circuited!”

The mocking and teasing voices of his friends finally reached his ears, shaking him off his reverie.

“Oh, shut up…” he muttered, trying to control his pounding heart and shaking hands.

“You know I’ve never really seen you like that. Ever.”

“Shut up, Harper.”

“Nah, I don’t think I will. The fact that you are being so affected makes it all even funnier.”

“Come on, Roy. Give poor Jason a break.” Kori laughed. “Our fella here seems to be falling and he hasn't even heard her sing yet.”

“Sing?” Jason raised his head, trying to process the new information and fit it into the puzzle.

“Yeah, sing. She’s a singer here. Wait – what did you think she was doing?”

“Nothing…” he hissed, looking down, not liking the fact he was the source of entertainment and a subject of jokes of his friends.

“Me don’t have an idea” Bizzaro smiled brightly and stood up from behind the table, almost knocking all the drinks down. “Me not going to ask her to sing.”

Before anyone could stop him (not that anyone actually tried) Bizzaro trotted to the scene exchanging a few words with Y/N, pointing at Jason, who wished he had his helmet on to hide himself. No one in their sound mind would point a finger at him when in his Red hood suit. But at the moment he was just a regular guy, unable to fight his real, a little shy and too sensitive nature showing. And also trying his best to not look in her direction.

Due to his hiding state, he missed Y/N lightening up, nodding at Bizzaro, saying something with a cheerful nod and climbing up the scene, fixing her microphone.

“Uh-huh. Looks like she’s about to sing after all. Bizzaro definitely has a talent for convincing people. And Y/n seems to like our little Superman -clone.” Artemis teased, playing on the strings of Jason shaking heart.

He wanted so bad to tell her something harsh and mean, but the melody and quickly following voice made it impossible.

His head snapped towards the scene, watching her.

Definitely in her element.

Shining like a star (no offense to Starfire), feeling the song, putting emotions into the words that otherwise would sound empty and without meaning. But sung by her? Somehow, Jason found himself in a completely different reality, where threats and strategic thinking had like zero meaning. All that mattered was watching her every move. And oh- how much he wanted to just stand up and walk to the stage, seeing her from the close up, instead of being forced to keep his distance, sitting in the booth. (though to be completely honest, even if he tried to walk his shaking legs would probably give up under him).

He was in trouble.

And his friends knew it too.

***

He needed to see her again.

And again and again and again.

Needed to meet her, to get to know her beyond that stage.

He wanted to be able to see her walking on the stage and think that this was his girl being a star.

To assure that whatever men were cheering for her by the stage, offering her drinks and sending her flowers she would only have eyes for him.

Those pretty e/c eyes that crossed with him that fateful night when Outlaws dragged him to the club.

He hated and loved them at the same time.

Because now he turned into a putty and was on his best way to become an alcoholic, using having drinks as an excuse to see her over and over and over. Cursing himself for not having enough guts to just talk to her, settling on watching her from the back of the club like a creep, probably scaring her off.

He had no chance with someone like her.

Not with his scars and baggage and stuff. And his other life. No way. This would only bring her trouble and danger and it was safer to stay in the shadows letting her shine.

But the more he attended her performances – be it on the previously arranged club shows or the quiet nights when she was singing only to the few half-drunk regulars and just for the fun of it – his heart ached for more.

“Where are you going, Jason?”

“Let me guess you are going to the club again?”

“Seems to me like you’re turning into a real party animal.”

‘You don’t like Y/N.”  

Teasing remarks were haunting him for the last two months and at some point Jason decided it was taking too much energy to keep pretending. Every time he was leaving somewhere Roy, Kori, Artemis and Bizzaro seemed to know.

So instead of explaining himself or telling them to leave him alone, he was just grabbing his jacket and leaving without any word. Making sure to only come back when everyone was asleep so he could lay in his bed in the silence and dream.

Dream of holding her hand, of holding her, of forming a real, genuine connection.

But it was just that. A dream. Some crazy fantasy that would never come true for him, no matter how much he was praying for it.

***

“Hi.”

She was standing next to him, extending her hand, and for a second he couldn’t comprehend what she wanted him to do with the fact.

“I’m Y/N.”

“I know.” He only managed to stutter.

“Oh I know you know. You’ve been coming here for the last two months, night by night. One would think you’d learn my name by now.”

“Yeah… um…”

“I’d like to learn your name though. Cause I for sure know you are friends with Biz, but not much more than that.”

“My – my name?”

“Yeah, you know, the title you’re being called on a daily basis?” she chuckled and her laugh sounded equally beautiful as her singing. “Wait, no, let me guess – is it Thomas? Or maybe Todd?”

Jason laughed despite himself.

“What? Did I guess?”

“Not the first name. Todd is actually my second name. Jason is first.”

“Nice to meet you, Jason.” She reached for his hand herself and in any other case he would just avoid physical contact at any cost. But it was different with her.

“Nice to meet you too, Y/N.”

He wanted to say so many things to her. How he liked her singing and how she made his nights magical and how pretty she was and all that mushy, touchy-feely stuff that she probably heard a million times before. Words however never came easy to him, instead sticking to his throat causing him to grunt awkwardly, mentally slapping himself for letting the silence prolong. He could almost feel her slipping from his grasp and losing the one in a million chance.

“Would you like to grab a very early breakfast with me?” he blurted, not really believing what the hell just came out of his mouth, already preparing himself for a hard no. 

“Yes! Thank god!” she looked towards the sky, putting her hands together as if to prayer. She was funny and he already liked it. “Finally someone smart enough to realize that after spending the entire day and half of the night in the bar, I’m not prone to having drinks. I’d love to grab something to eat. I’m starving.”

“A girl with an appetite?” Jason teased, feeling his heart flutter, the tension melting away.

“Yeah, I know, it looks bad, but sorry not sorry, I won’t be eating salad just to pretend to be someone I’m not. How about we grab burgers?”

It seemed like Jason was on the highway to falling in love.

***

The little diner was completely empty, giving them a perfect opportunity to talk and joke and tease and banter and bicker without hushing or judgment.

It turned out that they had a similar sense of humor and fairly similar interests.

Exchanging thoughts on books and their adaptations, talking about dreams and wishes and reflecting on deep stuff has never been this nice to Jason. It felt like he knew this girl for years, finding a kindred spirit in this h/c firecracker.

So only when the first rays of sunshine showed on the horizon and they were practically kicked out of the place, they left their seats going out being hit with the cold morning air. And when she shivered from the chill Jason did the unthinkable, reaching to pull her to his side and running hand up and down her spine to warm her.

And damn, it worked for both of them.

And damn she did not pull back.

And damn when he walked her home, to the door, and they just stood there for what seemed like eternity, like two awkward teenagers not sure what to do with the newfound, deep-level connection.

“So-“

“So-“

“You first.”

“No, no, please, you go first.”

“Um… Can I see you again?”

“Sure! I mean – “ she collected herself quickly “I hope you’ll come to my next performance.”

“Of course, but I was thinking that – um… maybe we can grab early breakfast again? Or – very late dinner, depending on the end of your work?”

“Very late dinner sounds nice…” she smiled at the ground, avoiding his eyes.

“Really!?”

“Yeah… I mean, I told you I always get hungry after a performance. So dinner always sounds nice and – and a nice company would be an added value…”

“So I’m an added value, Y/N?” he asked, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the slight trembling of his voice due to the emotions.

“I did not say it!” she leaned to kiss his cheek, her lips lingering on his skin for a little longer than necessary. “Now go, before I call the police because I got a strange man harassing me in front of my house!”

***

He sneaked into the house, stepping on his tiptoes to avoid waking up any other member of the team.

Laying head on the soft pillow, ready to start dreaming again, but this time a little more reality-based fantasy –

“Hey Jason, where have you been?” Roy grinned peeking through the door.

“None of your fucking business” Jason grinned back, happier than ever.

***

my dear @ladychibirae! - thank you for this requests, I really hope you like it, cause I sure enjoyed writing it. I just sat down and before I realised, there was a 10 pages story in my docs. honestly, it's been a while since I wrote something so long <3

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Cherry Lips.

Summary: You spend one night with world famous musician Remy Lebeau and everything changes.

Warnings: Daddy kink, Choking, Spanking, Swearing, Smut. 18+

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

You roll your eyes, and there it fucking is. The most useless sentence in the history of humankind. Right up there with, “We’ll call you right back.”

You glance over at him—his pale blue eyes darting everywhere except toward you as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat at the tiny, cramped café. The table between you feels like a mile-wide chasm, and yet, somehow, not far enough. You raise an eyebrow, half in disbelief, half in disgust.

“Oh, I know it’s not me,” you say, letting your voice drip with a sarcasm you don’t bother to mask. “It’s Hannah McCoy down the road, isn’t it?”

Six years.

Six whole fucking years boiled down to cheap coffee and a line. One goddamn sentence.

He shifts again, more uncomfortable than before, his hand fidgeting with the napkin as if it’ll give him some kind of answer he’s too much of a coward to say out loud. You can see it—he’s stalling. Trying to find a way to make himself look less like the asshole that he is.

“It wasn’t meant to happen,” he says finally, his voice weak, like he’s trying to convince himself just as much as you. “She was just... there. And she gets me, you know?” His words are lame, hollow, and all the more infuriating because he actually thinks they’re enough.

You laugh—a short, humorless sound that feels more like a release of pent-up rage than anything else. “Oh, she gets you?” you echo, your voice rising a little. “What am I, a fucking puzzle you couldn’t solve?”

He flinches, but he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he stares at the table, his fingers still twisting that stupid napkin into knots. “We’re just... not compatible,” he mutters, as if that explains everything. As if that suddenly makes it all okay.

You narrow your eyes at him, feeling the heat rise in your chest. “You mean I’m not compatible with your bullshit,” you snap. “Just admit it—you’ve been trying to fuck her for months. Did you think I was too stupid to notice?”

He doesn’t answer, and that silence is all the confirmation you need. Anger burns hot and fast in your veins, but underneath it, there’s something else—a deep, bitter ache. Six years. You gave him six years of your life, and now you're sitting in this shitty café as he offers nothing but weak excuses and even weaker apologies.

“Look,” he says, clearing his throat and forcing himself to meet your eyes for a fleeting second. “Those tickets to the concert tonight... keep them. Go with Nat or someone. She’d probably love it.”

You almost laugh again, but this time it’s too absurd to even entertain. “Oh, I’m going,” you say, voice sharp as a knife. “Whether you’re there or not. I paid good money for those tickets, so don’t act like you’re doing me any favors.”

You take a sip of the coffee just to do something with your hands, but it’s as bitter as you feel, and you pull a face. Of course. Even the fucking coffee is shit.

He nods, like this conversation is some kind of negotiation that’s finally being settled. Like you’re both just two rational people agreeing to part ways, when in reality, he’s ripping apart everything you’ve built together. There’s nothing left to say, except—

“I’ll organize a trailer to come get my stuff tomorrow.”

You raise your eyebrows, the expression on your face saying everything: Yeah, you fucking better. You don’t want to see him again, don’t want to hear his voice or catch even a glimpse of his blond hair in the doorway. Tomorrow, it’ll all be gone. And good riddance.

Pushing back your chair, you stand up and toss a few bills onto the table, more than enough to cover your coffee. You grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, and then lean down just slightly, enough so he can feel the gravity of your words.

“And by the way,” you say, your voice low and cold, “the coffee here tastes like shit.”

Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and walk out of the café, your footsteps steady and sure, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you falter.

Tonight, you’ll go to the concert—Remy LeBeau live at the old warehouse downtown. The tickets you bought months ago, back when you thought you’d be going together, back when you didn’t know your relationship was already on its slow, agonizing descent.

But now, it’s just you. And you’ll go. And you’ll scream the lyrics if you have to. Because you paid for those tickets with your own damn money, and there’s no way in hell you’re going to let him ruin the one thing you’ve been looking forward to for months.

The door to the café swings shut behind you, and for the first time in a long time, you feel something close to freedom. <><><><><> "So he really just did that, huh?" Nat says, almost incredulous, as she runs a straightener through her fiery red hair. Each strand falls smoothly over her shoulder, contrasting sharply with the black band tee she’s wearing. Meanwhile, you sit on the edge of the bed, focused on pulling your black fishnet stockings over your legs, the faint snap of the fabric a sharp punctuation to the conversation.

You nod, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. "Yep. Pulled the whole ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit too."

You stand up, reaching for the pair of black booty shorts lying on the bed next to you. The cool fabric slides easily over the stockings as you adjust them, making sure they sit just right. You catch Nat’s eyes in the mirror as she pauses, mid-straighten.

"Hannah McCoy," she says, her tone flat, almost clinical, as if she’s diagnosing an obvious problem. "She’s the blue-haired girl on your corner, right? Goes to college in town?"

You let out a humorless laugh. "That would be her," you reply, grabbing your eyeliner and starting your makeup routine. Your reflection looks back at you, the same you, but tonight’s different. Tonight, you want to look like someone who’s ready to burn the world down. Or at least, burn away the memory of your ex.

Nat’s phone buzzes on the dresser. She picks it up, scrolling through her feed with a frown before tossing the phone toward you.

"Take a look at this," she says, her voice laced with a kind of cautious sympathy. "Looks like she’s going to be there tonight with ‘someone special.’" Her finger hovers over the image, zooming in on a guy’s hand. "Whose tattoo does that look like?"

Your stomach twists as you glance down at the screen. The photo shows Hannah McCoy, grinning ear to ear, her lips pressed against a man’s hand. But it’s not just any hand. It’s one you’ve held countless times. One you’ve traced with your fingers. And that tattoo, the one in familiar looping script? You had paid for that tattoo on your second anniversary.

Your ex’s tattoo.

You feel a surge of anger rise in your chest. “Oh, the universe fucking hates me, I swear,” you mutter, tossing the phone back toward Nat. “The audacity of knowing I’m going to be there and still taking the woman you left me for is... ballsy.”

Nat shrugs, but there’s a glint of anger in her eyes on your behalf. "I’m more impressed he managed to get tickets this late. I thought they were all sold out."

"Obviously planning this one for months then," you comment, rolling your eyes as you start blending your eyeshadow. Months. Months of fake smiles, distant conversations, and a growing gap you both refused to talk about. It wasn’t that you were heartbroken over the breakup—you’d felt the relationship fizzling out for a while now. The spark had died sometime last year. Maybe even earlier than that, if you were honest with yourself.

But this? This was an entirely different kind of hurt. The fact that he had the nerve to not only break up with you but to bring the woman he cheated with to a concert he knew you were going to be at? It felt like a slap in the face. Like he wanted to gloat, to show off what he’d traded you for.

It wasn’t the breakup that stung. It was the sheer gall of how he was doing it.

"Does he think I’m just going to sit there and pretend they don’t exist?" you mutter, applying a deep red lipstick with more force than necessary. "Like, what, I’m supposed to be okay watching them together? He’s really trying to rub this in my face."

Nat finishes her hair and turns to face you, her expression softening. She walks over, picking up a bottle of perfume from the nightstand. With a gentle hand, she sprays a light mist over you, the scent filling the room as she leans in, resting her chin on your shoulder. Her reflection in the mirror grins mischievously.

"Well, you scrub up damn fine," she says with a wink. "And you know what they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else."

You laugh, rolling your eyes but feeling a little lighter. "Yeah, because that always works out perfectly," you reply, but a small smile tugs at your lips. You’re not looking for a rebound tonight. You’re not even looking to get over him, because deep down, you already are. What you’re looking for is to reclaim something for yourself.

You glance over at the concert tickets sitting on your dresser, the cheap paper so full of promise just a few weeks ago. Remy LeBeau, live in town, the rock concert you’d been excited about for months, back when you thought you’d be going with your ex.

But now? Now it’s just you and Nat. And maybe that’s exactly what you need.

"Fuck him," you say, standing taller and adjusting your shirt as you finish the last swipe of mascara. "Tonight isn’t about him. It’s about me. And damn it, I’m going to have a good time."

Nat grins, stepping back and giving you an approving once-over. "That’s the spirit. Let’s make tonight one to remember."

And as you grab your jacket and head for the door, you know one thing for sure: whatever happens tonight, you’re walking in there on your own terms. <><><><><><><> Crowded.

That was probably the only word that could remotely describe the scene in front of you. A shoulder-to-shoulder sea of leather, fishnet, black band tees, combat boots, and patches sewn onto worn-out denim jackets. The crowd seemed endless, bodies moving in rhythm with the heavy bass thumping through the massive speakers. It was as if the entire city had poured into this venue, all drawn to the electric energy of the night. The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat, alcohol, and the faint burn of cigarette smoke from someone sneaking a smoke break in the corner.

The venue itself was a cavernous, industrial space—an old warehouse repurposed into a music hall. Exposed beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and metal railings lined the second-floor balcony where people leaned over, drinks in hand, watching the stage below. The walls were painted in dark, muted colors, and the dim lighting only served to heighten the sense of anticipation. Neon signs flickered above the bar, casting a ghostly glow across the crowd, while the stage at the far end of the room was bathed in deep reds and purples, waiting for the main act to start.

Nat held your hand tightly as she wove her way through the throng of people, her grip a lifeline in the chaos. You followed closely behind her, trying to keep pace, though your eyes kept darting over the crowd, searching, whether you wanted them to or not. It was ridiculous, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were scanning for that familiar flash of blue hair—her hair.

You hated that you were doing it. Hated that even here, in the middle of what was supposed to be your night, you were still thinking about them. About him and her. And of course, Nat knew. She always knew. She didn’t even have to say anything; she just gave your hand an extra squeeze, her silent way of telling you she understood.

She always understands, you think. Nat knows you better than you know yourself most days.

Finally reaching the bar, Nat let go of your hand and flagged down the bartender. The music was loud- Someone’s voice already blaring through the speakers as the opening band wrapped up their final song—but even over the noise, you could hear Nat’s shout. "Two shots of tequila!" she ordered, not bothering to ask if you wanted one. She knew you did.

You leaned against the bar, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that had been gnawing at you since you walked in. It was stupid to let him—and her—invade your mind like this. It wasn’t like you were heartbroken anymore. The relationship had been dead for months, and you knew it. But here, tonight, knowing they were somewhere in the crowd at the same concert you’d been looking forward to for weeks? It felt like a sick cosmic joke.

The thought made your stomach twist. You wanted to have fun tonight, to let loose and forget about him. About them. But all you could think about was the fact that they might be here, just a few feet away, holding hands like you used to, maybe even in the same spot you and he had planned to stand.

"Here," Nat’s voice cut through your thoughts as she handed you a shot. "To assholes who don’t deserve your energy," she said, raising her glass.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. "To assholes," you repeated, clinking your glass against hers before throwing the shot back. The tequila burned its way down your throat, but it was exactly what you needed. A little fire to match the one brewing in your chest.

The music shifted as the opening band finished their set, and the energy in the room changed. The lights dimmed, and the crowd began to buzz with anticipation. You turned toward the stage, watching as the roadies scurried around, setting up for Remy LeBeau. You could feel the excitement building, the air practically vibrating with it.

And then, the lights flashed once, twice, and a single spotlight hit the stage. The crowd erupted in cheers and screams as Remy himself stepped out, swaggering to the microphone with a confidence that could only belong to a rockstar. His presence was magnetic—dark hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly cool, a leather jacket slung over his shoulders, and his voice... oh, his voice.

Deep. Gritty. Raw.

It thundered through the venue, shaking the very walls as he belted out the opening lines of his first song. The crowd surged forward, bodies pressed even closer together, arms raised, hands reaching for the stage. The bass pounded in your chest, the drums a steady heartbeat that seemed to sync with the pulse of the crowd. You could feel the music in your bones, vibrating through your skin, drowning out every other thought.

Nat handed you another drink, this time a beer, and you took it gratefully, letting the cold liquid wash away the heat from the shot. You both stood there at the bar, watching the stage, the music wrapping around you like a cocoon. For a moment, you forgot about him. You forgot about her. It was just you, Nat, and the music.

"God, he’s so fucking good live," Nat shouted over the noise, her eyes wide with excitement as she sipped her drink.

You nodded in agreement, feeling the corners of your lips tug upward. Yeah, he was good. Really good. And for the first time tonight, you felt yourself relax, even if only a little.

But still, there was that nagging thought in the back of your mind. You glanced around the venue again, scanning the crowd. It wasn’t that you were upset about the breakup itself. You’d moved past that. What pissed you off was that he had the nerve to bring her here. To the concert you were supposed to go to. It felt like a deliberate move, like he wanted you to see them together, to rub it in your face.

Nat caught you looking around and rolled her eyes. "Stop it," she said, nudging you with her elbow. "They don’t matter. You matter. And tonight is about having fun, okay?"

You took a deep breath and nodded. She was right. She was always right.

"Okay," you said, offering her a small smile. "I’m done. I swear."

"Good," she replied with a grin, taking another swig of her drink. "Because tonight, we’re here to get drunk, scream along to some killer music, and remind you exactly who the fuck you are."

As Remy’s voice echoed through the venue, the music engulfing both of you, you decided that maybe—just maybe—you could let yourself enjoy this. You were here for you. For Nat. For the music. Not for him. Not for her. It was halfway through the fourth song, the chorus echoing through the packed venue, when you saw it. That unmistakable flash of blue hair cutting through the crowd like a knife. Your heart, which had been pounding with the rhythm of the music, suddenly felt like it had missed a beat.

And there he was—right behind her, laughing, his flushed cheeks glowing under the stage lights. His arm was casually draped around her shoulder, the same way it used to rest around yours, and the sight of it sent a wave of nausea rolling through your stomach. The tequila and beer you’d been enjoying just minutes earlier suddenly felt too heavy, like a stone sinking in your gut.

You and Nat had been singing along, swaying to the music, your voices blending with the hundreds of others around you. It had been a good moment. No, it had been a great moment. You were finally letting go, letting the music take you somewhere far away from him, from them. But now, that bubble had popped, and the reality of seeing them together, in your space, shattered the fragile sense of peace you’d been clinging to.

They were making their way toward you, pushing through the mass of bodies with casual arrogance. You could see the flicker of recognition in his eyes when he saw you—his steps faltering just for a moment before he leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She paused too, her gaze finally landing on you, and for a brief second, you could see the hesitation in her face. But then they kept moving, like they had every right to be in your orbit.

You raised your drink to your lips, taking a large, deliberate sip, trying to calm the surge of anger rising in your chest. It hadn’t even been a full day. Not even twenty-four hours since he’d sat across from you in that dingy café and called it quits. And now here he was, parading her around like some kind of victory lap.

The audacity, the fucking audacity of it all, made your blood boil. You weren’t heartbroken—no, that wasn’t it. You’d been ready for the end. What you weren’t ready for was this. Him, swinging her around like a prize, like he hadn’t just destroyed six years of history and walked away like it was nothing.

Nat saw it too—the way your grip tightened on your glass, the way your jaw clenched as they got closer. She didn’t say anything, but you caught the look she shot you out of the corner of your eye. She knew that glint in your eyes, knew what it meant. It was the same look you got right before you were about to do something reckless. Or, more accurately, something that was probably going to get you both kicked out of the venue.

"You okay?" Nat asked, her voice low, but she didn’t need to. She already knew the answer.

Before you could respond, they were standing right in front of you. Him and her. The blue-haired girl who had been a shadow in the background of your life for months, and now was front and center, arm-in-arm with your ex.

"Hey," he said, because of course he would. His voice was casual, like he wasn’t standing there with the woman he’d emotionally cheated on you with, like he hadn’t just blown up your entire relationship less than a day ago. "Didn’t think I’d see you here."

You stared at him, your lips pressing into a thin, dangerous line. Didn’t think I’d see you here? The nerve of him acting like this was some kind of chance meeting, like he hadn’t known exactly where you’d be tonight. The tickets had been your idea in the first place. He knew. He fucking knew.

Nat shifted beside you, her hand subtly brushing against your arm like a warning, but you were already too far gone. That anger, that bitterness, it was bubbling up faster than you could control it, and there was no way in hell you were going to let this slide.

"Really?" you replied, your voice sweet with an edge of venom. "Didn’t think you’d see me here? At the concert I bought tickets for? The one we were supposed to go to together?"

He had the decency to at least look uncomfortable. She, on the other hand, just stood there, her blue hair framing her face, her expression unreadable. You weren’t even mad at her, not really. This was his mess.

"Look, I didn’t want it to be weird—" he started, but you were already done.

Without saying a word, you lifted your drink, the cold condensation dripping down your fingers, and poured it over his head. The liquid splashed over his blond hair, soaking into his shirt, and for a split second, the entire world seemed to go silent. His mouth dropped open in shock, and the people around you gasped, some even laughing as they realized what had just happened.

Nat’s eyes went wide, but you could see the admiration behind her surprise. She knew this was coming, and honestly? So did you.

"Oops," you said, your voice dripping with mock innocence. "Guess I didn’t see you there."

You didn’t wait for him to respond. You grabbed Nat’s hand and spun on your heel, pulling her away from the bar, away from them, and into the thick of the crowd. Your heart was pounding, adrenaline rushing through your veins as the two of you practically sprinted toward the back of the venue, weaving your way through the sea of people.

By the time you stopped, both of you were breathless, and Nat was laughing so hard she had to lean against a nearby wall to catch her breath. "Holy shit," she gasped between giggles, wiping a tear from her eye. "That was... that was fucking epic."

You couldn’t help but laugh too, the tension in your chest finally releasing as you leaned against her, the two of you a giggling mess. It felt good. It felt really good. For the first time all night, you felt like you had control over something. You weren’t just reacting. You were choosing how this night was going to go. And if that meant getting a little messy, so be it.

As your laughter finally started to die down, you glanced back toward the stage, still riding the high of the moment. And that’s when you saw him—Remy. He was looking straight at you from the stage, his dark eyes locked onto yours. A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face, like he’d seen the whole thing, like he knew exactly what had just happened.

For a second, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you—his grin, your flushed cheeks, and the thrum of the music vibrating in the air around you. There was something in his gaze, something that made your pulse quicken again, but not in anger this time. No, this was different.

Nat nudged you with her elbow, a knowing smirk on her face. "Looks like someone’s got an admirer," she teased.

You rolled your eyes, but the grin on your own face was impossible to hide. Maybe this night wasn’t so bad after all. The concert had ended, but the adrenaline from the night still buzzed through your veins like an electric current. You and Nat were stumbling out of the packed venue, laughing uncontrollably, replaying the entire night’s events in your heads. The music still echoed in your ears, and your bodies still thrummed with the energy of the crowd, the lights, and that moment when you’d dumped your drink over your ex’s head. It had been perfect—like something out of a movie—and you couldn’t stop laughing at the sheer audacity of it all.

"Did you see his face?" Nat cackled, leaning against you as you both pushed through the departing crowd. "Like, I don’t think he’s ever been so shocked in his life. You actually—" she paused, wiping a tear from her eye, "—you fucking drowned him!"

You were still giggling, the satisfaction blooming in your chest. "I mean, he deserved it. Who brings the girl they cheated with to the same concert as their ex? I did him a favor, honestly." Nat was about to respond when you both noticed the man pushing his way through the sea of people toward you. He was hard to miss: a burly, balding guy in a black shirt, wearing a lanyard and an earpiece, the telltale signs of venue security. The sight of him was enough to send a jolt of panic through your body, and you instinctively grabbed Nat’s arm.

You exchanged a look—both of you wide-eyed with matching oh shit expressions. There was no way this wasn’t about what had just happened at the bar. Shit, shit, shit.

"Uh, what do we do?" you whispered under your breath, trying to calculate your chances of slipping away unnoticed. But it was too late. The security guard had already spotted you.

He stopped in front of you, his eyes narrowing as he sized you up, clearly annoyed but not quite angry. He exhaled sharply and jerked his head toward the back of the venue. "Come with me," he said, his voice gruff, leaving no room for argument.

You and Nat exchanged another glance, this time your heart sinking. Oh, great. Here we go. You opened your mouth to protest, trying to play it cool. "Uh, yeah, I don’t really go anywhere with strange men. Learned that one a long time ago."

The security guard rolled his eyes so hard you worried they might get stuck. "Mr. LeBeau wants to see you," he said, his voice low but firm, like he had better things to do than argue with you.

That stopped you cold. "What?" you said, blinking, any thoughts of running or playing dumb immediately evaporating. Your brain tried to catch up with the words, but they didn’t make sense. "Mr. LeBeau" as in... Remy LeBeau? The Remy LeBeau who had been up on stage not twenty minutes ago, singing his heart out, making the entire venue lose their minds?

Nat’s eyes widened as she grabbed your arm. "Wait, wait, wait," she said, clearly as stunned as you were. "Like, Remy Remy? The guy we just watched? Wants to see... us?"

The security guard gave a curt nod, clearly unimpressed by your confusion. "Yeah. He saw what you did at the bar." He smirked a little, like he couldn’t help but be amused by the whole situation. "Said it was the highlight of his night."

Your heart was pounding now, but for an entirely different reason. You could still picture Remy’s face from earlier, that moment after you’d drenched your ex. He’d been singing, but he’d seen you—grinning down from the stage with a mischievous glint in his eyes, like he was in on the joke. And now he wanted to see you. You.

Nat was already tugging at your arm. "Holy shit, we have to go," she whispered, her voice barely containing her excitement. "Are you kidding me? The man himself wants to meet you!"

Your mind was spinning, a dizzy mix of excitement and disbelief swirling in your chest. You couldn’t help but feel like this was some kind of fever dream. A few hours ago, you’d been sitting in a café getting dumped by your ex, and now... now you were about to meet a rockstar. The rockstar.

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. "Okay," you said, your voice shaky but determined. There was no way you were going to pass this up. Not after everything that had happened tonight. "Okay, let’s go."

The security guard turned on his heel and led the way, weaving through the last remnants of the crowd as you and Nat followed closely behind. You could feel your heart racing, your palms slightly sweaty as you tried to process what was about to happen.

"Remy LeBeau," Nat whispered, half to herself, half to you, as you walked. "Dude, what the hell is even happening right now?"

"I have no idea," you muttered, glancing down at your outfit, suddenly feeling both excited and self-conscious. The adrenaline from earlier was still humming through your veins, but now it had turned into something else. Nerves. Anticipation.

The security guard stopped at a door near the back of the venue, nodding to another guard who waved you through without hesitation. You stepped inside, and the noise of the venue faded behind you, replaced by the quieter, more intimate hum of the backstage area. The walls were lined with posters and equipment cases, and there was a faint smell of cigarette smoke and sweat lingering in the air.

And then, there he was.

Remy LeBeau.

He stood near the back of the room, leaning casually against a table as if he hadn’t just performed in front of hundreds of people. His dark hair was still damp with sweat, and he had a half-smile on his lips, that same mischievous look in his eyes that you’d noticed from the stage. He was just as magnetic up close as he had been from afar, his presence filling the room without even trying.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice smooth and rich with a hint of amusement. "Th’ girl who made my night." His eyes flicked over to Nat, acknowledging her but clearly focused on you. "An’ her partner in crime, I assume?"

You couldn’t help but smile, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling up inside of you. "Uh, yeah, that was... me," you said, trying to play it cool but knowing full well you were probably failing miserably.

Remy chuckled, the sound low and warm, and pushed off the table, walking toward you with an easy confidence. "I got’ta say," he continued, "I’ve seen a’lo’ of crazy shit in my time, but tha’..." He shook his head, grinning. "Tha’ was somethin’ special."

Nat nudged you, her eyes wide with excitement, and you could feel your face flush with a mix of pride and embarrassment. "Thanks," you said, your voice a little breathless. "It felt pretty damn good."

Remy raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "Y’re a firecracker, aren’ y’?" He glanced between you and Nat, then back at you. "I like tha’."

For a moment, you just stood there, not entirely sure what to say. This was surreal. You were standing in front of Remy LeBeau, who had not only witnessed your dramatic confrontation with your ex but had actually enjoyed it. And now he was talking to you like you were the most interesting person in the room.

Nat, as usual, broke the silence first. "So, uh, what now?" she asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Remy tilted his head, still watching you with that same mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, I wa’ thinkin’," he said slowly, "y’ two seem like the kin’a girls who know how t’ have a good time. And I’m not quite ready for the night t’ end." He flashed a grin. "What do y’ say we grab a drink? My treat."

Your heart skipped a beat. This night just kept getting more and more unbelievable. You glanced at Nat, who was practically vibrating with excitement, and then back at Remy.

"Yeah," you said, a smile spreading across your face. "We’d love that." The night had a dreamlike quality to it, a hazy mix of laughter, music still buzzing in your ears, and the steady pulse of alcohol warming your veins. You and Nat found yourselves sitting with the band long after most of the crowd had cleared out, the afterglow of the concert still lingering in the air. Empty bottles were strewn across the table, and the conversation was flowing easily, Nat animatedly explaining something to the drummer and bassist, her hands gesturing wildly, drawing out laughter from everyone around her.

But even amidst the easy banter, the shared stories, and the laughter, you could feel it—him. Remy’s eyes on you. The weight of his gaze was almost tangible, like a heat that lingered on your skin. You were talking to the guitarist about some band you’d both seen live a few years ago, your conversation relaxed and casual, but every so often, you’d glance up, and there he’d be. Watching you.

Remy LeBeau.

There was something about him that pulled people in, a quiet magnetism that didn’t demand attention so much as command it. He wasn’t the type to shout or make a spectacle of himself, but when his eyes locked on you, it was as if everything else in the room faded away. He didn’t need to do anything more than smirk, that small, knowing curve of his lips, and it was enough to make your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just because he was a rockstar—though that certainly didn’t hurt. No, it was something deeper. Something in the way he carried himself, like he knew exactly who he was and didn’t apologize for it.

And now, he was watching you, that same smirk playing on his lips, like he knew something you didn’t. You tried to focus on what the guitarist was saying, but it was impossible to ignore the heat creeping up your neck, the flutter in your stomach every time you caught Remy’s gaze.

It wasn’t long before Remy made his way over to you, slipping into the seat beside you with a kind of effortless grace. The guitarist gave him a nod and, sensing the shift in energy, excused himself to grab another drink, leaving you alone with Remy.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room was still buzzing with energy, Nat’s laughter ringing out from across the table as she leaned into the drummer, her legs now casually draped over his thighs, his thumbs tracing lazy circles along her calves. You smiled at the sight of her, happy that she was enjoying herself. But when you turned back to Remy, your breath caught in your throat. He was closer now, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering hints of sweat from the concert.

He wasn’t looking at anyone else. Just you.

"Y’ having a good nigh’?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, like velvet brushed against your skin.

You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden rush of nerves. "Yeah. Better than I expected, honestly."

"Tha’ so?" He smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. "Didn’ think y’d end up backstage with a bunch of rockstars, huh?"

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "No, definitely didn’t see that coming. I thought I’d spend the night drowning in cheap drinks and bad memories. Maybe even getting arrested for assault after the bar incident," You glanced briefly at Nat, still lost in her own world, then back at him. "But this... this is way better."

Remy’s eyes softened for a moment, his smirk giving way to something a little more genuine. "Good. Y’ deserve better th’ bad memories and shit ex-boyfrien’s."

There was something about the way he said it that made your heart skip a beat. You weren’t sure if it was the tequila or the way his voice wrapped around the words like a promise, but suddenly, the room felt smaller, the space between you and him charged with an undercurrent of something unspoken.

You took a sip of your drink, trying to calm the rush of emotions swirling inside you. "So, you always invite girls backstage who pour drinks on their exes?" you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Remy chuckled, leaning back slightly, but his eyes never left yours. "No’ always. But y’... well, y’ caught my attention."

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a spark of boldness rise within you. "Oh yeah? What was it? The drink? The fishnets?"

He grinned, his eyes darkening slightly as he tilted his head. "Maybe it was the way y’ didn’ let him get th’ last word. Or maybe it’s th’ way you carry y’self, like y’ve got fire in y’." His voice lowered, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "I like that."

The air between you shifted, the playful banter giving way to something heavier, more charged. You could feel the tension, thick and palpable, hanging between you like a thread waiting to snap.

You glanced down at your drink, suddenly aware of how close he was, how his leg was brushing against yours under the table. The room was still full of people, but it felt like the two of you were in a bubble, separate from everything else. Your pulse quickened, and when you looked back up at him, you could tell from the look in his eyes that he felt it too.

There was a moment of silence, the kind that stretches out endlessly, where you’re not sure what’s going to happen but you know something is. You could feel the question lingering in the air—unspoken, but loud enough to drown out everything else.

And then, as if the decision had already been made, Remy leaned in just slightly, his voice low and rough. "Y’ wanna get out of here?"

It wasn’t a question so much as an invitation, one that hung between you like a challenge. Your heart was pounding now, your palms slightly sweaty as you held his gaze. You knew what he was asking, knew exactly where this was going. And despite the chaos of the night, despite the whirlwind of emotions that had started with seeing your ex, there was no hesitation in your mind.

You wanted this.

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. I do."

Remy’s smirk deepened, and without another word, he stood up, offering you his hand. You glanced over at Nat, who was still wrapped up with the drummer, her legs now fully draped across his lap, lost in her own world. She caught your eye for a brief moment and gave you a knowing grin, mouthing, Go.

You took Remy’s hand, letting him guide you through the backstage corridors, the noise of the room fading behind you as you walked. The air felt cooler as you moved away from the crowd, but the heat between the two of you only intensified with each step.

By the time you reached the door to his dressing room, your heart was racing so fast it felt like it might burst out of your chest. Every step you took down the corridor had been charged with anticipation, your pulse quickening with each second, each unspoken word between you and Remy. You could still feel the lingering heat of the room you'd just left, still hear the faint hum of voices and music filtering through the walls, but it all felt so distant now—like the world outside had shrunk, leaving just the two of you in this bubble of heightened energy and unspoken desire.

Remy opened the door with an easy grace, his hand lingering on the handle as he gestured for you to step inside. The room was dimly lit, just the soft glow of a lamp in the corner casting warm, golden light over the space. There was no harshness, no coldness—it felt intimate, like a place where secrets could be shared and moments could stretch into forever. The air in the room was cooler than the heat of the venue, but it was thick with something else, something palpable between you, something that had been building all night.

As you stepped inside, you could feel the weight of the moment settling over you, a bittersweet mix of nerves and excitement surging through your veins. The door clicked shut behind you, and the faint sounds of the distant music were muted, leaving only a soft hum in the background. It felt like a cocoon, a space where the outside world no longer existed, where the chaos and noise of the night couldn’t reach you.

You turned to face him, and that fragile tension—so carefully held in check since the moment you had caught him watching you from the stage—finally snapped. The charged atmosphere between you suddenly ignited, and in the span of a breath, Remy closed the distance between you. His movements were deliberate but urgent, a man who had been waiting for this as much as you had. His hands, strong and sure, slid around your waist, pulling you close, the warmth of his body pressing against yours.

Then, his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft at first, testing, as if both of you were feeling out the boundaries of this moment. But it didn’t stay soft for long. The urgency that had been simmering beneath the surface began to rise, like a flame fanned by a gust of wind. His lips pressed harder against yours, and your hands instinctively reached for him, fingers tangling in his dark hair as you pulled him closer, needing him closer. His breath hitched as your fingers slid through the strands, and you could feel the way his body responded to your touch, the way his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him.

And just like that, everything else fell away.

The music, the crowd, the chaos of the night—it all melted into the background, like a distant memory that no longer mattered. All that existed was the heat between your bodies, the taste of him on your lips, the way his hands roamed over your back, exploring, wanting. Each kiss, each touch, sent sparks of electricity shooting through you, lighting up every nerve, every inch of your skin. It was overwhelming in the best way possible, like the night had been building to this moment all along.

You weren’t thinking about your ex anymore. He had been nothing more than a brief, bitter distraction, a fleeting shadow that had been erased by the intensity of what was happening now. You weren’t thinking about the way his arm had been slung around her shoulders, or the way they had laughed as if you didn’t exist. That whole mess, that entire chapter of your life, felt miles away—insignificant in the face of what you were feeling now.

All you could focus on was Remy—the way his hands moved over your skin, the way his breath came in short, shallow bursts between kisses. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it against his chest, but you didn’t care. You had never felt so alive, so seen, as you did in that moment, with him.

There was something intoxicating about the way he touched you, like he was both savoring every second and barely able to contain himself. His fingers slid under the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his skin against yours sending another jolt through your body. Your breath caught in your throat, and when his lips found yours again, it was like the world tilted on its axis, spinning faster, pulling you deeper into the gravity of this moment.

Time seemed to stretch, to bend around you, making every second feel heavy with possibility. You could feel the weight of his desire in the way he kissed you, in the way his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, closer—like he couldn’t get enough. And the truth was, you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want this moment to end.

Your back hit the wall gently, and before you knew it, his body was pressed against yours, his hands framing your face as he kissed you with a hunger that matched your own. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his chest rose and fell in time with your own ragged breaths. It was all-consuming, the kind of connection that made everything else fade into oblivion.

For the first time in a long time, you felt free—untethered from the weight of your past, from the pain of your ex, from the expectations you had placed on yourself. With Remy, it was different. It was easy. It was exactly what you hadn’t realized you needed.

And as his hands slid lower, his lips brushing against your ear, whispering something low and full of promise, you let go completely, surrendering to the moment, to him. “Fuck,” Remy muttered, his voice thick with lust, dripping with raw desire. His accent was heavier now, his words rolling off his tongue like a prayer, one meant only for you. “Y’re so fucking beautiful.”

The room around you seemed to fade, the dim lighting casting long shadows along the walls, isolating the two of you in this moment. His words sent a shiver down your spine, your pulse quickening as heat pooled low in your stomach. Your breaths were shallow, your heart pounding in your chest, but before you could even muster a response, Remy’s hands were on your thighs.

Strong, calloused hands slid up your legs, pushing them apart with deliberate ease, his touch firm but gentle, like he was savoring every second. Time seemed to slow as he sank to his knees before you, his body lowering gracefully, and the sight of him—Remy LeBeau, on his knees for you—made your heart stutter in your chest. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of hunger, lips parted slightly, and you sucked in a breath. There was something primal in his gaze, something that made you feel like you were the only thing in the world he wanted at this moment.

You gasped as his fingers found the edge of your shorts, teasing the fabric aside as he slipped beneath the hem, his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, your body responding instantly to his proximity, to the heat of his breath against your skin.

"Remy," you breathed, your voice barely audible, strained and shaky, trembling with need. Your eyes locked onto his, and the way he looked up at you—kneeling before you like a worshipper at an altar—made your knees weak.

He grinned, that familiar, wicked curve of his lips that drove you wild, and without breaking eye contact, his fingers dipped further, tracing soft circles along your inner thigh, inching closer to where you needed him most. Your breath hitched in your throat, anticipation running hot through your veins, every nerve ending in your body attuned to his touch.

With one swift motion, his fingers slid beneath your shorts and into your underwear, finding the wetness between your legs, and you gasped at the sensation. His touch was confident, practiced, knowing. He pressed his fingers against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you cry out. Your hips jerked involuntarily toward him, your body desperate for more, for everything he was giving you.

"So wet," he murmured, his voice a low growl, the words vibrating against your skin. The sound of it sent another wave of heat coursing through you. His head tilted slightly as he watched your reaction, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “So ready for me.”

You couldn’t even find the words to respond, your mind lost in the haze of pleasure as his fingers continued their slow, deliberate rhythm. His thumb circled your clit in torturously slow strokes, each movement sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. You could feel the tension building inside you, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers gripping tightly, nails digging into his skin as you tried to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensations.

Your body was trembling, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. You were right on the edge, teetering there, your thighs trembling against his hands, your entire body aching with the need to come. You could feel it building, that sweet, aching pressure deep in your core, and you moaned, your voice a broken plea.

But just when you were about to tip over into bliss, Remy’s fingers withdrew, leaving you gasping, your body trembling, your mind reeling from the sudden loss of contact. You opened your eyes, half-lidded and dazed, your body still throbbing with need, and you stared down at him, your chest heaving.

"Please," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desperation, your hands tightening on his shoulders. "Don’t stop." You could barely form the words, your body crying out for more, for him.

Remy’s lips curled into a wicked smile, his eyes dark with amusement and promise as he slowly stood, his body towering over you now, casting a long shadow in the dim light. His fingers, still slick with you, brushed against your lip for the briefest moment before he wiped them on his jeans, never once breaking eye contact. There was something predatory in the way he looked at you, something that made your pulse quicken all over again, your body aching for him to finish what he’d started.

“Oh, I’m far from done with you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with sinful promise, each word sending shivers down your spine. He reached down, his hand brushing your cheek for a moment, the touch strangely tender considering the hunger in his eyes. Then his fingers slid down your jaw, tracing the line of your neck, lingering there as if feeling your pulse race beneath his fingertips.

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his hand moved lower, over your collarbone, down the curve of your chest, before settling at the hem of your shirt. He tugged at it gently, his eyes flicking to yours, silently asking for permission. Your breath caught in your throat, but you nodded, your body already aching for more of him, already craving the feel of his skin against yours.

In one fluid motion, he lifted your shirt over your head, casting it aside without a second thought. You were bare before him now, and the way his eyes roamed over your body, dark and intense, made your skin flush with heat. He stepped closer, so close that you could feel his breath, warm and heavy against your skin.

His hands, large and sure, moved to your waist, pulling you toward him, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was deep and demanding. His mouth was hot against yours, his tongue sliding between your lips, and you moaned into the kiss, your hands gripping his arms, feeling the muscles flex beneath your fingers as he held you close.

The kiss deepened, turning more urgent, more desperate, as your bodies pressed together, the heat between you growing unbearable. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel how hard he was through his jeans, his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh. The friction sent another wave of desire crashing through you, and you arched into him, your body begging for more.

Remy broke the kiss, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "I’m gonn’ make y’ scream my name tonight." His voice was a low growl, full of promise, and the sound of it made your core tighten with anticipation.

You were already lost to him, already craving everything he had promised. Your body trembled with the need to feel him inside you, to have him everywhere all at once. You could barely think, barely breathe, as he guided you backward toward the couch, his hands never leaving your body, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, over your chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

When your legs hit the edge of the couch, you sank down onto it, your body trembling with anticipation. Remy stood over you for a moment, his eyes raking over your body with a look that was nothing short of ravenous. He made quick work of his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside, and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him—his chest broad, his muscles taut, every inch of him exuding raw, masculine power.

He lowered himself onto the couch, his body pressing against yours, his lips finding your skin once more. The weight of him, the feel of his bare skin against yours, sent another wave of desire crashing through you. His hands roamed freely now, exploring every inch of you, and you arched into his touch, your body aching for more, for everything he had to give. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every dip, with a possessive intensity that made your heart race and your breath catch in your throat. There was something about the way Remy touched you—like he was memorizing you, staking his claim with every brush of his fingers. His palms slid up your sides, tracing the lines of your body, before cupping your breasts. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, slow at first, teasing, until they hardened into tight peaks beneath his touch. The sensation pulled a low moan from your lips, your back arching involuntarily as you pressed yourself against him, craving more.

His mouth was on yours again, hungry and insistent, his tongue moving against yours in a dance that was equal parts dominance and submission. It was a battle for control, one you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to win. The heat between you was palpable, thick in the air, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. Every kiss, every touch, was like gasoline poured on an already roaring fire, and you were both more than willing to let it burn.

"Y; taste so good," Remy murmured against your lips, his voice rough and gravelly, thick with desire. His breath was hot as it ghosted over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

His words made your pulse quicken, a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your stomach. Before you could respond, his hand began its descent, sliding down your body with deliberate slowness. His fingers skimmed over your stomach, teasing the waistband of your shorts, and then dipping beneath it, his touch featherlight but full of promise. The anticipation made your thighs clench, your body aching for him to touch you where you needed him most.

When his fingers finally slipped beneath your panties, finding your slick folds, you gasped, your hips instinctively lifting toward him. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core as his fingers began to move, stroking you with expert precision. He found your clit almost immediately, circling it with his thumb in slow, deliberate movements that made your breath hitch and your body tremble.

"Remy," you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, your voice trembling as he touched you. His fingers pressed deeper, probing, seeking out the most sensitive spots, and your body responded instantly, arching into his hand, desperate for more.

He watched you as he worked, his eyes dark and filled with lust, taking in every reaction, every gasp, every moan. There was something almost predatory in the way he looked at you, like he was savoring the sight of you unraveling beneath him. His thumb moved faster now, circling your clit with a pressure that was both perfect and overwhelming, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher.

"Please…" you whimpered, your voice breaking as you felt yourself getting closer, your entire body taut with anticipation, teetering on the edge of release.

But just as you were about to tip over, Remy pulled back, his fingers slipping away, leaving you gasping, your body aching with need. Your eyes flew open, wide and desperate, and you looked up at him, your chest heaving, your pulse pounding in your ears.

"Beg f’r it," he commanded, his voice low and rough, filled with a dark, commanding edge that sent a shiver down your spine. His gaze was intense, his lips curled into a wicked smile, and for a moment, your pride flared up, making you hesitate. But the need was too strong, too overwhelming, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out of you.

"Please, Remy," you whispered, your voice trembling, your body trembling. "Please, make me come."

There was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, his smile widening as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin. "Tha’ my girl," he murmured, his voice dripping with approval, and then his mouth was on you.

He slid down your body, positioning himself between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs as he removed your shorts, leaving you fully exposed to him. You barely had time to catch your breath before his mouth descended on your throbbing clit, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves with a speed and precision that made you cry out. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the dark strands as you held on for dear life, your body trembling beneath the onslaught of sensation.

Remy devoured you like a man starved, his tongue working you with an intensity that bordered on desperate. He alternated between long, slow licks and quick, precise flicks of his tongue, driving you absolutely wild with need. Your hips bucked against him, your body moving on its own as you chased the pleasure, the tension inside you building higher and higher with every stroke of his tongue.

"Fuck," you gasped, your voice barely coherent, your body trembling uncontrollably as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. It was too much, too intense, and yet you didn’t want it to stop. You were desperate for release, your thighs shaking, your nerves singing with pleasure as his tongue moved faster, pushing you right to the brink.

"Remy," you whimpered, your voice high and desperate, your grip on his hair tightening as your body tensed. "I’m gonna—"

He didn’t let up. His tongue continued its relentless assault, flicking over your clit with a speed and precision that left you gasping for breath. He was merciless, pushing you closer and closer until finally, with a shuddering gasp, you came. The orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you and pulling you under, your body convulsing as the pleasure ripped through you in uncontrollable, shuddering waves.

You cried out, your vision blurring as the intensity of it overwhelmed you, your entire body trembling beneath his touch. But Remy didn’t stop. His tongue kept moving, softer now but still persistent, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm until you were left gasping, your chest heaving, your heart pounding in your ears.

You were barely aware of your surroundings as you came down from the high, your body still trembling, your thighs slick with sweat and the aftermath of your release. Remy’s hands slid up your legs, soothing now, his touch gentle as he kissed his way up your stomach, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

When he finally reached your mouth, he kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours in a lazy, unhurried way that sent a new wave of heat through your body. You could taste yourself on his lips, a reminder of what had just happened, and it made your already racing heart pound even harder.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, his eyes dark and full of desire as he looked down at you. "I’m not done with y’ yet," he murmured, his voice low and full of promise.

You swallowed hard, your body still humming with the remnants of your orgasm, but the hunger in his eyes sent another jolt of anticipation through you. You knew he meant every word, and as he leaned in to kiss you again, you realized you didn’t want him to stop.

Not tonight. Not ever. He held your gaze, eyes dark and unyielding, the weight of his presence suffocating in the most delicious way. His body was close, too close, the heat rolling off him in waves that made your skin prickle with anticipation. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, gravelly growl that sent shivers racing down your spine.

"Tell me what y’ wan’."

The command hung in the air, thick and heavy, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Your heart thundered in your chest, the words you desperately wanted to say caught in your throat. But his gaze was relentless, pinning you in place, demanding your confession. You swallowed hard, your breath shaky as you finally gave in to the desire burning inside you.

"I want…" you hesitated, the flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck, but the raw need in his eyes pushed you forward. "I want you to spank me," you whispered, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I want you to be my Daddy."

A slow, predatory smile curled at the corner of his lips, sending a thrill of anticipation through you. He moved closer, his body pressing into yours, pinning you against the soft cushions of the couch. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes made the air feel thick and heavy.

"Tha’s my girl," he murmured, his voice rough but filled with unmistakable pride. The praise wrapped around you like a warm blanket, making your skin tingle. "Y’re going to be such a good girl fo’ Daddy, aren’ y’?"

Your throat was tight, but you nodded, barely able to get the words out. "Yes, Daddy." His smile widened, a dark, possessive gleam flashing in his eyes as his hands slid slowly down your body, fingertips grazing your skin with deliberate intent. Each touch sent a ripple of anticipation through you, the tension between you growing thicker by the second. He pulled back just enough to take in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over your body as though you were his to command—and you were.

“Bend over,” he ordered, his voice low, authoritative, and laced with a hunger that made your pulse quicken.

You stood up, the cool air brushing against your skin, making you feel exposed in the most thrilling way. But there was no hesitation in your movements. You held his gaze, a small, teasing smile curling at the corners of your lips as you obeyed, the desire in his eyes only fueling the heat pooling deep in your stomach. The intensity of his stare, the hunger he didn’t bother to hide, made your body hum with anticipation.

"You ready for Daddy?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that made your core tighten with need.

You nodded, your breath coming in short bursts as you braced yourself, your hands gripping the cushions beneath you. The tension coiled in your muscles, every nerve on high alert as you waited for the first strike.

The first slap landed with a sharp crack, the sound echoing through the room. The sting of it spread across your ass, sharp and hot, and you gasped, your body jerking forward from the force. But there was no time to adjust, no time to catch your breath—his hand was already coming down again, harder this time.

The rhythm he set was punishing, each slap harder than the last, the sharp pain blending beautifully into the growing pleasure. Your skin burned where his hand struck, the heat blooming in waves that spread through your entire body. You moaned, your hips lifting instinctively, pushing back toward him, craving more.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, his voice soothing but firm, like he was rewarding your submission even as his hand came down again. "Taking it so well for Daddy."

The praise made your chest tighten with something heady and warm, your core throbbing with need. You could feel the wetness between your thighs growing, the ache there intensifying with each slap. The mix of pain and pleasure, of his control and your willingness to submit, was intoxicating. Your mind was spinning, lost in the haze of sensation as your body trembled beneath him.

You whimpered, your skin tingling with every strike, the heat radiating from your ass as his hand continued its relentless assault. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, punctuated by your gasps and moans. The pain was delicious, sharp and biting, but it only fueled the fire burning inside you.

Remy’s hand finally stilled, resting against your heated skin, his fingers brushing over the marks he’d left. The gentleness of his touch after the punishment made your breath hitch, sending another wave of arousal through you. You could feel your body trembling, teetering on the edge of something raw and powerful.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice low and rough, leaving no room for argument.

Your legs were shaking as you obeyed, turning to face him on the couch. Your heart raced, your body still buzzing from the spanking as you looked up at him. His eyes were dark, filled with an intensity that made your chest tighten. He looked down at you like you were his possession, something precious and fragile but also something he could break if he wanted to.

"Daddy’s proud of y’" he murmured, his voice soft, almost tender. The words sent a ripple of warmth through you, making your skin flush with pride. But then his expression shifted, darkening with a hunger that made your breath catch in your throat. "But Daddy needs to hear y’ beg."

Your breath hitched, your body trembling as you looked up at him, your mind spinning with the mixture of fear and anticipation. The weight of his command hung heavy in the air, and you knew there was no escaping it. You wanted to beg. Needed to.

"Please, Daddy," you whispered, your voice trembling with desperation. "Please, make me come."

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he stepped closer, looming over you. His hand reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek before trailing down to your throat. His grip was firm but gentle as his fingers curled around your neck, his thumb brushing over the rapid pulse at your throat.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice low and filled with approval. The words he spoke made your heart swell, a warmth spreading through your chest that left you feeling both vulnerable and powerful at the same time. You were his, completely in this moment, but knowing that you still held the reins—that he was listening, that he would stop if you asked—made your body tingle with anticipation. His grip tightened ever so slightly, just enough for your breath to hitch, and the sensation sent a jolt of electricity through you. Every nerve in your body was alight, your skin buzzing with the promise of what was to come.

"Just let me know if you need me to stop. You double tap if you need me to stop," he said softly, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through you. The reassurance grounded you, a reminder that despite the intensity, this was still your choice. The control you had over the situation only made your submission all the more intoxicating. You wanted this, craved it, and he knew it.

The sensation of his hand around your throat was overwhelming, the pressure making your pulse race beneath his fingers. It wasn’t just about the physicality of it—it was the power in his touch, the way it made you feel utterly exposed and completely his. Your body responded instantly, a flood of heat pooling between your legs as his thumb brushed over your pulse. The world felt smaller, quieter, like nothing existed outside of this moment, outside of the way his hand made you submit so completely.

His breath was hot against your ear, his voice a low, commanding whisper that made your stomach tighten with desire. "I wan’ta see those pretty eyes on me when you beg, baby."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your body trembling at the raw hunger in his voice. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension thick in the air as you struggled to catch your breath. His grip on your throat tightened just enough to make your vision blur at the edges, and your eyes fluttered open, meeting his.

"Look a’ me," he growled, his voice low and demanding, and the way he said it made your heart lurch in your chest.

Your gaze locked with his, and the intensity in his eyes made the air feel heavy, like it was pressing down on you. His eyes were dark, filled with fierce possession, and the look he gave you made your entire body hum with need. Your breath came in short, shaky bursts, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to hold his gaze. It was almost too much, the way he looked at you—like he owned you, like he wanted to consume you whole.

The pressure of his hand around your throat made your head spin, a dizzying mixture of fear and desire swirling inside you. You gasped, your hands instinctively flying to his wrist, but you didn’t want him to stop. The sensation was overwhelming, the heat between your legs growing unbearable as your body throbbed with anticipation. The world outside felt distant, unimportant, as you focused entirely on the feeling of his hand on your throat, on the way your body responded to his touch.

"Beg," he growled, his voice thick with authority, the single word sending a wave of heat crashing through you. "Beg Daddy to make y’ come."

You whimpered, your voice barely a whisper as you struggled to find the words. The need inside you was overwhelming, consuming, and all you could think about was how much you wanted him, how much you needed him. "Please," you gasped, your voice shaking as his grip tightened just a little more. "Please, Daddy… I need you. Please make me come."

The satisfaction in his eyes was immediate, unmistakable. His thumb brushed over your pulse, feeling the frantic beating of your heart beneath his fingers as he loosened his grip just enough for you to breathe again. His mouth curled into a dark, satisfied smile, his gaze never leaving yours as he watched the way you trembled beneath him.

"Oh you beautiful girl," he murmured, his voice dripping with pride and approval. The praise sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, your body reacting to his words as much as his touch. His hand moved from your throat, trailing down your body, his fingers brushing over every inch of bare skin with deliberate slowness, like he was savoring the way you shivered beneath him.

He sank to his knees between your legs, and the anticipation made your breath catch in your throat. You barely had time to process the shift before his mouth was on you, his tongue flicking over your clit with a precision that made your body jerk in response. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers curling into the dark strands as you held on, desperate for more.

The way his tongue moved—deliberate, intense, relentless—was driving you wild. Each flick, each stroke, sent you spiraling higher, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggled to hold yourself together. Your body was trembling, your thighs shaking as he worked you with expert precision, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as you squirmed beneath him.

"Remy," you whimpered, your voice high and desperate as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. "I’m gonna—"

But he didn’t stop. His mouth continued its assault, his tongue flicking over your clit with unrelenting speed, pushing you closer and closer to the edge until, with a final flick of his tongue, you came undone. The orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you with a force that left you gasping for air, your body convulsing as the pleasure tore through you.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice soothing, grounding you as you came down from the high. "Take it, baby. Take everything Daddy gives you."

Each word was like a balm, softening the sharp edges of your pleasure, grounding you as the intensity began to fade. But your body was still trembling, still humming with the aftershocks of the orgasm, and you could feel the heat between your legs still pulsing with need.

Your heart was still racing, your body trembling from the echo of the last orgasm, but the hunger in his eyes told you this wasn’t over. Far from it. The kiss he gave you was searing, possessive, but it was also a promise—one that left you breathless and aching for more. His hands still roamed your body, slow and deliberate, as if he was mapping out every sensitive spot, every place that made you tremble. You could feel the intensity radiating off him, the way his touch lingered with purpose, pushing you closer to an edge you weren’t sure you were ready to face—but you wanted to, needed to.

He drew back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with something almost predatory. His thumb brushed over your swollen lips, his gaze flicking between your eyes as if searching for a sign. A brief flicker of hesitation crossed his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same, unwavering confidence. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he was going to take it.

"Y’ can take more," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "I know y’ can. Y’re such a good girl, and I’m not done with y’ yet."

Your breath hitched at his words, the heat in your stomach flaring to life again as your body responded to his command. You nodded, but it wasn’t enough. His grip on your chin tightened, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice firm but laced with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. "Tell me y’ can take it for Daddy."

"I can," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. "I can take it for you, Daddy."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, and his grip loosened, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip once more before sliding down your throat, lingering there for a moment as if to remind you of the control he held over your body. The pressure was light, but it was enough to make your pulse quicken, enough to remind you how easy it would be for him to take you further than you’d ever gone before.

"Good girl," he murmured, the words sending a ripple of heat through your body. "Now get on your knees."

His command was simple, but the weight of it was overwhelming. Your legs were still shaky, your body trembling from the intensity of what had just happened, but you obeyed, sliding off the couch and sinking to your knees in front of him. The feeling of the cool floor beneath you contrasted sharply with the heat radiating off your skin, grounding you even as your mind spun with anticipation.

Remy towered over you, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with dark desire, and the way he watched you—like a predator watching its prey—made your heart race even faster. You felt small beneath him, vulnerable, but it only fueled the aching need inside you. You wanted to please him, to give him everything he asked for.

"D’y know what I want, baby?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you.

Your mouth felt dry, your voice barely a whisper as you answered. "No, Daddy. Tell me."

He chuckled softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "I wan’t see how far I can push y’," he said, his tone dark and full of promise. "I want to see y’ break for me, but y’re going to ask for it. Y’re going to beg me to take y’ there."

The words hit you like a wave, the meaning behind them settling deep in your core. He wasn’t just going to push you—he was going to make you want it, make you beg for it. The thought made your stomach twist with anticipation, the ache between your legs growing unbearable as you knelt before him, waiting for his next move.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, his grip firm but not painful, as he tilted your head up to meet his gaze. "Open y’ mouth," he ordered, his voice soft, but the command in it was unmistakable.

You obeyed without hesitation, parting your lips as you looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The vulnerability of the position you were in, the way he was looking down at you as though he owned you, made your entire body burn with need. You wanted him to take you further, wanted him to push your limits in ways you’d never imagined.

He slid two fingers into your mouth, pressing them down on your tongue as he watched you intently. The taste of his skin was intoxicating, and you closed your lips around his fingers, sucking gently as you gazed up at him with wide, pleading eyes. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he watched you.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice thick with approval. "Such a good girl for Daddy."

Your body responded instantly to the praise, a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you as you sucked harder on his fingers, your tongue swirling around them. His eyes darkened, and you could see the satisfaction in his gaze, the way he was reveling in the control he had over you.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, leaving you gasping for breath as your lips parted with a soft, wet sound. His thumb brushed over your chin, wiping away the moisture before he tilted your head back further, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Y’re going to beg for this," he said, his voice low and commanding. "’nd y’re not going to stop until I’m ready to give it to y’."

The heat between your legs was unbearable now, your body trembling with need as his words sank in. You wanted to beg, wanted to give him everything he asked for, but your voice felt trapped in your throat, the intensity of the moment making it hard to breathe.

"Please, Daddy," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked up at him with wide, desperate eyes. "Please… I need you."

His smile widened, dark and predatory, as he stepped closer, looming over you. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating in the best possible way, and the way he looked down at you made your heart race even faster.

"I know y’ do," he murmured, his voice soft but laced with authority. "But y’’re going to have to work for it, baby. Show me how much y’ want it."

With that, he unzipped his pants, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you just enough time to process what was about to happen. Your heart pounded in your chest, your body trembling with anticipation as he freed himself, his cock hard and thick, the sight of it making your mouth water.

He stroked himself once, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched the way your breath quickened, the way your body responded to the sight of him. Then, without warning, he gripped the back of your neck again, guiding you toward him.

"Open," he commanded, his voice a low growl.

Your lips parted instantly, your body moving on instinct as he guided his cock into your mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, the weight of him heavy on your tongue, and you moaned around him, your body trembling with need as you took him deeper.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with approval as he watched you. "Take it all for Daddy."

You did your best to obey, your throat constricting as he pushed deeper, the sensation making your eyes water. But you didn’t stop—you didn’t want to stop. You wanted to please him, to show him how much you could take.

His grip on your neck tightened as he began to move, thrusting slowly into your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of the moment, the way he was using you, made your body burn with need, the ache between your legs growing unbearable.

"Look at y’," he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Such a good little slut for Daddy."

The words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your body responding instantly to the degradation. You could feel your pussy throbbing, the need for release consuming you as he continued to thrust into your mouth, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

You moaned around him, your hands gripping his thighs as you tried to take him deeper, the pleasure and pain blending together in a way that made your head spin. You could feel your body trembling, your vision blurring with the intensity of it all, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

"Beg for it," he growled again, his voice a low, commanding rumble. "Beg Daddy to let you come."

You pulled back just enough to speak, your voice shaking as you looked up at him with wide, desperate eyes. "Please, Daddy," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper. "Please let me come. I need it."

His eyes darkened, his expression filled with satisfaction as he watched you. "Y’ll come when I say y’ can," he growled, his voice thick with authority. "And not a second before."

The words sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you, your body trembling with the need to obey. You didn’t know how much more you could take, but you trusted him to push you to your limit—to give you exactly what you needed, even if you didn’t know what that was yet.

"Now," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low growl as his grip tightened on your neck. "Let’s see how far I can take y’." Remy’s presence loomed over you, dark and intoxicating, his eyes gleaming with something primal, something that made your heart race and your body ache with need. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of the control he held over you. The way he looked at you, like he was savoring every second of your submission, sent shivers down your spine.

"Ah, cher," he murmured, his deep Cajun drawl thick and dripping with honey, "you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. You think you’re ready for more, but you gon’ have to beg me real sweet. I wanna hear how much you need it."

His accent wrapped around you like a sultry summer night, the smooth cadence of his voice making the air around you feel heavy and thick. The sound of his words sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, your body reacting instantly to the way his voice dripped with authority, with promise.

"Please," you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked up at him, eyes wide and desperate. "Please, Remy, I need more."

He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through your entire body. His thumb traced a slow line down the side of your neck, lingering over your pulse point, feeling the frantic beat of your heart beneath his fingers.

"More?" he repeated, his accent lingering on the word, making it sound almost like a tease. His eyes were dark, filled with a hunger that made your stomach flip. "I don’t know if you can handle more, cher. But you gon’ prove it to me, non?"

You nodded quickly, eager, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts as you fought to hold his gaze. Your body was trembling, every nerve alight with anticipation, with the need to be pushed further, to see just how far he could take you.

Remy tilted his head, his smirk widening as he studied you, his thumb pressing a little harder against your throat, just enough to make your breath catch. "Y’ gon’ beg me. Beg me proper. Tell Daddy exactly what y’ need."

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the heat between your legs growing unbearable as his words coiled around you like a snake. The way his accent made every word sound like a command, left you desperate, aching for whatever he was willing to give.

"Please, Daddy," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please push me. I need it. I need you."

His eyes darkened at your words, satisfaction flashing across his face as he released your throat and let his hand trail down your body. His fingers were slow, deliberate, as they traced the curve of your hips, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Bon," he murmured, his voice low and full of approval. "That’s my good girl. Y’ wanna be pushed till y’ can’t take no more, hmm? Y’ wanna see how far Daddy can take y’?"

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as his hand moved lower, teasingly slow, inching toward the heat between your legs. The anticipation was unbearable, your body trembling as you waited for his touch, for him to take control again.

"You gon’ ask for everythin’, cher. Every. Damn. Thing," he growled, his voice thick with his Cajun drawl, each word dripping with dominance. "An’ you ain’t stoppin’ till Daddy says so."

His fingers finally brushed over your clit, and you gasped, your body jolting at the sudden contact. But it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough. You needed more, craved more, and you knew that he was going to make you beg for it.

"Remy," you whimpered, your voice high and needy, your body shaking as his fingers continued their slow, torturous movements. "Please… more."

His lips curled into a wicked grin, his accent thick as honey as he leaned in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You want more? You gon’ have to work for it. Show me how bad you need it."

He began to circle your clit with maddening slowness, the pressure just enough to drive you wild but not enough to give you relief. The frustration built inside you, your hips instinctively bucking up toward his hand, but he held you firmly in place, his grip on your waist unyielding.

"No, no, cher," he drawled, his voice a low purr. "You don’t get to move till I say so. You gon’ take what I give you, and you gon’ be a good girl while you do it."

The dominance in his voice, the way he controlled every movement, every sensation, made your head spin. You could feel the heat building inside you, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter, but he wasn’t letting you have anything more than a taste. Your body was desperate for release, but you knew he wasn’t going to give it to you without making you beg for it.

"Please," you gasped, your voice breaking as you struggled to keep still beneath him. "Please, Remy, I’ll be good. I’ll do anything—just, please, I need more."

He chuckled again, a dark, rumbling sound that made your skin tingle. "That’s better. But I don’t think y’ beggin’ hard enough, non? I wanna hear y’ cry for me. I wanna hear that desperation."

His fingers pressed harder against your clit, the pressure sending a wave of pleasure through you that made your legs tremble, but still, it wasn’t enough. You needed more, needed him to take you over the edge, to push you further than you’d ever been before.

Your breath hitched, your hands flying to his wrist, but he didn’t let up, didn’t give you an inch of control. You were his, completely, and the knowledge of that made you tremble with need.

"Please, Daddy," you whimpered, your voice trembling as you looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Please make me come. I need it. I need you."

Remy’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched you squirm beneath him. "Ah, there she is," he murmured, his voice thick with approval.

Without warning, he slid two fingers inside you, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he began to thrust with a relentless, punishing rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure building so quickly that it left you gasping for air, your body arching up against him as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

But even as your body trembled, even as the pleasure threatened to consume you, he didn’t let you have it. He kept you right on the edge, his movements precise, controlled, designed to keep you teetering on the brink without ever falling over.

"Y’ feel that?" he growled, his voice low and rough, his accent thick with desire. "Y’ right there, but you don’t get to come till I say so. Y’ gon’ take everythin’ I give y’, an’ y’ gon’ thank me for it."

Your body was shaking, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you fought to hold on, to stay in control, but it was impossible. The sensation of his fingers inside you, the pressure on your clit, the sound of his voice—it was all too much.

"Please," you cried, your voice breaking as you begged him for release. "Please, Daddy, please let me come. I can’t take it anymore."

Remy’s eyes darkened, his grin widening as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Then come for me, cher," he growled, his accent thick and commanding. "Come for Daddy."

And with that, the coil inside you snapped, the orgasm crashing over you with such force that it left you gasping for air. Your body convulsed, trembling violently as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, leaving you utterly undone beneath him.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the intensity of your release. "Good girl, bébé. Y’ take what Daddy gives you."

Your vision blurred, your entire body trembling as you rode out the orgasm, your mind spinning with the overwhelming intensity of it all. You barely registered Remy’s thumb brushing over your swollen lips, or the way his grip on your waist tightened, steadying you as you came down from the high.

But even as your body began to relax, even as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through you, you knew that Remy wasn’t done. Not yet.

Remy's eyes burned with a heat that almost made you shy away, but the pull between you two was undeniable. His Cajun accent was thick, dripping with lust as he let out a low, rumbling chuckle that sent a shiver straight down your spine. You knew you were walking on the edge now, and he was about to push you over.

"Ah, cher," he drawled, his voice thick like molasses, rich and smooth, "y’ been beggin' so sweet, but now you gon’ really see what it means to be mine." His hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you close until you could feel his breath ghosting over your lips. "Y’ ready for Daddy to fuck you like you need?"

Your answer came in the form of a ragged breath, your body pulsing with anticipation. Every nerve in your body was alive with the need for him, for the way he controlled you, the way he made you feel like no one else ever could. You nodded, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to hear it from you.

"I asked y’ a question, cher," he murmured, his lips brushing just against the corner of your mouth, teasing you with a kiss he hadn’t yet given. "Tell me what you want."

"Please," you gasped, barely able to form the words as your body trembled under his touch. "Please, Daddy… I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me."

Remy’s eyes darkened, his grip on you tightening as a feral smile tugged at his lips. "Bon," he growled. "That’s what I like to hear."

Without another word, his hands were on you, strong and commanding. He grabbed your hips, pulling you against him with a force that left you breathless. Before you could process it, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you toward the dresser with a confidence that only made the ache between your legs worse.

"Y’ feel that, cher?" he whispered, his voice low and rough, his accent wrapping around you like a caress. "You feel how hard I am for y’?" He ground his hips against you, and you could feel the thick length of him pressing against your core. The sensation made you gasp, your body arching into him as your need for him grew unbearable.

"Remy," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, I can’t wait anymore."

He let out a low, rumbling laugh, his grip tightening on your thighs as he pressed your back against the wall. "Oh, cher, you ain’t gotta wait no more. Daddy’s gon’ give you exactly what you been beggin’ for."

His hands were rough but reverent as they trailed up your thighs, spreading you open as he pinned you against the dresser with his body, completely at his mercy.

"You so wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with approval. "Been wantin’ this, haven’t ya? Wantin’ Daddy to take care of y’?"

"Yes," you gasped, your body trembling as his fingers brushed over your slick folds. "Please, I need you."

"Shhh," he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. "I got y’, cher. I’m gon’ take care of y’ real good."

With that, he gripped himself, pressing against your entrance. You could feel the heat, the wetness. The anticipation, the need, was almost too much to bear, and you could feel your body trembling with the sheer intensity of it.

"Look at y’," he murmured, his voice low and full of pride as he lined himself up with you, his cock teasing your soaked entrance. "Y’ ready for Daddy, bébé?"

"Yes," you whimpered, your voice breathless with need. "Please, Remy… I need you inside me."

That was all he needed to hear.

With one powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, the fullness of him stretching you in ways that made your head spin. You cried out, your fingers digging into his back as he began to move, each thrust slow and deliberate, designed to push you to your absolute limit.

"Ah, cher," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Y’feel so fuckin’ good wrapped around me. Y’ were made for this, weren’t ya? Made to take Daddy’s cock."

You could barely form words, the pleasure too intense, too all-consuming as he picked up the pace, his hips slamming against yours with a force that had you gasping for breath.

"Remy," you moaned, your head falling back against the wall as your body arched into him, your legs tightening around his waist. "Oh god…"

"That’s it, bébé," he murmured, his voice low and rough as his hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he thrust into you harder, deeper. "Take it. Take all of me."

The sound of his voice, the way his accent dripped with authority, with ownership, only fueled the fire burning inside you. Your body was trembling, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. The pleasure was overwhelming, every thrust sending shockwaves through your body, bringing you closer to a release that you could feel building inside you like a storm.

"Please," you gasped, your voice trembling as you clung to him. "Please, I’m so close…"

"Not yet, cher," he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as he slowed his pace, teasing you, keeping you right on the edge but not letting you fall. "Y’ don’t come till I say. You gon’ wait for Daddy, you hear me?"

You whimpered, your body trembling with the need for release, but you nodded, knowing that you were his to control, to use as he saw fit.

"Good girl," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "I’m gon’ make y’ scream."

And then he was fucking you in earnest, his pace rough and relentless, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. The sensation was almost too much, the pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain, but it was exactly what you needed. You could feel every inch of him inside you, stretching you, filling you completely, and it was driving you wild.

"Remy," you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body began to shake, the pressure inside you building to a breaking point. "I can’t… I need to come…"

"Y’ gon’ come for me, cher?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous as he pounded into you with a force that had you seeing stars. "Y’ gon’ come on Daddy’s cock?"

"Yes," you gasped, your voice breaking as your body trembled violently, the pleasure too much to hold back any longer. "Please… I’m gonna come…"

"Then come for me, bébé," he growled, his voice thick with command. "Come for Daddy."

With a final, shattering thrust, your body exploded, the orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless, your vision going white as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. You cried out, your body convulsing against him as he held you steady, his hips never stopping as he fucked you through the orgasm, prolonging your pleasure until you were a trembling, gasping mess.

"That’s it, cher," he murmured, his voice full of pride as he watched you fall apart in his arms. "You did so good for Daddy."

Even as the aftershocks of your orgasm rippled through you, Remy didn’t stop. He kept moving, his pace relentless, and you could feel the tension building again inside you, another orgasm already creeping up on you. You didn’t think it was possible to come again so soon, but with Remy, anything was possible.

"One more, bébé," he growled, his voice thick with lust as he thrust into you harder, deeper. "Give me one more."

Your body was trembling, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he drove you toward another release, his cock filling you completely with every powerful thrust. You could feel the pressure building inside you, the pleasure so intense that it left you gasping for air.

"Remy," you whimpered, your voice trembling as your body began to shake again. "I can’t…"

"Yes, y’ can, cher," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "Y’ gon’ give Daddy one more. Come for me again, bébé."

And just like that, the coil inside you snapped for a second time, the orgasm tearing through you with even more intensity than the first. You cried out, your body convulsing violently as the pleasure consumed you, leaving you breathless and shaking in his arms.

Remy let out a low, rumbling growl as he thrust into you one final time, his body tensing as he found his own release, filling you with a warmth that left you trembling. He held you close, his breath hot against your skin as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm, his grip on you tight and possessive.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the sound of your ragged breathing, the both of you still trembling from the intensity of what had just happened. Remy’s hands were gentle now, soothing as they ran over your skin, grounding you as you came down from the high.

"Y’ did so good, cher," he murmured, his voice soft and full of pride as he kissed your temple. "Daddy’s so proud of y’."

You smiled weakly, your body completely spent but utterly satisfied. You were his, completely, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

"Y’ mine now," he whispered, his Cajun drawl thick with satisfaction. "All mine." <><><><> Remy leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, watching with a lazy smirk as you slowly dressed. His jeans were already on, though still unbuttoned, hanging low on his hips. The room was dimly lit, but he could see the faint redness around your neck, the way your makeup had smudged slightly under your eyes. His gaze lingered for a moment on the torn fishnet stockings you were rolling up, defeated, before tossing them into the wastebasket.

"So, is this what you do?" you asked, a teasing edge to your voice as you glanced at him. "Find girls who amuse you and fuck them into submission?" You arched a brow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Remy’s smirk widened as he stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. "Only the ones I like," he replied smoothly, his Cajun accent thick and lazy. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued, "What about y’, cher? Is this how you normally spend your nights? Pour drinks on your ex and fuck like a rockstar?"

You shrugged, pulling on your shirt and noticing a button missing. With a sigh, you muttered, "Haven't fucked like a rockstar in a while." You tugged at the shirt, frowning at the missing button, and whispered to yourself, "Fuck it."

Without a word, Remy reached over to the floor, grabbed his own shirt, and handed it to you. "Here," he said, the smirk never leaving his face. "They're all used to seein’ me shirtless anyway."

You glanced up at him, a little surprised, but took the shirt, slipping it on. His scent lingered on the fabric, and it felt oddly comforting. As you adjusted the shirt, your eyes trailed over the scratches on his back, the marks you’d left in the heat of the moment. "Sorry about those," you said, your voice softening slightly.

Remy shrugged it off, his smile easy. "Don’t worry ‘bout it. Battle scars, cher. Comes with the territory."

There was a beat of silence, the air still thick with the remnants of your shared passion, but something more serious lingered beneath the surface. You glanced at him, chewing on your bottom lip before speaking again. "It’s funny… me and my ex—we were always trying to match each other’s crazy. But we never really did." You paused, pulling his shirt tighter around you, as if it could shield you from the vulnerability of the confession. "We tried, you know? But it was like… we were on different wavelengths. My crazy was too much for him, and his was never enough for me. We just didn’t fit."

Remy’s expression shifted, the playful smirk fading into something deeper, more thoughtful. He leaned back against the dresser, arms still crossed, but his eyes were locked on yours. "Mmm, I get that," he murmured, his voice low and reflective. "Ain’t easy findin’ someone who matches y’r crazy, cher. Most people, they don’t wanna go there. They don’t wanna dive deep into the wild parts of themselves—or y’. They wanna keep it safe, keep it easy."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "Exactly. It’s like… they want the thrill, but not the risk. They want the passion without the storm that comes with it."

Remy let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if he’d heard that story a hundred times before. "Yeah, well," he said, his tone dripping with a mix of amusement and something darker, "I ain’t met anyone yet who could handle my storm. Ain’t found no one who could match me, not all the way."

He paused, his eyes locking onto yours again, and for a moment, the lazy smirk returned to his lips, but there was something different behind it. Something more serious. More real. "That is… until tonight."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you could feel the air between you shift, thickening with something unspoken but undeniable. You didn’t say anything at first, the weight of his gaze holding you in place as the realization of what he was saying sank in.

"Until tonight?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper, not quite sure if you were asking a question or just echoing his words.

Remy’s smirk softened into a smile, his eyes never leaving yours as he closed the distance between you again. His hand found your waist, fingers trailing lightly over your skin as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Yeah, cher," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "Tonight, I think I found someone who can keep up."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the quiet intensity in his voice. There was a challenge hidden in his tone, a promise that this wasn’t over—not by a long shot. You could feel the fire between you two still smoldering, waiting for the next spark to set it ablaze again.

You turned to face him fully, your body brushing against his as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. "You sure about that, Remy?" you asked, your voice soft but steady. "You think I can match your crazy?"

Remy’s eyes darkened, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly as he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I think you might just be the one to burn me alive."

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with a challenge, with desire, with something neither of you could quite name but both of you could feel. You didn’t need to say anything more—there was no need for words now. The look in his eyes, the way his body pressed against yours, told you everything you needed to know.

Whatever this was between you, it wasn’t over. Not even close.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you’d met someone who was ready to dive into the storm with you, no matter how wild it got. Remy shrugged casually, his eyes still glinting with that lazy, mischievous smile as he leaned back against the dresser. "I’m in town for a few more nights," he said, his voice easy, like he hadn’t just turned your world upside down. "Then I gotta head off to Europe for a tour."

Your brow furrowed, unsure where he was going with this. Before you could ask, he glanced at you through half-lidded eyes, a hint of something more serious behind the playful exterior. "Y’ should come with me."

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head as if you hadn’t heard him right. "Wait, what?" you asked, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

Remy chuckled, that low, rich sound that seemed to rumble from somewhere deep within him. "Yeah, cher, I’m serious. I like y’. A lot." He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours as he continued, "And I think it’s somethin’ I wanna explore."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you were frozen, unsure how to respond. Your heart skipped a beat, and a million thoughts raced through your mind all at once. Was he really asking you to come with him? To leave everything behind for a whirlwind adventure across Europe? The idea was insane—completely reckless. You barely knew him beyond the fire and intensity of the past few hours. This was Remy LeBeau, the enigmatic Cajun heartthrob who probably had more women than he could count falling at his feet. And yet, there was something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you now, that made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he meant it.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little guarded. You’d heard stories like this before. Men like Remy didn’t just meet girls at bars and whisk them off on romantic tours across Europe. Was this just another game to him? Another notch on his belt?

As if sensing your hesitation, Remy crossed the room to the dresser, pulling out a pen and a small scrap of paper. He scribbled something quickly before handing both over to you. "Here," he said, his voice softening just slightly. "Give me y’r number, cher. Ain’t no pressure, but I’d like to see y’ again. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. Maybe you’ll think about comin’ along after all."

You took the pen, still processing his offer, your fingers brushing against his as you grabbed the paper. A light, teasing smile tugged at your lips as you met his gaze. "What, you got one of these little scraps of paper for every woman at every port?" you quipped, the words coming out more as a joke than an accusation, though you couldn’t help the tiny hint of curiosity behind it.

For the briefest moment, Remy froze. His usual easy smile faltered, and something unreadable flickered in his eyes. You watched as the playful mask he usually wore slipped ever so slightly, revealing something more vulnerable beneath it. Then, after a beat, he shook his head slowly, his expression serious now.

"Nah, cher," he said quietly, his voice losing some of its casual tone. "I ain’t got a woman in every port. I ain’t like that." He paused, his gaze holding yours, searching your face as if trying to make sure you understood. "Yeah, I fuck ‘em. Sure. But I don’t let it get further than that. I don’t… ask for numbers. I don’t ask them to come with me. Never done that before. Y’re different."

You felt your breath catch in your throat as he spoke, and for the first time since you’d met him, you saw a glimpse of something real—something raw in his eyes. He wasn’t playing a part right now. He wasn’t the charming, reckless, devil-may-care musician. He was just Remy, standing there in front of you, telling you the truth.

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you found yourself studying him carefully, searching for any hint of deception, any sign that this was just another well-rehearsed line. But there wasn’t. His eyes were steady, his expression open in a way you hadn’t seen before. He wasn’t lying. You could tell.

For a few long seconds, you just stood there, staring at him, the pen still in your hand, the paper resting against your palm. The silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

"I don’t know," you finally whispered, your voice hesitant. "I don’t usually do this either…" You trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. What were you even saying? That you didn’t hook up with guys like him? That you didn’t let yourself get swept up in the moment? Because here you were, standing in his shirt, your legs still shaking from everything that had just happened, and your mind was spinning with the possibility of something more.

Remy took another step toward you, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, careful. "Y’ don’t have to decide right now, cher," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "Take your time. But know this… I wasn’t playin’ tonight. I meant every word. Y’ got me thinkin’ ‘bout things I ain’t never thought ‘bout before."

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sincerity in his voice. This was more than just a fling to him, more than just a momentary distraction. He was offering you something real, something uncertain and wild, but real all the same.

You glanced down at the pen in your hand, then back up at him. His eyes were still on you, watching carefully, waiting. Slowly, you uncapped the pen and scribbled your number down on the scrap of paper he’d handed you. "Okay," you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you handed it back to him. "Here’s my number." You took a deep breath, glancing at Remy as you pulled his shirt tighter around you, the scent of him still lingering on the fabric. It was tempting—God, it was tempting—but you knew better. You shook your head softly, feeling the weight of reality settle on your shoulders. "But I can’t do Europe, Remy," you said, your voice steady but quiet. "I can’t just up and travel with you. I have a life outside of all this." You laughed, trying to lighten the heaviness you felt inside. "Knowing my luck, I’d probably end up on TMZ or something."

Remy’s lips curled into a small smile, but there was a softness in his eyes now, something understanding. He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over your arm. "Yeah, I get it, cher," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I know the lifestyle—paparazzi, the chaos—it ain’t for everyone." He paused, watching you carefully. "But that’s kinda why I think it’d work with y’."

You blinked, surprised by his response. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, his expression thoughtful as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "Y’ ain’t lookin’ for fame or attention. Y’ just… get me. Most people wanna be around me for the wrong reasons. But you? You’re different. That’s why I’m askin’." He stepped a little closer, his fingers lingering at your waist. "But if you’re not lookin' for all that, we can keep it casual. Just see where it goes, you know? No pressure."

You swallowed hard, feeling the pull of him, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room. It was insane—completely reckless—but there was something about him that made you want to take that risk. Still, you nodded, keeping yourself grounded. "Yeah… casual," you agreed, offering him a small smile. "We’ll see where it goes."

Remy’s smile widened, that familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "Good," he murmured, leaning down to brush a soft kiss against your forehead. "I’ll call you, cher. Ain’t no rush."

With that, he took a step back, his hands dropping from your waist as he led you out of the room and toward the exit. The night air was cooler than you expected, and the city was still buzzing with life outside the venue. Remy walked you to the street, his hand briefly resting on the small of your back before he gave you one last lingering glance. "Take care, bébé," he said softly, before turning and disappearing back inside.

You stood there for a moment, trying to process everything that had just happened. Your heart was still racing, your mind spinning with the weight of his words and the possibilities they held. But before you could get too lost in thought, Nat appeared, practically jogging up to meet you.

Nat’s eyes widened the moment she saw you wearing Remy’s shirt, and a sly grin spread across her face. "Oh my God, what the hell happened?" she asked, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. "It’s… it’s a long story," you muttered, tugging at the hem of the oversized shirt self-consciously.

Nat raised an eyebrow, her grin only widening as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Uh-huh. And that shirt? Did you steal it right off his back or…?"

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. "He gave it to me, okay? My shirt was missing a button." You paused, glancing away for a moment before deciding to tell her the rest. "Remy asked for my number."

Nat’s eyes practically bugged out of her head. "Wait, what? He asked for your number?"

"Yeah," you said slowly, biting your lip. "And… he asked me to go with him on tour. In Europe."

Nat stared at you in disbelief, her mouth hanging open for a few seconds before she finally found her voice. "Are you fucking kidding me? Remy LeBeau asked you to go on tour with him in Europe?" She shook her head, laughing in astonishment. "What the hell are our lives right now?"

You couldn’t help but laugh too, the absurdity of the situation finally sinking in. Just last night, you were at a bar with your best friend, trying to forget about your ex and blow off some steam. Now, you were standing outside a venue, wearing a rockstar’s shirt, having just turned down an invitation to travel across Europe with him. It was surreal.

"I know, right?" you said, shaking your head as the two of you started walking toward the subway. "I don’t even know what to think anymore."

And with that, you descended into the subway, your mind still swirling with thoughts of Remy, of Europe, of everything that might come next.

[be4chywritez]

sweet nothing | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x heiress!reader

I find myself runnin’ home to your sweet nothings

request : heiress of mclaren and oscar they meet at like a dinner at her estate or something and her dad or like father figure asks if oscar is single, and oscar says yes and her father figure tells them to go on a date and they end up going out maybe oscar is a lil asshole😊

You brush the dirt off your hands, glancing proudly at the roses you’ve just planted. The soil is warm under your fingers, and you lean back, wiping sweat from your forehead. A small smile plays on your lips as you admire the neat rows of blooms, but your peace is broken when you hear your name being called.

You turn, blinking against the sunlight, and spot your grandfather standing by the patio, his brows furrowed in that way he always does when he’s trying to look serious. Lando stands beside him, grinning widely, and next to him is someone you don’t recognize—a tall guy with messy brown hair and a quiet expression.

Your grandfather calls again, his voice a little sharper now. “Come here for a moment.”

You dust your hands off on your shorts and shuffle over, feeling the light breeze cool the sweat on your skin. Lando’s grin widens as you approach. “Still playing in the dirt, I see,” he teases.

“Always,” you respond, flashing him a playful smile. Your gaze drifts to the new guy, and your curiosity piques. He stands a little more stiffly than Lando, like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself. There’s something about the way he glances at you—polite, but distant—that makes you feel like you’re meeting someone important.

“This is Oscar Piastri,” Lando says, nudging the guy next to him. “Newest McLaren driver.”

Oscar smiles at you, though it’s small and a bit shy, like he’s not used to all the attention. “Hi,” he says, his accent lilting in a way that catches your attention.

“Hi,” you reply, a little awkward, but you can’t help but smile back. You try to remember if you’ve heard his name before, but your mind draws a blank. Racing was never something you followed closely, even if it was always around you.

Before you can say anything else, your grandfather clears his throat, his eyes twinkling with something that makes you uneasy. “Oscar’s a fine driver,” he says, his voice heavy with authority. “I think it would be good for you two to spend some time together.”

You blink, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. “Wait… what?”

Your grandfather’s expression doesn’t falter. He crosses his arms, the hint of a smirk on his lips. “Oscar, are you single?” he asks, turning the conversation before you can even process what he’s suggesting.

Oscar looks a little startled, his eyes darting from your grandfather to you, then back again. “Uh, yes, sir,” he answers, and you notice his fingers fidget slightly, like he’s not sure how to react either.

“Good,” your grandfather replies, his tone firm. “Then I suggest you take my granddaughter out on a date.”

You feel your cheeks warm, your mouth dropping open slightly. “A—date?”

Oscar looks as surprised as you feel, and for a second, you’re not sure who’s more uncomfortable. But then he nods, his voice soft but steady. “If that’s what you want, sir.”

You don’t know what to say. You glance at Oscar, who looks just as confused as you are, but there’s something in his gaze—something careful and maybe even curious. He doesn’t seem like the type to argue with your grandfather, and honestly, neither are you.

Lando, ever the instigator, lets out a low chuckle. “Well, this just got interesting.”

You smile awkwardly, not sure what to make of it all. Oscar offers you a small, almost apologetic smile, and you feel a strange flutter in your chest. Maybe it won’t be so bad. He seems nice enough, and if nothing else, it’ll be a chance to get to know him.

The next day, you find yourself standing in front of a trendy restaurant in the heart of the city. It’s not the quiet, tucked-away café you were imagining, but rather a bustling spot with large windows, modern decor, and a steady stream of people coming and going. Your stomach twists with nervous excitement as you spot Oscar standing by the entrance, looking cool and collected in a crisp white shirt and dark jeans.

“Hey,” he greets you with a brief smile, his hands in his pockets. There’s a casual confidence in the way he stands, but something about his demeanor feels a little… distant, like he’s already halfway checked out of the conversation before it even begins.

“Hey,” you reply, smiling back as he steps aside to let you walk in first. The restaurant hums with energy—clinking glasses, soft chatter, and the occasional laugh. You feel a little out of place, like maybe this is fancier than you were expecting.

Oscar pulls out your chair, but there’s something about the motion that feels more like routine than a thoughtful gesture. As you sit down, he moves quickly to his own seat, already glancing at the menu like this is just another pit stop in his day.

“So, you like this place?” you ask, trying to break the ice.

“Yeah,” Oscar says with a short nod, eyes still scanning the menu. “It’s close by, and the food’s good.” His tone is polite, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s keeping things at arm’s length.

You fiddle with your napkin, glancing around at the other patrons—groups of friends laughing together, couples holding hands. You can’t help but feel a little self-conscious. You were hoping for something quieter, more personal, but this feels… different.

The waiter comes by, and you both place your orders. Oscar seems at ease, chatting with the waiter casually, but when his attention turns back to you, there’s a moment of awkward silence. You search for something to say, but it’s hard to get a read on him. He’s polite, sure, but there’s a wall up—one you can’t quite figure out how to get past.

“So, what do you do for fun?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation into something light.

Oscar leans back, shrugging a little. “Mostly training, to be honest. Racing takes up a lot of my time.”

You nod, not sure what to say next. He’s not giving you much to work with, and you start to wonder if this was a bad idea. Maybe he’s just busy, or maybe he’s just not interested. Either way, the conversation feels stilted, like you’re trying too hard to fill the gaps.

“Do you follow F1?” he asks, breaking the silence.

You bite your lip, feeling a little embarrassed. “Honestly, not really,” you admit. “I mean, I know about it because of my family, but I’ve never really been that into it.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Kind of ironic, don’t you think?”

You flush slightly, not sure how to take that. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He doesn’t push further, just takes a sip of his water and glances out the window, his mind seemingly elsewhere. You feel a flicker of disappointment. This wasn’t how you imagined your first date going—Oscar seemed nice enough, but there’s a coolness to him that you can’t shake.

As the food arrives, you try to make the best of the situation, steering the conversation back to lighter topics. You talk about your garden again, hoping to spark some interest, but while Oscar listens, he doesn’t offer much in return. Every now and then, he glances at his phone, not enough to be rude, but enough to make you wonder if he’s distracted by something else.

“Sorry,” he says once, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “Just… work stuff.”

You nod, trying to brush it off, but it adds to the growing sense that maybe this date isn’t a priority for him. You had expected a chance to connect, to get to know him beyond the racer image, but it feels like you’re barely scratching the surface.

Still, you don’t want to give up just yet.

“Have you always wanted to be a driver?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Oscar’s gaze flicks to you, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah, since I was a kid. I was pretty focused on it, even when I was younger. It’s all I’ve ever really wanted to do.”

For a moment, you see a glimpse of something more—a passion that runs deep, something that makes him tick. But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone again, his expression neutral once more.

The rest of the meal passes in a blur of small talk and polite conversation, but the spark you had hoped for never really comes. As the check arrives, Oscar pulls out his card without hesitation, glancing at you with a half-smile.

“Ready to head out?” he asks.

You nod, feeling a little deflated, but you don’t want to show it. Maybe this was just a bad day for him. Maybe he’s just not the type to open up easily. Either way, you feel like there’s something you’re missing, something that keeps him at a distance.

As you both step out into the cool evening air, Oscar walks you to the curb where his car is parked. He pauses for a moment, looking at you, and for a brief second, you wonder if he’s going to say something that might change the tone of the evening.

But instead, he just smiles—a little tired, a little distracted. “It was nice hanging out with you,” he says, his tone polite but nothing more.

“Yeah, it was,” you reply, trying to match his energy, though the words feel hollow.

Oscar opens the car door for you, and as you slide in, you can’t help but wonder what’s really going on behind those guarded eyes. There’s something he’s not telling you—something that keeps him from fully being here with you.

As he drives you home, the silence between you grows, and you find yourself staring out the window, wondering if maybe you were hoping for too much too soon.

Despite the awkwardness of the first date, Oscar lingers in your thoughts more than you’d like to admit. There’s something about him—his quiet intensity, the way he carries himself—that draws you in, even if he hasn’t fully opened up to you yet. Maybe it’s just the mystery of it all. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s unlike anyone you’ve dated before.

Your crush sneaks up on you slowly. You catch yourself thinking about what you’ll wear next time you see him. You imagine different scenarios in your head—how the next date might go, whether he’ll be more relaxed, more present. You convince yourself that it’s just a matter of time.

When the next race rolls around, you decide to attend. You tell yourself it’s because you’re supporting McLaren, but deep down, you know it’s because of Oscar. Even though things were a little off between you two, there’s a part of you that’s eager to see him again. Maybe things will be different this time.

The race is packed with spectators, and the air hums with excitement. As you weave through the crowds, you feel a mixture of nerves and anticipation. Watching Oscar on the track feels different now—you’re not just another fan in the stands. You’re here for him, and that thought makes your heart race a little faster.

The race itself is thrilling, and you can’t help but feel happiness as Oscar crosses the finish line. He doesn’t win, but he holds his own, finishing in a solid position. You smile, thinking about how you’ll congratulate him afterward.

After the race, you find your way to the paddock, your heart pounding in your chest as you spot Oscar among the throngs of people. He’s surrounded by his team, all smiles and handshakes as they celebrate a job well done. When he sees you, his expression flickers for a moment—recognition, maybe a touch of something softer—but it’s gone just as quickly as it appears.

“Hey,” you greet him, your voice a little too bright. “Congrats on the race.”

“Thanks,” Oscar replies, offering you a polite smile. His demeanor is cool, but not unfriendly—just… reserved. You start to notice the subtle distance between you, like he’s here, but not entirely.

“Maybe we could grab a drink later?” you suggest, your tone casual, but your nerves bubbling beneath the surface.

Oscar glances at his watch, then back at you. “Yeah, maybe. Let’s see how the rest of the day goes.”

It’s not a no, but it’s not exactly the enthusiastic yes you were hoping for either. Still, you brush it off, telling yourself that he’s probably just tired from the race.

You stand there for a moment, watching Oscar disappear into the crowd. There’s a strange feeling lingering in your chest—something about the interaction seemed… off. But before you can get too deep in your thoughts, a familiar voice breaks through.

“Already scaring him off?” Lando teases, sidling up to you with his usual playful grin.

You turn to him, laughing despite yourself. “Please, Lando. I’m not that terrifying.”

He leans against the nearby barrier, looking at you with a twinkle in his eye. “Nah, just a little intimidating with your… I don’t know, your knowledge of roses or whatever.”

You roll your eyes, giving him a light shove. “Not my fault you have no appreciation for fine horticulture.”

“Fine horticulture,” he repeats with mock seriousness, his lips twitching into a smirk. “But seriously, how’s it going? Did Oscar hit you with that ‘strong and silent’ routine, or is he actually saying words now?”

You pause, trying to figure out how to answer. “He’s… quiet, yeah. But I think there’s more to him than he lets on.”

Lando hums, crossing his arms. “Oh, there’s definitely more. Just give him time. Maybe flash him a few more of those smiles—you know, the ones that make people all… swoony.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’ll be sure to use my superpowers wisely, then.”

Before Lando can retort, Oscar’s figure appears again, cutting through the crowd and making his way back toward you both. You feel a flutter of surprise. He was distant before, but now there’s a new intensity in his gaze.

“Hey,” Oscar says, glancing briefly at Lando before turning to you. “I was thinking, maybe we could grab those drinks after all?”

You blink, taken aback. “Yeah? I thought you weren’t sure about it earlier.”

Oscar shrugs slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting into the faintest of smiles. “Changed my mind. If you’re still up for it.”

Lando snickers quietly next to you, clearly amused by the shift in Oscar’s tone. “Well, that sounds like a yes to me.”

You can’t help but smile, a warm excitement bubbling up inside you. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

The bar Oscar takes you to is tucked away in the city, with low lighting and soft music humming in the background. It’s more intimate than the first restaurant—smaller, cozier. It makes you feel like this is something real, like there’s something between you both that’s beginning to take shape.

You sit across from each other at a small table, nursing drinks, and for a while, the conversation flows. Oscar’s a bit more relaxed than usual, and it makes you feel like maybe you’re finally cracking the surface, finally getting to see the person behind the cool, quiet exterior.

“So,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “What made you change your mind? You seemed… hesitant before.”

Oscar looks at you for a moment, like he’s trying to come up with the right words. “I guess I just thought it might be fun after all. Figured it couldn’t hurt to get to know each other better.”

You smile, feeling a flutter of hope. “Yeah. I’m glad you did.”

For a few more minutes, the conversation rolls on, and you find yourself leaning into it—into him. He’s attentive, even charming in his own way, and you can’t help but feel your heart begin to race a little faster. But then, just as things seem to settle into a comfortable rhythm, his phone lights up on the table.

You catch a glimpse of the screen out of the corner of your eye—a name you don’t recognize, followed by a few messages that he quickly swipes away without reading. It’s subtle, almost like he’s trying not to let you see it, but the moment leaves a faint unease in the back of your mind.

You push the feeling aside, convincing yourself it’s nothing. Probably just a friend or someone from the team. But when his phone lights up again, this time with a more persistent vibration, it’s harder to ignore.

“Everything okay?” you ask, trying to keep your voice casual.

“Yeah,” Oscar says, his tone clipped as he checks his phone again before silencing it. “Just some messages. Nothing important.”

You nod, but the way he’s so quick to brush it off leaves you feeling unsettled. It’s like there’s a part of him still walled off, something he’s not telling you. But you don’t press, don’t want to ruin the moment.

As the evening goes on, you notice him glancing at his phone a few more times. The distraction is subtle, but it’s there, casting a small shadow over what otherwise feels like a perfect night.

You try to brush it off, reminding yourself that he’s a busy guy—he probably has a million things going on at once. But as the drinks dwindle and the conversation slows, you can’t help but feel like there’s something—or someone—else that’s occupying his thoughts.

The days after your drink date are… strange. You had hoped that spending more time with Oscar would bring you closer together, but instead, things feel more distant than ever. He’s not cold, not exactly, but there’s a guardedness to him that wasn’t there before.

He texts you, asks how you’re doing, but it’s never as warm as you want it to be. You tell yourself that maybe he’s just busy, that it’s just part of being a driver in such a high-stakes sport. But deep down, there’s a little voice in your head whispering that something isn’t right.

You push it aside, trying to focus on the excitement of seeing him again. When he suggests going to the beach, you jump at the chance, eager to spend more time with him.

The breeze is warm, a gentle contrast to the coolness of the sand beneath your feet as you walk side by side with Oscar. The beach is quieter than usual, only a few scattered people, and the rhythmic crash of the waves fills the gaps between your conversation. There’s a lightness to the moment—a sense of possibility. You sneak a glance at Oscar, feeling a small spark of excitement flutter in your chest.

You tell yourself not to read too much into it. But there’s a softness in his smile when he looks at you, a hint of something more, and you can’t help but wonder if this is what falling for someone is supposed to feel like.

“You’ve been quiet,” Oscar says, his voice cutting through the hum of the waves. He nudges you lightly with his arm, a playful gesture that makes you smile despite the nervousness you’ve felt creeping in since the start of the date.

“Just… thinking,” you reply, your eyes drifting out to the horizon where the sun is starting to dip low. “This is nice, though. I like spending time with you.”

You mean it. Despite the moments of awkwardness and the hesitations that have clouded your other dates, something about being here—walking with him along the shoreline—feels right. You’ve never had a relationship that felt this natural before. There’s always been some underlying expectation, some hidden motive from the people in your life who wanted you for your family’s name and status.

But with Oscar, you want to believe it’s different. You want to believe he likes you for you.

Oscar clears his throat, breaking the moment. “Yeah, it’s been good,” he says, his tone almost too casual. There’s a flicker of discomfort behind his words, like he’s trying to keep things light.

Before you can dwell on it, a voice cuts through the air, drawing both of your attentions.

“Oscar! Is that really you?”

You turn, and your heart sinks as you see a tall, stunning woman walking toward the two of you. She’s dressed effortlessly, her dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, and she carries herself with a confidence that immediately makes you feel small.

Oscar’s reaction is immediate—his posture stiffens, his eyes darting away from yours as he rubs the back of his neck. “Hey, uh… didn’t expect to see you here.

Her eyes flick between you and Oscar, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she takes in the sight of you together. “It’s been a while,” she says, her tone smooth, easy. “Didn’t think you’d be back in town.”

You stand there awkwardly, unsure of what to do or say, and the moment stretches painfully long. The familiarity between them is palpable, and a sinking feeling starts to form in your stomach.

“I’m just here for a bit,” Oscar replies, his voice suddenly lacking the warmth it had moments ago. He seems uncomfortable—like he’s trying to get through this interaction as quickly as possible.

The woman shifts her gaze to you, her smile widening just enough to make you feel scrutinized. “And who’s this?” she asks, as if you’re a new accessory she’s appraising.

You offer a small, polite smile, though your chest feels tight. “I’m—”

“Just a friend,” Oscar cuts in quickly, his voice sharp and clipped.

The words hang in the air, and your breath catches. You look at him, confused, hurt—but he won’t meet your gaze. The woman gives a small, almost amused laugh before waving it off.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” she says with a teasing tone, her eyes lingering on Oscar for just a second too long. “Catch you later, Piastri.”

With that, she walks away, her footsteps light on the sand, leaving you standing there in stunned silence. The sound of the waves seems distant now, like you’re underwater, and the weight of what Oscar just said presses heavily on your chest.

Just a friend.

You force yourself to swallow the lump forming in your throat, pretending the words didn’t sting as much as they did. “Who was that?” you ask quietly, trying to keep your voice steady.

Oscar sighs, his hand dropping to his side. “No one important,” he says, though the tension in his voice betrays him. He turns to look at you, but there’s something distant in his eyes—something guarded that wasn’t there before.

You nod slowly, feeling a pang of disappointment settle deep in your chest. The connection you thought you were building suddenly feels fragile, like it could shatter at any moment.

For the rest of the walk along the beach, neither of you says much. The easy conversation, the subtle glances—all of it feels like it’s gone. Replaced by a silence that only grows heavier with each step.

You’re quiet when you get home, your heart heavy with the weight of everything that happened at the beach. You try to shake it off, but the look in Oscar’s eyes, the tension between him and Ellie—it’s all you can think about.

Your grandfather is in the sitting room when you walk in, his expression softening when he sees you.

“How was the date?” he asks, his voice gentle.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get caught in your throat. You want to tell him it was fine, that everything’s okay—but you can’t lie. Not this time.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice trembling, “don’t force people to like me.”

Your grandfather’s face falls, his brow furrowing in concern. He reaches out to you, but you pull away, the tears already starting to form.

“I just… I don’t want to be an obligation,” you say, your voice breaking. “I want someone to like me because they want to—not because they feel like they have to.”

That night, after you’ve retreated to your room, your grandfather makes a call. He doesn’t tell you about it, doesn’t let on that he’s taken matters into his own hands. When Oscar picks up, he’s met with your grandfather’s firm voice.

“I’m sending the two of you to the ranch in Texas,” your grandfather says. “You’ll leave tomorrow.”

Oscar tries to protest, but your grandfather won’t hear it. “You’ll go,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You owe her that much.”

You sat in the plush leather seat of your grandfather’s private jet, the tension between you and Oscar thick and palpable. Neither of you had spoken much since the beach incident, and you weren’t sure how you felt about being sent off to Texas together. The thought of spending more time with him, especially after everything that had happened, made your stomach churn.

Oscar sat across from you, his eyes flickering up occasionally, as if he was gathering the courage to say something, but each time, the words seemed to die in his throat. You focused on the window instead, watching the runway lights blur as the plane took off.

“I know you’re upset,” Oscar finally said, breaking the silence, his voice quiet yet steady. “I want to explain, but I don’t think words are enough right now.”

You glanced at him, biting the inside of your cheek. Part of you wanted to hear him out, to understand why he had been so distant, but another part of you didn’t care anymore. The truth was, you felt used—like you were just another part of the game, just another person he didn’t really care about.

“I don’t want to hear it right now,” you said, shaking your head. “We’ll go on this trip, but when we get back to London, we tell my grandfather that it didn’t work out. And Oscar…” You hesitated, the weight of your next words crushing you. “Please don’t let anyone know that I was the other woman.”

Oscar’s face twisted, regret filling his expression. “I swear, I won’t say a word.”

You nodded, turning away from him. The rest of the flight passed in heavy silence.

When you arrived in Texas, the sprawling estate greeted you with its endless fields and the familiar scent of wildflowers. Despite the awkwardness between you and Oscar, the comfort of being home, away from the pressures of your world, settled over you. As soon as you were alone, you made your way to the garden.

The garden had always been your escape—a place where you could get lost in the rhythm of tending to the plants. As you knelt in the dirt, your fingers delicately brushing over the leaves of the roses, you found solace in the simplicity of the task. You weren’t sure how long you’d been there, but the sun was starting to dip low in the sky when you finally stood up, wiping your dirty hands on your jeans.

Unbeknownst to you, Oscar had been watching from a distance. He stayed near the old oak tree at the edge of the garden, watching as you moved gracefully through the rows of flowers, completely absorbed in your work. There was something peaceful about the way you lost yourself here—so different from the world of fast cars and expectations.

He leaned back against the tree, his mind racing. He wasn’t sure how he’d fix this—how he could make things right after everything he had done. Watching you, Oscar realized how much he had hurt you, and it wasn’t just the beach incident that weighed on him. It was everything—the emotional distance, the Ellie situation, the lies he had told himself.

But for now, he kept his distance, unsure of how to approach you or if you’d even want him to. You, lost in your world of flowers and dirt, were completely unaware of his gaze.

As the night crept in, you finally left the garden, retreating back inside the house. Oscar stayed behind, his thoughts heavy. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t thinking about his career, his public image, or what other people wanted from him. He was thinking about you.

The morning sun was bright as you headed to the stables, hoping a horseback ride might clear your head. Despite still being upset with Oscar, you welcomed the chance to be alone in the fresh air.

As you prepared your horse, Oscar approached, looking out of place. He glanced around nervously and gave you a hesitant smile.

“Morning,” he said. “I thought I’d join you, if that’s okay.”

You barely glanced at him, focusing on securing your saddle. “Sure. If you think you’re up for it.”

Oscar tried to act composed, though his eyes darted nervously at the horses. He awkwardly mounted his steed with the help of a stable hand, gripping the reins as if they were a lifeline.

As you led the way onto the trail, your horse trotting confidently, Oscar’s horse lagged behind, its rider stiff and uncertain. You could hear him muttering to himself, trying to calm his nerves.

“So, what’s it like riding horses?” Oscar called out, his voice a bit too loud, trying to mask his fear.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” you replied curtly, keeping your distance both physically and emotionally. You weren’t in the mood for small talk, especially not with Oscar, given the recent tension.

The trail wound through picturesque fields, and as the minutes passed, Oscar’s discomfort was evident. His horse seemed to be enjoying itself a little too much, leading to a few unplanned jolts that made Oscar clutch the reins tightly.

At one point, his horse decided to trot faster, and Oscar’s face turned pale as he tried to control it. “I think it’s going to bolt!” he shouted, trying to sound calm but clearly panicking.

You slowed your horse, turning to watch with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. “Just breathe and let the horse do the work. It’s not going to run off.”

Oscar managed to regain some control, though he looked more like he was bracing for a bumpy ride than enjoying it. “Easy for you to say,” he replied, trying to laugh off his fear. “You make it look so effortless.”

You remained distant, nodding but not engaging further. “Just keep your hands steady and trust the horse.”

By the time you returned to the stables, Oscar dismounted with an audible sigh of relief. His face was flushed, but there was a small smile of accomplishment as he looked at you. “Thanks for letting me tag along. I guess it wasn’t as bad as I thought, but I think I’ll stick to less adventurous activities in the future.”

You gave a noncommittal nod, barely meeting his eyes. “You did alright. Maybe next time, we’ll try something less… unpredictable.”

Finally, the time came to return to London. The flight was quiet, each of you lost in your own thoughts. When you arrived back at your grandfather’s estate, you both faced him, sitting in his study.

“We talked,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “And we’ve decided that it’s best if we just remain friends.”

Your grandfather’s gaze shifted between you and Oscar, disappointment and concern etched on his face. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” you affirmed, nodding firmly. “It’s the best decision for both of us.”

Oscar added, “I appreciate everything your grandfather’s done for me, but I agree. We should just be friends.”

Your grandfather sighed, looking at Oscar with a mix of sympathy and understanding. “Very well. I’ll respect your decision.”

As you and Oscar left the study, you found yourself rushing toward your room, letting the tears fall freely down your cheeks.

You weren’t sure why you were crying, maybe it’s because you genuinely felt something with him or you thought you did.

Oscar Piastri was making you go crazy.

Beachy’s notes🐚: Mama is a lil rusty😞

[faithshouseofchaos]

hi i don't think this is a real request but for franco colapinto it's kinda cliche ikr (but i believe in your writing skills so)

older reader (u don't need to specific the age) who refuse to be with franco bc she thinks it's better for him to be with someone close his age, but ofc they're in love and franco is down bad for her even though she's kinda cruel sometimes

so angst with a happy end? or at least something realistic? idk and it's up to u to add other stuff! *oh and they're from the same country or foreigners etc*

“She calls me kidz bop” — Franco colapinto x fem!reader

Word count 3.5k

Warnings — Angst, heavy makeouts allusion of smut

This isn’t as good as I thought it would be

Tagged— @crispysoup318 @meeel-things @bieberismysoulmate @dejavuontrack @barcelonaloverf1life @nominsgirl @bluebluesol @chenlesbitxh @ironmaiden1313 @chunkpiboli @kr7-i-know-what-im-doing

Franco watched as y/n stood talking to her fellow driver Something deep inside him wished that she gave him the same attention as she did the rest of them. It didn’t matter if they had feelings for each other. It also didn’t matter that she was so cruel to him and gave him nicknames like Kidz Bop, Teeny Bopper, or Rug Rat.

He didn’t mind the teasing or the nicknames, he could take it. He’s used to being teased by others but not by the one he’s falling for, and he didn’t want to admit it but a part of him knew he was slowly concluding that he loved her. Franco leaned against the garage wall, staring at the ground with his hands shoved in his pockets.

He continued to observe y/n’s body language. The way she stood with her arms crossed, the way she laughed at the other driver’s jokes, even the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was maddening.

Franco clenched his jaw, trying to hold back his frustration. He wanted to speak to her but he was uncertain of what to say. As he watched her, he noticed she was glancing his way. A small smile crept onto his lips as he realized that she was looking his way. He felt a flutter in his chest, a mix of hope and nervousness. He took a deep breath, summoning his courage, and finally stepped forward.

As he approached, he could feel her eyes on him, studying him. He tried to act casually, his hands still in his pockets, but he couldn’t help the way his heart was racing. He cleared his throat, “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”

Y/n turned her attention away from her co-drivers and looked at Franco, raising an eyebrow. “Sure, what do you want?”

Franco swallowed hard, trying to ignore the coolness in her voice. He took a step closer, not caring that they had an audience, “Can we talk somewhere a little more private?”

Y/n nodded, gesturing for him to follow her out of the garage. Once they were alone in a secluded area, she turned to him with her arms crossed. “What's on your mind, kidz bop?”

Franco took a deep breath, trying to ignore the nickname. He knew it was her way of keeping him at arm’s length, but it stung nonetheless. He looked into her eyes, gathering his courage. “I wanted to talk to you about us…”

Y/n’s expression remained neutral, but he could see a flicker of something in her eyes. She raised an eyebrow, “What about us?”

Franco rubbed the back of his neck, nervous. “Well, I just wanted to know…if there’s ever a chance for us?”

Y/n let out a snort, “A chance? Kidz bop, you’re way too young for me. You need to find someone your age.” Franco's heart sank at her words, but he tried to hide his disappointment. “I don’t care about age. I just want to be with you.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “Yeah, yeah, very romantic. But I’m not interested in dating some kid who still has a curfew. I need someone more mature.” Franco clenched his fists in frustration, “I’m not a kid. I’m just as mature as any other driver out there.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, sure you are. I bet you still have a teddy bear in your bed and your mom still picks out your outfits.” Franco's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he tried to maintain his composure. He couldn’t deny that he had a teddy bear, but he certainly hadn’t asked his mom for fashion advice since he was 12.

“I’m a grown man,” he protested, “Just because I’m a rookie doesn’t mean I’m immature.” Y/n leaned against the wall, still looking unimpressed. “Oh? Prove it then, Teeny Bopper. Show me how mature you are.”

Franco was determined to show her that he wasn’t just some naïve rookie. He took a step closer to her, his heart pounding. “Fine. I’ll prove it to you.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden confidence. “Alright, I’m listening. Go ahead and impress me, rug rat.” Franco took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He was suddenly keenly aware of how close they were standing to each other. He could smell her perfume, a soft, musky scent that made his head spin.

He looked into her eyes, unflinching. “I’ll prove it by showing you that I’m serious about this. I’m not just some kid who doesn’t know what he wants. I know what I want, and it’s you.” Y/n’s expression softened just a bit. She was impressed by his directness, but still unconvinced. “You’re young, Franco. You don’t know what you want. You just think you do.”

Franco took another step closer to her. “I may be young, but I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I’m done with being treated like a kid. I know what I want, and I’m not going to give up until I get it.” Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at his words, but she tried to maintain her cool facade. “You’re not going to give up, huh? You’re stubborn, aren’t you?”

Franco smirked, feeling a rush of confidence. “I can be when I want something. And I want you.”

He took another step forward, closing the gap between them. He was now standing so close to her that he could feel the heat of her body. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat as he stepped closer. She hadn’t expected him to be so direct. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, and she had to fight the urge to reach out and touch him. But she held her ground, refusing to let him see how her resolve was starting to crumble.

“You don’t even know what you’re getting yourself into, kidz bop,” she teased, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice just before she walked away from him. Franco watched her walk away, a mix of frustration and determination coursing through his veins. He knew he had gotten to her this time, he had seen the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

He wasn’t going to give up, not until he had proven to her that he was serious. He was in love with her, and he wasn’t going to let her brush him off like some naive rookie.

Once again Franco found himself watching and observing y/n and this time was brought out of his thoughts by a large hand clapping him on the shoulder “You good there Franco?” Charles asked. Franco looked over at him and then back at y/n whose eyebrows were bunched up together and her lips in a thin tight line.

“Yeah I’m good,” Franco answered, looking down at his feet. Charles chuckled at Franco’s obvious lie. He followed Franco’s gaze to y/n, his smirk growing even more as he looked at her. “You have it bad don’t you?” Charles teased. Franco quickly shoved Charles’s arm off him as he gave him a nasty glare.

Charles cackled in response. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. How long are you gonna sit on your ass and not do something?” Charles said.

“There’s a reason why I haven’t,” Franco said, still stubbornly keeping his eyes on y/n.

“Which is?” Charles prompted.

“She’s too old for me,” Franco said. Charles’s jaw dropped.

“Bullshit! She’s what, 26? You’re 21! It’s not that big of an age difference, "he said.

“She thinks it is,” Franco said. Charles shook his head in disbelief at Franco’s stupidity.

“Goddamnit Franco. You’re a pretty handsome kid, why are you letting her have that much control over you? If you feel something for her then do something about it” Charles said.

Franco tore his eyes from y/n to look at Charles “There is something between us. But every time I try to talk to her about it, she shuts it down. Says that she’s too old for me and would rather I find someone my age” he confessed. Charles let out a scoff “She doesn’t mean it. She’s just running away because she doesn’t want to admit her feelings for you” he said.

Franco shook his head. “You don’t know that and besides she’s mean to me and she calls me kidz bop, teeny bopper, or rug rat.”

Charles rolled his eyes “Franco I’ve known y/n for much longer than you being mean to someone is her love language trust me the meaner she is to someone the more she cares for them. She calls me a pretty boy. She calls Fernando an old man. I've seen the way she looks at you. There’s no way she feels nothing.” Franco’s heart skipped a beat at Charles’s words.

“W-what do you mean ‘the way she looks at me’” he asked.

Charles smirked again “I mean you’re constantly in her line of sight whenever you’re in a room. Anytime she’s near you, she always seems to be hyper-aware of it. I don’t think she’s as immune to your charms as she makes herself seem.”

As much as Franco wanted to believe what Charles was telling him it was too hard. He’s seen the way y/n talks to the other drivers. They weren’t like that.

“I get that your old ass has much more relationship experience than I do. But you just don’t understand” Franco muttered, refusing to look at Charles. Charles shook his head at Franco “You’re a lot denser than I thought you were. If you’re gonna waste your opportunity with her then that’s your problem, not mine” he said before he sauntered off, leaving Franco by himself.

Franco stood there, his mind reeling from Charles's words. He couldn't shake the feeling that Charles was right about y/n. That she had feelings for him beneath all her harsh words and belittling nicknames. But he couldn't be sure.

Franco looked over to where y/n was still standing, her expression still tight and cold. He tried to muster up the courage to approach her again, but he couldn’t find the words. He was too overwhelmed by the possibility that she could feel something for him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever rejection came his way. Franco began to slowly make his way toward her, his heart pounding in his chest. With each step, he felt as though he was walking through mud, his legs refusing to cooperate.

Finally, he stood in front of her, his eyes locked on hers. “Can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his voice much softer than he had intended.

She looked up at him, her eyes flickering with an unreadable expression. For a moment, he thought she was going to brush him off like she had so many times before.

“Fine. What do you want?” she asked, her voice as icy as ever. Franco swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. He had practiced all the things he wanted to say in his head, but now that he was standing in front of her, all of his words seemed to have vanished.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I just wanted to talk to you about us." "I know we're colleagues, but there's something more there, isn't there?" he said, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability.

She paused for a moment, her expression faltering for just a split second before her walls went back up. "Whatever gave you that idea?" she asked, feigning indifference. Franco took a small step forward, closing the space between them. He could feel the heat radiating off of her body, making him heady with desire.

"The way you look at me. The way you always watch me. I know you feel it too. You're just too scared to admit it." Her breath caught in her throat as he neared. She tried to pretend that his words did not affect her, but he could see the subtle change in her breathing, the way her body seemed to gravitate towards him.

"Scared? I'm not scared of anything, least of all you," she retorted, hoping he didn't notice the waver in her voice. "Then prove it," he said, his voice suddenly low and intense. He was so close to her now that he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her pulse fluttered in her neck.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers lingering against the softness of her skin. Her breath hitched at his touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. She fought the urge to lean into his touch, to finally give in to the overwhelming amount of tension that hung in the air between them. But she forced herself to take a step back, pulling herself out of his reach. "I don't have anything to prove to you," she said, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

Franco couldn’t help the pang of disappointment that shot through him as she pulled away. He knew he was getting under her skin, but she was still fighting him.

But he had a card he hadn't played yet.

“Then why is this so hard?” he asked, his tone soft and gentle. “If we're just colleagues, then it should be easy for you to turn me down. Right?”

Inwardly, she was cursing his stubbornness. But he was right, and she was losing the battle with herself. She had been trying so hard to keep her feelings locked away, to deny the attraction that was growing hotter and hotter each day.

She tried to come up with a witty retort, but her throat was dry, and her mind was fuzzy. The way he was looking at her, the way he was so sure of himself, it was chipping away at her defenses. He took another step closer, closing the gap between them again. “Come on, admit it. This isn’t just some one-sided thing. You feel it too.”

She could feel his breath on her skin, the heat of his body so close to hers. She thought about denying it, pushing him away once more, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, she did the one thing she had promised herself she wouldn’t do.

She melted.

It was as if all the tension and resistance she had built up just disappeared. She found herself leaning into him, her body drawn to his like a magnet.

She looked up at him, her eyes betraying the vulnerability and desire that she had tried so hard to hide. "Franco..." she whispered. The sound of his name on her lips sent a jolt of electricity through his body. He could see the change in her eyes, the way they darkened with emotion.

He moved closer to her, his arms closing around her waist, pulling her against him. He leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from her ear. "Say it. Say you want me." The heat of his body against hers combined with the huskiness of his voice sent shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes, her body molding itself to his.

She took a shaky breath, her voice wavering. "I want you, Franco. Damn it, I want you." A rush of satisfaction and relief washed over him as he heard her words. He’d finally broken through her defenses, and now he had her exactly where he wanted her.

He pulled her even closer, his hands slipping under the hem of her shirt, his fingers tracing the bare skin of her back.

“You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear you say that," he murmured against her neck. She let out a soft gasp as he touched her skin, her body arching into him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair.

She had tried to deny it for so long, but now that she had finally given in, it was like an unstoppable force of nature. All she wanted was to be closer to him, to feel him completely. He claimed her mouth in a deep, searing kiss, his body pressing her against the wall. His hands roamed over her skin, exploring every curve and contour of her body. It felt like a dam had broken, and all the pent-up desire that had been building between them was suddenly unleashed.

She returned his kiss with equal fervor, her tongue tangling with his. She ran her hands along his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt.

She wanted more, so much more. She was drowning in the sensation of him, losing herself in the heat and the passion of their embrace. Franco pressed himself against her, trapping her between the wall and his body. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down her neck, nipping and sucking at her skin.

He could feel her coming undone, her body growing more and more pliant against his. He could tell that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her, and it was driving him insane. She let out a desperate gasp as he found a particularly sensitive spot beneath her ear, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. She couldn't think straight, her mind fuzzy with desire. The only thing that existed at that moment was the feel of his body against hers, the taste of his skin, and the way his hands sent sparks of pleasure dancing over her skin.

He continued to explore her body, his hands drifting down her sides, his fingertips tracing the edge of her waistband. He dipped his head lower, his lips trailing along her collarbone, then down her chest, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses on her skin. She whimpered and shivered beneath his touch, her body becoming a raw nerve of sensation. Her hips rocked against his, seeking more contact, more friction. She felt like she was on fire, burning up from the inside out.

He could feel her body reacting to his every touch, the way her hips moved against his, the way her hands clutched at his hair, pulling him closer. He could hear the soft gasps and moans escaping her lips, the sound sending a flood of heat straight to his core.

He pulled away just long enough to look at her, his eyes dark and intense.

“God, I love it when you make those sounds,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. The desire in his gaze, the rough rasp of his voice, it was too much for her. She reached up and pulled him back down to her, her lips crashing against his in a fierce kiss.

Her body was overwhelmed by the intensity of her desire for him, the need for him almost unbearable. He met her kiss with urgency, his tongue delving into her mouth, claiming her completely. He pressed himself against her, his body fitting perfectly against hers.

He let his hands slide down to her thighs, lifting her so her legs wrapped around his waist, pinning her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around him, her body flush against his. She could feel every muscle, every contour, every inch of him. She couldn't get enough, she wanted to be even closer.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him tight against her, her tongue exploring his mouth with feverish desperation. He pressed himself harder against her, his body desperate to get even closer to hers. He let his hands slide up to her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He wanted to taste every inch of her, to mark her as his. She tilted her head back, exposing her neck to him, her body arching into his touch. A soft moan escaped her lips as he licked and sucked at her skin, his stubble sending sparks of pleasure dancing across her nerve endings. He found a particularly sensitive spot just below her ear, and he lingered there, his lips and tongue working her into a frenzy. He could feel her responding to his touch, her body trembling against his, moans and gasps escaping from her lips.

He nipped and sucked at her skin, leaving a trail of red marks down her neck and collarbone. She was completely undone, her mind consumed with nothing but him and the pleasure he was causing her. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body writhing against his.

Each flick of his tongue and each press of his lips sent shockwaves of ecstasy through her body, stoking the fire that burned within her. He pulled back slightly, taking in the sight of her - flushed and breathless, completely at his mercy. He wanted to claim her completely, to make her his in every way possible.

He lowered her down just a little bit, his body still pressed close to hers, and he looked into her eyes, his gaze intense and hungry. She gazed up at him, her eyes dark and hooded with desire. Her hair was tousled, and her shirt wrinkled where his hands had been. She looked wrecked already and they'd barely even started.

She met his gaze, her own just as hungry and intense. She wanted him just as badly as he wanted her, and nothing was going to stop them now.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Delicos nursery!?! Fic requests!?! Please please~~

Dino classic marries a plus size woman who at first seems cold but is a total sweetheart and just doesn't understand why people are afraid of her husband? She adores her step son like her own and even call him teddy for short? I love the sunshine x grumpy trope!

There were many things Dino liked about being an aristocrat. Power. The prestige. Being apart of the inner circle of their society.

The one thing he hated about being an aristocrat was the parties.

But, if you wanted to be apart of the inner circle, and get the power & prestige, there were a certain number of social events that were an unspoken mandatory for a man of his station. Particularly one with a new wife, whom he was obligated to introduce to society as such. What a bore.

Luckily, his new wife was much more adept at these kind of things than him. Bright and bubbly, with a family almost grievously overconnected, his new wife took to the party like a fish to water. Talking to everyone and making efforts to re-introduce herself to old friends & new as the current Lady Classico.

Dino entertained himself back in a corner. A position he had grown comfortable with since he was a young man forced onto these parties; until his mother made him come out and talk to people, as he was never going to get married rooted to the ground like a wallflower. He just liked to watch more than participate. He felt it was easier to gauge the situation, gather intel, from the sidelines than in the fray. Plus people being near him always seemed to make his skin crawl.

A while later he noticed his wife coming over to him. A noticeable, deep pout on her lips. One he had never seen; save for the pretend ones she threw at him when she wanted to get her way. This one seemed real though. “What’s the matter?”

“These people are rude.”

This shocked Dino. As he had also never heard his wife speak ill of anyone either. She always seemed to find the good in others. Found the good in him. “How so?”

“They make underhanded comments about you and seem to think I’m too stupid to understand them.” Dino frowned at that. His wife was not stupid. They could say what they wanted about him, some of it probably true, but they would not speak ill of his wife. “Would you…be terribly disappointed if we go? I do not want to make a bad impression, but I also do not think I can screw on a smile much longer?”

Disappointed? Dino thought. He’d jump up an’ click his heels, if only his back would ever forgive him. “Of course. I’ll have our coats and coach sent for.” His wife smiled. Seeming to want to kiss him in her enthusiasm, but remembering they were in public.

Dino instead took her hand in his and kissed her glove where his ring would be. “Could we also take some cakes home for Teddy?” She had taken to calling Theodore that. At first he tried to talk her out of it, but she commented that he was just so cute. Theodore didn’t seem to mind (in fact he seemed to enjoy it judging by his blush) so Dino let it go. “I know you don’t like him to have many sweets but…once in a while can’t hurt. They’ll just throw them away at the end of the night anyway.”

He glanced at the elaborate dessert table. Days of work for the host’s staff. Barely touched. All to go to waste as she predicted. “Take two. The two of you can have them after dinner tomorrow night.” His wife grinned and scurried off to the table to collect her sweets while he called for their coach.

When they arrive home it is late, but not too far gone. His staff greet their new lady and she made quick work to greet them back before running upstairs to try and catch Theodore before bed. He was likely up reading late anyway.

Dino stood there in the foyer, watching her go, before he looked down at the parcel of cakes suddenly in his hands. He opened the lid to see what she had picked and smiled. Not surprised to see 3 slices instead of 2. See, his wife was very clever. She seemed to have no end to surprising him.