#and now that she says he makes her uncomfortable again they’re all acting like she’s ruining his life

[bigbrotheristerribleandihateit]

the way bb twitter talks about america and cam is fucking scary. like it’s beyond game.

[calmlb]

It’s been clear that the Tanizakis aren’t siblings from the very beginning

here’s some evidence now that it’s been confirmed canon…

everyone who’s read irl Tanizaki’s book knew that Junichiro & Naomi weren’t siblings as soon as they introduced themselves

BUT just because the Tanizakis aren’t siblings doesn’t mean you can’t feel uncomfortable about them. if you feel uncomfortable, GOOD. that’s exactly what they want

the Tanizakis, Mori— they all use these disturbing ruses to disarm or distract people in order to protect themselves, or to accomplish their goals. this is a writing device that asagiri commonly employs as a way to parallel the irl literature (it’s actually ingenious)

there are 4 main indicators that have always made it clear to me that Junichiro & Naomi are not siblings:

1. most obviously— their character designs. Harukawa is extremely intentional with character designs, & she very intentionally made Naomi & Junichiro look nothing alike

their eye shapes are purposely different

their color palettes are contrasting

even their differing styles of clothing have meaning

this was all done so that the audience could PLAINLY see that they’re not related— so that WE know that they’re lying when they say they ARE related

2. how the people around them respond to their act.

the general reaction is “don’t question it”— which is exactly what they want. “be distracted by how uncomfortable you feel so that you look away from what we’re hiding” (this is likely a protective measure)

3. most importantly, this is meant to parallel irl Tanizaki’s book “Naomi,” where the main character Joji picks up Naomi to raise her into his ideal woman, but since she's so young (& a minor) they call each other cousins (Joji makes no sexual advances on young Naomi btw)

however, his plan backfires because when Naomi gets older & they get married, she flips the script on him & manipulates HIM so that he's under her thumb (which is why bsd Tanizaki is at a domineering Naomi's mercy). Joji let her have her way because of his masochistic tendencies

4. lastly is the emphasis that Asagiri and the Tanizakis themselves put on calling each other siblings.

over & over, it’s “my brother this” & “my sister that”

like they’re desperately trying to convince us that it’s true (“don’t let your lying eyes deceive you”)

here are just a few of many examples from the light novels…

again, if you’ve read “Naomi” you knew that Junichiro & Naomi weren’t siblings as soon as they introduced themselves

just like if you’ve read irl Mori’s works, it’s clear that bsd Mori isn’t a pedophile

just like if you’ve read No Longer Human you know that Dazai’s an unreliable narrator. he makes you think he’s a bad person bc he believes he’s a bad person, but those around him see him differently (btw this doesn’t mean he’s never done anything “bad,” though bsd isn’t about morality— but that’s another discussion)

anyway, i’m so excited for the Tanizakis backstory to be revealed so that we can better understand why they use this defense!!

also let this be a reminder to READ THE LITERATURE if you’re able to!! even reading synopses & analyses of the coordinating books makes bsd make much more sense 🥹

reminder that this how you’re supposed to react while reading bsd:

also, if you’re interested in a post explaining how Mori isn’t a pedo, i wrote this analysis on twt. OR you can read this document that one of my moots sent me (remember: analyzing a character does NOT mean you condone any actions they may or may not commit!)

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ YN TROLLING CHAEWON FOR FIVE MINUTES 876k views

↳warnings richgirl!yn, chaewon trying to not lunge at yn, posting this to lighten the mood before it gets serious ( the last clip most definitely does not lighten the mood sorry…)

➩ CLIP #1 PLAYING… 📼

chaewon shifted uncomfortably in the hot room as she adjusted the strap of her tank top, she tried her best to focus on the live but the humidity of the room was getting unbearable and it was getting her irritated.

to be honest she couldn’t blame her being irritated completely on the heat of the room, the human bank account that sat beside her was also a big reason to her being irritated.

chaewon doesn’t understand why their managers thought it was a good idea to put them together for a live, it was like they didn’t even care about her feelings.

“it’s so hot,” she said to herself but loud enough for the girl who was sat beside her to hear who turned to chaewon and flashed the older girl a teasing smile.

“did you say yn is so hot?” yn asked before laughing at chaewon shocked face, she hated yn’s laugh it sounded like every rich person laugh, it her want to scratch her ears off.

“NO-” she tries to defend herself but it’s cut off my yn.

“thanks for compliment, but I don’t have any money to give you right now.” she says playfully hitting chaewon’s shoulder, while the comments laugh.

“you’re crazy.”

➩ CLIP #2 PLAYING… 📼

yn and yizhuo laughed uncontrollably as they sat on the floor together comfortably while talking to to ning’s live on instagram.

fans were completely convinced that they were on something with the way they’ve been acting to chaotically the whole live and what yn did next completely proved their point.

“I’m gonna call zuha.” yn says to live as yizhuo rested her head on yn’s shoulder.

but unluckily instead of kazuha, yn accidentally taps on chaewon’s name instead.

the call was answered was answered on the first ring and both ning and yn flinched at the sound of the persons voice.

“what do you want.” it sounded more like a demand more than a question, the chat laughs immediately realizing who it was on the call, their always up for a banter between yn and chaewon.

“zuha?” yn says confused looking at ning who looks back at her just as confused, while the chat is now seriously concerned on if their heads are in the right places, “you sound so different.”

there’s silence and the sound of static fills the live before chaewon decides to talk again, “yn are you being serious?”

“woah zuha you sound like chaewon.” yn says in amazement before looking at ning who nods her head rapidly, “tell her she needs to get into voice acting.” she adds.

“ning said you should get into voice acting,” yn giggled out, “she’s so right, you should.”

there’s another staticky silence before the sound of the disconnect tone fills the room.

➩ CLIP #3 PLAYING… 📼

yn stood between kazuha and chaewon as she adjusted her school like uniform making sure the pin of her family’s crest of her uniform jacket was upright, it made her stand out the most out of the girls.

she was too distracted that she didn’t even take in the men talking to her until chaewon harshly nudged her, she snapped her head up immediately, “huh?”

she scrunched her face up slightly when all the men in the room that sat at desks also wearing school uniforms laughed, “she really is a rich girl, they’re always air heads!” one says making everyone in the room laugh including the girls except for kazuha who jokingly pooked yns side.

“we were talking about school and we wanted to ask how your school experience was, but your head was in the clouds.” one of them says after everyone calms down form their laughs at the joke that yn didn’t find that funny.

“ohhhh.” she says staring at them, making them all laugh again, “what?”

“so how was your school experience!” one asks laughing, “we really have to spell things out for her huh, did you go to school?” he jokes making everyone in the room laugh again.

kazuha looks at yn who side eyes chaewon who’s laughing a bit too hard along with the rest of the girls, “yn went to the biggest private school in korea.” she cuts in making all the men in the rooom ahhhhhh and reallyyyyyy.

yn nods her head and smiles, “yeah I really enjoyed my time there.”

“did you take the school bus.”

“school bus?” she asks giving them a confused look causing everyone to laugh again, “my driver dropped me off if that counts.”

“so you’ve never been on a school bus.” chaewon cuts in making the men laugh again, and yn is starting to think that’s the only think they can do, “you had a personal driver?”

“you didn’t?”

“no.”

“oh. that sucks.”

the room was now filled with laughter at yns words

chaewon narrowed her eyes at yn’s cat like ones, “she has very slick mouth huh?” she says turning back to the interviewers, “don’t know what to do with her.”

[haaarry]

Harry and Y/N make-up.

Harry has to be quick.

He and Y/N haven’t been on good terms for about two weeks now, and they agreed to not talk and give each other space so they could think about what to do.

But that hasn’t stopped him from still fulfilling his boyfriend responsibilities.

He still thinks it’s right to text her good morning and good night, as well as leave her little goody baskets at her front door for when she gets off work.

Like today!

He realized the first of the month is coming up, and Y/N has to pay rent. He knows she’s good on cash, but he likes to help her in any way he can (even when he’s supposed to be giving her space) and thought it’d be nice to send her a little something — actually, a quite big amount. He sends her the entirety of her rent through a money-sending app, as well as a few extra hundred dollars. He labels the memo with “rent/groceries/anything, really.” He smiles and presses send. He hopes she doesn’t send it back.

Then, he places down the goody basket he got for Y/N at her door step (filled with all her favorite snacks, as well as a note to let her know he still loves her so she doesn’t forget) and turns quickly on his heels. As much as he would like to see Y/N, he knows she gets home at about this time after work, and he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. He’s already pressing the boundaries as it is.

But, as luck would have it, he’s face-to-face with her as he turns around. His breath hitches in his throat, feeling his body go numb with excitement yet also feeling anxious. He notices Y/N’s eyes go wide.

“Hi,” she says simply, yet in a slightly higher-than-normal-pitch due to being caught off guard.

“Hi,” he returns the greeting. He realizes he must look foolish — standing outside her apartment when they’re supposed to be giving each other space. “I, um-“ he stutters, “brought you this.” He gestures to the goody basket, feeling his cheeks heat. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.

Y/N tilts her head around Harry’s body to look at the basket on the ground. She looks back at him and gently smiles. “Thank you,” she looks around nervously. “And thank you for the money. You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” he proclaims. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Y/N’s eyes soften. She takes note of his anxious demeanor and looks at the goody basket again. “Do you want to come inside?” She asks randomly. But not really — she misses him, and she accepts it.

“Yes,” he blurts out. He realizes how eager he sounds, but he doesn’t care.

“Okay,” she smiles and looks anywhere but at him, feeling a warmth encompass her body suddenly.

They enter her home. Harry sets down the goody basket on her kitchen island, taking a second to inhale the familiar scent. It was weird; he used to sleep here every night, but before this moment, he hadn’t been here in two weeks.

“How was work?” Harry abruptly asks, not liking the silence.

“Oh!” Y/N softly giggles. “It was good! I actually had a good day.” She swings her arms back and forth, not sure of how to act or stand. She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous.

“That’s good,” Harry lamely replies, looking down at the design on her kitchen island and tracing it with his finger.

A silence falls between them again, neither of them knowing how to act around the other — given their situation.

“How was your day?” Y/N asks.

“I don’t want to talk about my day,” Harry states, looking up at her. Y/N notices he’s slightly teary-eyed. “What’re we doing?” He asks in an upset tone. “Are we going to be in this awkward state forever?”

“Harry-“ Y/N tries to interject.

“No, really,” Harry continues. “I mean, we’re just going to go on and pretend we’re together, but we’re not really together because you don’t answer my texts and you don’t let me come see you and-“

“Harry,” Y/N says in a stern yet calm tone. She grabs Harry’s face, him not even realizing she had gotten closer to him during his spiel. “I love you.” Her voice is incredibly soft.

Harry looks into Y/N’s eyes, replaying her words in his mind. Her watery eyes match his own, and he feels himself sink lower into her touch, falling into her hands. He closes his eyes, and the salt of his tears burn.

“I love you,” he says back with his eyes closed. “I love you more,” he says with his eyes open.

Y/N shakes her head with a light laugh and sniffle. “No.”

“Yes,” Harry says firmly, inching his face closer toward hers. His lips brush hers, waiting to receive a confirmation his tongue can enter her mouth with either her body language or a simple word. She parts her lips, just barely, and Harry takes the opportunity.

He kisses her, rather sloppily, and their lips create a smooch sound before he slips his tongue into her mouth. Y/N moans, missing Harry's kisses, and falls into his body. She caresses his face and holds onto his jawline with one hand, while the other travels through the hair at the back of his head, slightly tugging. Harry reciprocates the moan and instinctively juts his hips forward, hitting Y/N's pelvis. She laughs into Harry's mouth and pulls away -- although not without Harry whining in disagreement.

"Where ya goin'?" He murmurs against her lips, with a smile. "Need you," he juts his hips forward again.

Y/N becomes shy, resting her forehead on Harry's cheek and giggling. "I can tell." She looks down at him in his pants, pushing hard against the material. "You want my mouth?" She asks bravely while looking up at him, with a mischievous smile.

"Please, baby." Harry grabs hold of her waist and slips his right hand into her pants, wanting to see if she'd gotten wet yet; and she has. "Fuck," Harry moans, slipping his middle and ring fingers easily through her folds, "you're already so wet, baby."

Y/N is already a whimpering mess, moaning into Harry's mouth as he gathers her wetness and brings it up to rub against her clit. "I thought... I..." she struggles to get out, "I thought you wanted me to-" her breath hitches in her throat at Harry slips two of his fingers into her.

"Later, sweet girl." Harry whispers into her ear. "I think you need to be taken care of first, hmm?" The speed of his fingers quicken, causing them to create a squelching noise that sends Y/N into a frenzy.

"But I... I wanna... please," Y/N begs him, ready to lap all over his cock, despite how wonderful Harry's fingers feel.

"You wanna what?" Harry encourages her. "Hmm?" He thumbs at her clit, rubbing circles against it.

Y/N looks up at Harry, doe-eyed. She cradles his dick, bulging through his pants. "I want you in my mouth," she says seductively, and Harry feels himself begin to leak.

She gets down on her knees, not even giving Harry and opportunity to pull his own hand out of her pants before doing so. She lifts her shirt up and over her head and unclasps her bra. She knows how much Harry likes to see her breasts when she takes him in her mouth.

Usually, Y/N likes to unzip Harry's pants and suck him off through his zipper, but today she's eager and pulls his pants all the way down. His cock springs up and points at Y/N's face. The wet tip brushes her lips -- puffy from Harry's kisses -- and coats them in his precum. She tastes it and Harry watches, his chest rising and falling as he eyes the beauty on her knees for him.

"Gonna suck my cock?" He asks her in a taunting yet playful tone. Grabbing her hair, Y/N feels herself getting even more needy for Harry's dick, and she wraps her lips around his tip, closing her eyes. "My pretty girl," he praises her, voice hitching as she takes him deeper. She slides her tongue all around him, getting him nice and wet so she can work him with her hand while sucking on his tip.

"So big," she gushes, jerking him off while looking up at Harry. She slathers a mixture of her spit and his precum onto her nipples, using the head of his dick as a sort of paintbrush. She knows Harry has a peculiar obsession with her tits -- her nipples in particular. Seeing them hard and dripping (from him) gets him going more than anything.

"Ah," Harry throws his head back and sucks air between his teeth. He speaks heavily and grittily. "All mine, right?" He reaches his right hand down and squeezes her nipple. She takes him back into her mouth and groans. "Right?" He persists, squeezing her nipple again before tangling her hair into a makeshift ponytail and giving it a good yank.

Y/N pops him out of her mouth. "M'all yours," she says honestly.

Even when they were broken up, she was his -- and she always will be.

Harry pulls Y/N up to her feet, guiding her by the hold he still has on her hair. He grips her jaw with the other hand and kisses her hard. He's ready to take her, and he can't wait another second.

"All mine." He spins her around and bends her over slightly onto the kitchen island, just enough to have her behind push back against him. Removing her pants is quick. He slips into her, finally, and they voice how good it feels at the same time, such as fucking hell and so big, baby, both in pure ecstasy.

"You're all mine," Harry reiterates with a whimper, breath shuttering against Y/N's neck. "My pretty girl." His hips speed up, knowing this will be quick. His lips drag against her neck as he whispers filthy things to her, causing her to melt even further and push her behind onto him, wanting to take control. They both missed each other so much, and they're finally getting their release.

"Missed you," Y/N manages to get out, almost losing her voice with how hard Harry's fucking her.

"I missed you more," Harry says back with a firm tug on her hair, sending the sensation of pain mixed with pleasure to her scalp. "M'all yours, too," he says as he gets close, and he can't wait to cum. "You want me to cum, baby?" He asks her because he knows how hot she thinks it is -- to perceive that she has the control (she really does. She could tell Harry to cum 30 seconds into sex and he would). "Want my cum inside?"

"Ngggh," Y/N gurgles, knowing she's close too. She breathes frantically and squeezes her walls around his cock as he scrapes his teeth against her neck. "Please."

In no time Harry cums, shooting from his tip deep inside her. His grip on her hair tightens, pulling her hair so tight it almost hurts, but she takes it. The burning pit in her stomach was ignited as well, set off as she felt Harry's cum paint her walls inside her. She cums, clamping down on Harry's dick and gripping the kitchen island for stability.

"Harry," she whines as her legs grow weak.

Harry gives a few more slow strokes of his cock before pulling out. His tip rests on her behind, leaving traces of their mixed juices on her skin. Harry shutters, feeling extra sensitive. He turn her around and falls against her body -- his head limp on her breasts. He falls to his knees and hugs her hips, giving her tummy a kiss before closing his eyes and sighing contently.

Y/N giggles breathlessly, tousling his hair. Just a few short minutes ago, their positions were reversed. She knows how tired and sleepy Harry gets after he cums (if they were in bed, he'd be fast asleep by now) so she lets him rest for a couple of minutes before encouraging him to look at her. Her hands on his face startle him (he was asleep) but he looks up at her with a loopy smile.

"Hi," he says innocently.

"Hey," she says back, still playing with his hair. "You okay?"

Harry stifles a laugh, burying his face against the skin of her stomach. "I haven't been this good in a long time."

Y/N's heart flutters. She knows what he's implying.

"Are we..." Suddenly Harry feels nervous. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing or make the wrong assumption.

Y/N helps Harry up to his feet and rubs the tip of her nose against his with her eyes closed. "I love you," she says simply yet truthfully. "Fuck that break."

Harry's laugh fills the kitchen. He pushes his forehead against hers, feeling as if his heart is going to explode. "I love you more."

[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.

[alicethenobody]

My headcanons about the Sparda twins coming back from hell.

-They’re stuck for about 11 months, after they find a way out after managing to sever those stupid roots so they don’t bother anybody anymore.

-Just in time for Patty’s 19th birthday party!

-Somehow they accidentally end up there, and chaos ensues.

-Patty scolds Dante for missing her birthday party last year and cries tears of joy at the same time knowing he’s finally home, she’d visited DMC everyday to see if Dante had turned up and now she doesn’t have to wait anymore to see him again. After the scolding she gives him as tight of a hug as she can. Dante promises to make it up to her and reassures her he didn’t mean to neglect her on her birthday. Patty demands double the presents, and even though he doubts he can afford much he’ll try to find a way. He can’t say no to Pattycakes.

-Btw for those who don’t know the novel reveals Dante planned on seeing Patty after handling Urizen, he just didn’t want to go to the party itself because he feels uncomfortable and like a freak around “normal” (his words) people like Patty’s friends and thinks he’s dangerous to be around.

-Vergil is confused. Very confused. They act a lot like family. Could Dante have had a kid? He never said anything about that.

-Nope. They’re just really tightly knit found family.

-Patty eventually starts roasting Dante like usual, mainly for how he smells horrible and his hair is a mess. She demands that he showers right now.

-Vergil decides he likes Patty already and teams up with her to roast his brother and tells him “Do what she says, Dante. You wouldn’t want to make her upset.” In the most smug way fucking possible.

-Dante wanted to go back to the shop right away considering he’d been gone for so long, but again, he really can’t say no to Patty.

-They return to DMC after that. Nero is there and he’s silently shocked for a moment when the twins walk through the door, in the middle of an argument about something really stupid. Probably about pizza toppings. Nothing really serious just normal sibling banter.

-“GUYS! GUYS! GUYS! Can we please talk?!”

-Dante, realizing Nero is there, is giddy to see his nephew. However… Nero gives him a swift uppercut to the jaw.

-This leads to Nero dragging Dante somewhere they can talk alone. He demands an explanation as to why Dante never told him about anything.

-This will be difficult, but Dante knows he needs to explain stuff to him. It’s only fair. He has a right to know.

-He doesn’t open up about his trauma that lead to all this, that’d be out of character. But he does explain to Nero the best he can that the Sparda family has a long, bloody and traumatic history and he thought if Nero got involved he’d get hurt and he didn’t want the only family he had left to get hurt, or ruin the happy life he was living with Kyrie.

-He expects another punch from Nero, he thinks he deserves it, but instead Nero crushes him with a hug.

-“Never fucking do that again, idiot. From now on we’re family, you got it? No more secrets.”

-Dante nearly cries as he says “You have my word, kid.” in the goofiest, most overjoyed way possible. Also he’s kinda nervous about it at first because he’s not used to receiving affection anymore but he hugs Nero back.

-Vergil on the other hand? Having a… relationship with him is gonna be difficult as hell. It’ll take a while before Vergil and Nero are comfortable around each other. Kyrie and Dante play a big role in helping the two, though Vergil was a lot more reluctant at first to accept his little bro’s help.

-Also Vergil lives with Dante and let’s just say the business is a lot better with him around. They still bicker a lot but it’s out of love because what siblings don’t annoy each other?

Will Nero ever learn about the Sparda family’s history in better detail? I have a lot of thoughts about that, as well as possible plot points in a DMC 6 type scenario but I just wanted this post to be about the immediate return from hell.

Edit: Wanted to mention I also have thoughts about Nero’s side of things while the twins were in hell about what he was doing and how he was feeling and all that stuff but this post is mainly about this twins.

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

Confessions Between the Pages

pairing: jess mariano x fem!reader

requested: yes/no (anon)

genre: fluff/neutral

el's thoughts: first time writing for jess so he's a new character for me! this could definitely be out of character, but hey, it's alriiight hahaha hope yall like it!

jess masterlist

Y/N never meant to become this person—the one who feels a burning jealousy every time Rory Gilmore walks into a room. Yet, here she is, seated at a table in Luke’s Diner, glaring into her coffee as Rory and Jess chat across the counter. There's an easy rapport between them, the kind of connection that makes her stomach twist uncomfortably. It’s the subtle way Jess glances at Rory, the half-smirk he seems to save just for her, and the way Rory effortlessly holds his attention.

Y/N has known Jess long enough to understand she shouldn’t feel this way. He’s just… Jess—the sarcastic, book-loving troublemaker who stumbled into her life, somehow carving out space in her heart without even trying. But Y/N? She’s no Rory Gilmore—no straight-A student, no golden girl with a pristine future ahead. She’s always felt like the background to Jess’s scenes with Rory.

And now, she’s watching them again, torturing herself for reasons she can’t quite explain.

“What’s wrong with you?” Suki, her close friend/mentor figure, asks, nudging her elbow. Suki’s been keeping tabs on Y/N’s sour mood for days and knows it has something to do with Jess. It always does.

“Nothing,” Y/N mutters, eyes still fixed on Jess and Rory. She can’t help the bitterness that churns inside her. “I’m fine.”

Suki follows her gaze and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. You’re doing this again? You know Jess isn’t into Rory like that.”

Y/N scoffs, stirring her coffee with a bit too much force. “Right. They’re ‘just friends.’”

Suki rolls her eyes. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

“You are,” Suki insists, the knowing tone in her voice only annoying Y/N more. “You act like this every time Rory’s around. You’re into Jess.”

Y/N freezes at her words, her heart tightening with anxiety. She can’t deny it anymore, not to herself and not to Suki. But her jealousy makes everything worse. It twists her insecurities into something ugly—something she doesn’t want Jess to see.

“Whatever,” Y/N grumbles, standing up abruptly. “I’m out of here.”

Before Suki can say anything else, Y/N heads for the exit. But just as she’s almost out the door, Jess turns around, locking his dark eyes on hers. He says something to Rory before quickly making his way toward her, calling out her name.

“Y/N! Wait up.”

She stops, heart hammering. “What?”

Jess looks at her, concern etched in his features. “You’ve been acting weird. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she snaps, though it comes out sharper than she intended. “I’m just… tired of watching you and Rory.”

Jess frowns, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

Frustration bubbles up inside Y/N, spilling over before she can stop it. “You two are always talking, and it’s like I don’t exist when she’s around! She’s perfect, okay? She’s smart, pretty, and everyone likes her. I get it. You like her.”

Jess’s expression hardens, his usual smug attitude disappearing. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes!” The confession slips out of her mouth before she can stop it, and suddenly, everything she’s been holding back crashes down. “You like Rory, and I’m just… me. I’m not her.”

There’s a long, tense silence, and Y/N can feel her heart sinking with every passing second. She regrets saying anything at all.

“Do you really think I’m into Rory?” Jess finally asks, his voice quieter but firm. “Because if you do, then you really don’t know me at all.”

Y/N blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

Jess takes a step closer, his dark eyes searching hers. “Rory’s great, yeah, but I don’t look at her the way I look at you.”

Her breath hitches. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jess says, voice steady, “that you’ve been in my head for a long time. It’s you, Y/N. Not Rory.”

Y/N feels her pulse race, the weight of Jess’s words sinking in. She’s spent so long assuming she didn’t stand a chance against Rory. And now, hearing Jess confess his feelings, it’s like her world is shifting.

“You… like me?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jess lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Are you seriously that clueless? Yeah, I like you. I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out.”

Her heart feels like it’s doing flips in her chest, but guilt creeps in, too. She’s spent so much time being bitter, letting her jealousy fester. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice small. “I didn’t mean to act like that. I just… didn’t think you could ever feel the same.”

Jess softens, his tone gentler now. “It’s okay. But next time, just talk to me instead of jumping to conclusions.”

Y/N nods, relief flooding through her. “I promise.”

For a moment, they just stand there, the tension that’s been between them for weeks finally dissolving. Jess watches her, his gaze soft and a little amused.

“So,” he says, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “What are you going to do about this thing between us?”

Y/N laughs, the sound light and free, the first real laugh she’s had in days. “I don’t know. How about we start with dinner?”

Jess’s grin widens. “Sounds good to me.”

They walk back into the diner together, side by side, and Y/N can’t help but feel lighter. The air between them is easier now, and for the first time, she feels like maybe, just maybe, things will turn out okay.

As they sit down, Suki looks between them, raising an eyebrow knowingly. Y/N rolls her eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at her lips.

Jess leans over, whispering in her ear, “You’re going to have to stop glaring at Rory now, you know.”

Y/N smirks, nudging him playfully. “No promises.”

Jess laughs, shaking his head as he picks up the menu. And for the first time, Y/N realizes that she doesn’t have to compare herself to Rory anymore. Because to Jess, she’s always been more than enough.

[mmurazz]

love on act. lhs

previous. | main. | next.

AFTER GOING TO THE MALL, you bought some clothes, mainly a dress that you might use for the party, honestly this is your first time going to a formal party, most parties you’ve been are never this formal, so you picked a white silk dress that flows down to your feet, then a pair of white mary janes heels, and lastly a few jewelry to match the final look. It was still 5 pm in the afternoon so you had plenty of time to get ready. You put on some light makeup, then curl your hair to make it flowy, and lastly you put on the dress, and finally accessories, and you’re off to go. 

Heeseung was waiting downstairs, looking at his watch. He glares at you, but says nothing. He hold out his hand, waiting for you to take it. 

“Come on, we’ll be late.” He complains, looking annoyed.

“Right..” you replied and took his hand, and went inside the passenger seat, and he sat at the driver seat. 

The car ride was very quiet, or.. maybe too quiet, you both sat there in silence, only sounds of cars passing by can be heard from the inside. You both arrived at the destination, he went out of the driver’s seat and opened the passenger door for you. He takes you to the red carpet party, there are tons, and tons of paparazzi. He takes your arm and leads you to the paparazzi, as you both start to smile at them. 

Heeseung smiles for the camera, and then wraps an arm around your waist as if he was in love with you. He whispers in your ear, “Pretend to love me and be affectionate with me. Otherwise, I'll end you.” He warns you, just to make sure you won’t act badly, so you decide to act also.

He smiles and wraps his arms around you, he kisses your head as he whispers in your ear, “Just follow my lead, and act like you love me.” He warns again, before looking at the camera and smiling again. The paparazzi snap some photos, some ask you some questions but you can only answer a few before some more photos are taken. Heeseung takes your hand and guides you inside the party. 

There are tons of rich people at the party, you sat at a circular table that was surrounded by seats, and Heeseung has left you alone, and is now talking to some CEO’s. You don’t really know what to do now, there is a buffet filled with all kinds of foods, you want to eat but, who knows if you are going to get poisoned. You can hear some whispering, some people are gossiping about your relationship between you and Heeseung, you decide to ignore the gossiping, instead you decide to eat some food, there are multiple dishes, like salad, sushi, there’s steak, and plenty of other choices for anyone, some people are watching and gossiping even more, it’s really hard to ignore their stares. 

“I heard that Heeseung’s new wife came from money.” 

“Yeah, I saw her, they don’t really look good together.” 

“I wonder how they ended up together, did Heeseung’s parents force her into this marriage? She seems so innocent.” 

They keep on gossiping and some are even staring at you, making you feel uncomfortable. You decided to eat some salad, and drink some wine to ease your comfort. You continue to eat the salad and drink wine, occasionally some of the gossiping people would come up to you and ask if your relationship is real or not, a few of them also tell you that they think you guys are cute together, you continue to eat and ignore them. 

THERE ARE SOME MUSIC PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND, and Heeseung is now dancing with another women, some of them even look at you and smirk they know that they’re making you feel jealous, and they’re probably right, you don’t really care anyways since it’s just an arranged marriage because they don’t have feelings for each other, right?

Heeseung dances with multiple women, and you don’t know why you feel hurt or upset that he’s dancing with other women, maybe it’s jealousy or heartbreak. You don’t know, but the truth is you are upset, but you can’t admit it. What are you, jealous? No, why would you be jealous, you’re in an arranged marriage and you don’t love each other. 

You sat down at the table, and continued to watch Heeseung dance with the other women, he looks like he;s enjoying himself, but you feel a little jealous and angry for some reason. It doesn’t make sense, why are you jealous? You both don’t even have feelings for eachother, you only act on it. So you decided to go outside to the garden and look out at the night view. As you get up from your chair, you hear some more gossip about you, the whispers are just following you everywhere you go. 

As you walked outside into the garden, the view was beautiful, it was filled with beautiful flowers, the night sky was illuminated with stars, and the moon was shining bright, it shines like a star against the dark black sky, the wind blowing against your body, making you shiver. 

While you’re in the garden, you look up at the stars from time to time, and you feel a bit lonely. You look at the other people in the garden, most of them are couples, happily chatting and laughing, you feel a bit envious and lonely. You stand there for a bit, looking up at the stars, and looking at the happy couples laughing, you suddenly feel cold, so you wrap your arms around yourself and hug yourself to feel warm, you felt a tap on your shoulder, you looked behind and found Heeseung standing there, looking at you with a blank expression on his face. 

“What..?” You asked him.

Heeseung stood there, not looking too happy, this made you worry a little, but you said nothing.  “What are you doing out here?” He asked, he seemed a bit confused as he stared down at you.

“Just.. looking out at night, i mean the garden is beautiful isn’t it..?” You replied to his question.

He stands by your side, and looks out at the garden, he nods before replying. “Yes, it is,” His tone was flat and emotionless, not conveying the same feeling of admiration for the garden as you have, you leaned on to the flat surface of the railing, and looked up to the sky smiling. He stares at you for a moment, thinking before he speaks again. 

“You looked cold, do you want my jacket?” He offers a small hint of kindness in his tone, he takes off his jacket, and offers it to you, but he still has a somewhat cold demeanor. 

“N-no it’s fine..” You rejected his offer, but he places his jacket on your shoulders anyway, disregarding your refusal. He wraps his jacket around you, making it easier for you to stay warm in the cold night. The jacket was warm and comforting, making you feel a bit warmer than before. He just stares at you, and decides to stay outside with you, it seems that he doesn’t want you to be alone for some reason, he stays there with you, not talking to you, just watching you watch the sky.

cpright. @mmurazz

tgs. @mheretoreadff

[ruciel]

thinking of yandere! pitcher dr. ratio and yandere! catcher acheron duo. they may be on the same team in regards to their respective sport, but they’re definitely competing against one another for your heart. their pursuits are… jarringly different, it honestly gives you whiplash. ratio is in all of your advanced courses, naturally, and he’s very persistent. sometimes you wonder how he even has the time for practice when it seems like he’s casually wasting it all on tutoring you. he’s thoughtful and thorough, something you admire, it’s clear that ratio wants you to succeed with how much effort he’s exerting into helping you during and after school hours. but now it’s no longer just a tutoring session. ratio expects you to come with him afterwards to the outdoor field, and stay to watch him practice. you don’t know why, he barely acknowledges you during it, and you personally don’t gain anything from it. god forbid you try and sneak off in the midst of it all, he will catch you before you can even get down from the bleachers. besides, ratio has already planned for you two to get something to eat after practice, so sit still and be patient. you’ve tried to come up with excuses, even fervently studying in your downtime in hopes to get your grades up enough so that you won’t need him to tutor you anymore. but that just won’t do! ratio always chastises, oh? perhaps it is that you are you doing it purpose? if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you’re trying to avoid him altogether. ratio’s all knowing eyes scare you into refuting any further.

and then there’s miss catcher acheron… for some reason, you don’t remember how you met her— but she does. it strikes you as odd, though, considering she’s known for being quite forgetful. after hours, you’d barely escaped a tutoring session with ratio because you had a club meeting to attend. by the time it was over, you treated yourself to a drink from the vending machine; a refreshing, cold peach milkis. a baseball player approached the machine in complete silence, standing behind you, and nearly scaring you half to death. she looked at the machine for an uncomfortably long time, and you wondered if she didn’t have any money, so you offered her some spare change. she shook her head and pointed to your drink, it’s the last one, oh, you had just felt so bad! you gave her the drink and got yourself a new one, saying she probably needed it more than you did after practice. ever since then, acheron has been watching you like a hawk. you recognised her from watching ratio’s practices, yet she still eluded you. acheron shares a handful of classes with you, and knowing her, you frequently let her borrow your school supplies since she always forgets hers— but sometimes you catch glimpses of pencils and erasers in her bag, leading you to believe that she never forgot in the first place… you sit with her at lunch since she always used to eat alone, for some reason, your friends refuse to join you two. and when you’re talking with ratio after watching them practice, acheron comes over to you two.

you’re quick to learn that ratio and acheron aren’t as close of teammates off the field as they appear to be when they’re on it. have you forgotten? you did say you would go with ratio after practice to get a bite to eat. ah, but then again… you promised acheron that you’d go to the stationery shops after class to help get her some new supplies. ratio and acheron darkly glare at each other, so to appease both of them (and stop them from getting into a fight) you say all three of you can go out! they begrudgingly agree, despite their obvious dismay, and it’s really awkward. you pretend not to hear their snide remarks towards one another, acting none the wiser when they try and get you to side with one of them. by the end of the day, you’re exhausted; ratio and acheron have a disagreement over who will walk you home. you make an escape to the nearest bus stop while they debate, and as they watch you scurry away, they exchange surprised faces. there’s a heavy silence before ratio and acheron come to an unspoken agreement.

something changed, and you have no clue what it is. now they get along wonderfully, it’s kind of scary. there’s bickering here and there, but nothing like how it used to be. now acheron doesn’t interrupt your tutoring sessions with ratio, and ratio doesn’t bother you when acheron takes you to the rooftop for lunch. hell, it’s like their teamwork during games is better too. speaking of which, you haven’t missed a single baseball game since they’ve begun… working together…? they always get you to come, whether willingly or not is up to you; but if you don’t want to be cornered in the back of the school by an intimidating ratio and scary acheron, then you may as well take it upon yourself to go without having to be told. you’ve always got front row seats, and you admit that watching them play is entertaining. you stay out of trouble, the rest of their team knows that you’re off limits, but unfortunately for you, the opposing team doesn’t.

miss! your helmet’s… you were only trying to be nice. after the game, you noticed one of the other team’s players had lost an accessory that seemed to be attached to her helmet. two green feathers, you picked them up and chased after her. apparently her name was firefly, and she was grateful that you’d found them as she didn’t even notice. despite seeing that your fan jersey belonged to a different team, she smiled at you and said she hoped to see you at her next game. she turned her heel just in time to miss ratio and acheron dragging you away. you pleaded with them, defending that you were just being a good samaritan, and that you had no interest in the stranger. but your pleas fell on deaf ears, neither of them spoke — which only frightened you further — as they took inside and lead you to the gymnasium, walking you all the way to the locker room. acheron slammed the door shut, causing you to flinch and jump backwards. you knocked back into ratio, who didn’t budge at all from the impact, hesitantly looking up at him as he firmly held onto your shoulders and peered down at you with an unreadable expression. you stuttered over your words, won’t your um… won’t your teammates be here soon? acheron hummed as she made her way over to you two, closing you in; now standing with your chest pressed against acheron’s and your back against ratio. she placed her hands on the bottom of your jersey and undershirt, while ratio moved to lift your arms up, well then we’ll just have to be quick, now won’t we?

[101maverick]

how would dick grayson react to his gf acting possessive towards him out of jealousy in front of a super villain flirting with him. sort of like the reader telling the villain “cut to the chase or I’ll cut your throat” while they’re interrogating the villain

A/n: Okkk we're going strong with the Dick asks! This one is very original :)) lemme see what I can do for u >:)

word count: 911

You, Me, and the Moonlight

Your eye twitches compulsively. You don't know if the sound that's itching to escape from your throat is an exasperated sigh or something suspiciously akin to a growl.

What was supposed to be a relatively normal patrol, with the usual shtick of stopping muggers and the occasional gang dispute, had quickly turned into you and Dick dealing with a Poison Ivy.

Thanks to one of Wayne Enterprises' new unreleased gadgets, a.k.a. one of Batman's new toys, the plant-maniac is currently tied up inside of the warehouse she had been planning on transforming into a home-base for her infesting plants.

Nightwing is currently interrogating her while you watch from the shadows of the rafters. Operating in the dark is always best in these kinds of situations, while dealing with this kind of people. Poison Ivy is notorious for her ability to hypnotise, so it's optimal that she find out of your presence only if need be.

Plus, her mind-control perfume has no hope of working on Nightwing while he's got his air-filtering mask on, and he strategically put the chair she's tied to in front of a mirror conveniently already present on the scene, to make sure to react readily to any attempts of escape.

Nightwing stands in front of her, still and stoic. Despite the lack of cape and the electric blue of his costume, years of being the Batman's sidekick are evident in how effective he is in the intimidation department. His voice is cold and authoritative as he questions the woman in front of him.

“Ivy. Who helped you get out of Arkham?”

Poison Ivy just giggles, responding to his looming stance by slightly tilting her head downwards to better bat her eyelashes at him, her voice sultry as she responds. “Can’t a woman do things by herself, Nightwing?”

From where you are perched, you can see the line of his back tense with well-concealed frustration. “I know you had help, Ivy, there’s no use denying that. Now I’ll ask again,” he leans forward, coming face to face with her, “Who helped you?”

You stalk your way over to a more advantageous view point, steps muffled and careful as you manoeuvre on the support beams. From your new position, you're able to make out the mischievous way her lips curl as she responds. "Let me out of these restraints and I'll tell you without a problem."

Another deflection. Dick's face is obscured by both the domino and the mask, but you can still read his mounting annoyance in the way his hand twitches at his side, a tell-tale sign he's refraining from clenching it into a fist.

Before he can respond, though, Poison Ivy speaks again.

"You've grown up to be such a handsome man, Nightwing, why don't you take that mask off so I can see you better? After all, we have quite the long history don't we?" And wow if you didn't want to bash her face in at the looks she was giving him before you sure as hell want to do so now.

You know it's a tactic meant to make Nightwing uncomfortable in the hopes of making him loose his footing, but you can't just stand aside and let this downright witch play her mind games however long she pleases.

Your boyfriend is quick to move his face away from your prisoner, taking a step back, and you choose that moment to drop down from the shadows of the warehouse roof right in front of her.

You land almost upright, and unsheathe a dagger from your side in one smooth motion as you turn to stare Ivy right in the face.

"Cut to the chase, Ivy. And don't even think of saying something like that again or I'll cut your throat, and you know I'm not bluffing." 634

Ivy's expression turns downright sour, and as she grumbles under her breath before reluctantly spouting off the needed information you feel vindictiveness making a home in your chest, and damn if that doesn't feel pleasant.

————————————

Being able to finally rest after a night of chasing, interrogating and arresting villains feels like heaven on earth, and as you flop down face-first on your bed you're extremely grateful for the fact you and Dick decided to splurge on your mattress.

A smile upturns the corners of your lips as you feel your boyfriend lay beside you, and you stay pliant sa you let him snake an arm around your waist and roll you over to face him.

His breath fans over your face as he whispers in the moonlit silence of your shared bedroom. "Thanks for earlier, with Ivy."

At that, you open your eyes and find him staring right into yours.

"Can't let a creep talk to my man like that, can I?" You let out a low chuckle.

In the low light, it takes a while for your eyesight to adjust, and his features slowly come into focus.

As you keep holding each others' gaze, you drop the humour.

"I'll always protect you, Dick," You whisper while bringing your hand up to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck. His eyes sparkle in the almost-dark of the Blüdhaven night. "Just like you protect me."

You wonder how many vulnerable moments just you, Dick and the moonlight are witness to.

Laying there, each of you in the other's gentle embrace, you hope there'll be many more.

————————————

A/n: This was fun! I can't decide if it feels a bit rushed, but I'm still happy with the result :) Fun fact! While I was working on this ask I got another ask that's basically the reverse of this lol, where it's Dick getting jealous because a villain is flirting with reader😂 If you like my work, please consider reblogging and checking out my other works through the master list in my pinned post<3

[spencerreiddddd]

No second chances • 3

Spencer watched from his desk as little Owen laughed loudly as Morgan and Garcia played around with him. Morgan threw him up into the air as Owen screamed and burst into a fit of giggles. Garcia shoving more than enough candy into Owen’s little hand.

He then turned his attention to you and James as Emily spoke to you both. Spencer watched as you tapped your foot on the floor, he knew you did that when you were nervous. He used to hold your hand when that happened to ground you and bring you back into reality. However he saw James look down at you, James grabbed your hand and started massaging it pulling your fingers and running circles on your palm. Spencer felt like gagging at the way your foot stopped tapping and a small grateful smile spread across you beautiful plump lips as you looked up at James.

“You’re gonna break that pen pretty boy.” Derek said behind Spencer, snapping Spencer out of his trance. Spencer turned his head to look up at Derek who now sat on top of his desk looking down at him. “Look pretty boy, you got to let it go.” Derek sighed keeping his voice hushed.

Spencer fidgeted with his fingers before looking back up at Derek. “I regret what I did every day Morgan… God everyday I wake up without her is punishment.” Spencer says feeling his throat sting.

Morgan sighs. “Spencer if you really love her the way you say you do…let her go. Don’t punish her all over again.” Morgan says turning to look at you and James as you hold a sleeping Owen in your hands as you yourself are asleep on James shoulder as he rubs circles on your arm.

“She’s happy, I know it hard but she deserves this. James is a great guy, be happy for her.” Morgan says getting up and and patting Spencer’s shoulder as he walked away.

Leaving Spencer meditating about what he had just told him.

Spencer walked to the break room to make himself a coffee, trying to find the apprentice that was after y’all was getting a little difficult.

He tensed when he saw James making himself a coffee. Spencer kept walking keeping his eyes away from James, feeling a bit uncomfortable that it was just them two alone. “Spencer right?” James said his voice deep the sound of an exhausted man. Spencer grabbed a cup. “Yeah, James?” Spencer said acting as if he didn’t know the name of the man who had what he wanted. “Yeah… the reason my family is in this situation.” James sighed swirling his coffee in his cup. “I’m sure Y/N doesn’t blame you.” Spencer said dryly turning on the coffee machine.

“She doesn’t, she’s so…” James said smiling slightly

“Amazing.” Spencer said before he could stop himself. James looked up at Spencer. “She’s more than that, why’d you think I married her.” James said laughing slightly dark tired circles under his eyes.

Spencer felt a tinge of guilt hit him as he felt his chest tighten. “You’re a lucky man.” Spencer said a little annoyed. He knew James didn’t know about you and him, but right now he was doubting it…did James know?

“Look, I don’t know what they’re used to be between you and Y/N but clearly there isn’t anything there anymore, on her part.” James said his face becoming Stoney and cold toward Spencer.

“Who are you to talk for her?” Spencer said he himself turning cold. Spencer knew he was wrong but his ego felt hurt and he didn’t want to seem small compared to James.

James smiled mockingly “Her husband if you forgot. The man she chose to marry, to carry my last name, and create a family with.” James said smile still on his face as he got closer to Spencer practically whispering in his ear.

“Y/N’s her own person…she makes her own decisions, and yet she didn’t choose you. Hell she didn’t even give you a second chance.” James chuckled in Spencer’s ear.

Spencer hadn’t felt a rage so strong before in his life, Spencer fisted his hands tightly anger in his eyes. James walked towards the door, opening it he turned back to look at Spencer. “Don’t get near my wife again.” Was all James said before walking out. Leaving Spencer in a state of fury. Spencer threw his coffee in the sink, he felt his body hot he felt like the veins on his forehead were going to pop at any second.

Worst of all he knew James was right, everyone was right.

You felt two arms wrap around you as you stand over Hotch’s couch that he let you use to put Owen asleep for the night as they went to go track the apprentice.

You recognized the arms around you and smiled. “James.” You giggled softly as he pressed a kiss on your neck. “Mmm” was all he said as he buried his head into your neck.

“Hotch’s blinds are open, Morgan and Spencer will see us.” You said smiling at his demeanor.

“Does it look like I care? You’re my wife I can love on you all I want.” James said spinning you around to face him as you wrap your arms around his neck, laughing as you look up at him.

“What do you say that once all this is over, we add a new member to our family?” James says leaning down to plant a kiss on your lips.

“Owen is 3 years old already…” you whisper as you look up at James smiling.

“And he can use a play buddy.” James continues after you smirking.

“We have the empty guest room.” You say thinking about the empty room in your house nobody uses.

“And you look absolutely stunning pregnant.” James chuckles as he lets his hand slide onto your stomach.

You laugh and kiss him.

“Okay but once all this is over, you can’t be seducing me in Hotch’s office.” You say pulling back smiling as you place your hands on your hips, causing James to laugh and walk towards you, picking you up and shaking you around as you both laugh.

Unbeknownst to you both, Spencer watched the whole thing happen from his desk. Of course not knowing what was said in words between you and James but your body language and actions were enough.

Spencer accepted it was over, there was no point anymore. He loved you and he didn’t think he ever would stop. Grabbing his bag he walked out heading home, it was over.

Thank you guys so much for the love, I really appreciate it and now I kind of want to open request now to for one-shots that y’all would like.

[mollyrolls]

hey cupid! ☆ iwaizumi h. x reader

14. reverie

warnings: finale. language, miscommunication, one religious joke (kinda).

an: its finally here! thank you all for the love on hey cupid, truly means more than you could ever know. i hope this lives up to the hype, sorry it took so long lmao.

cont. the italicized part is from the nsfw chapter i have yet to upload, so sorry if thats confusing. basically, she thinks iwa just wanted to fuck and then dip, so she hurts her own feelings over it. he didnt, they talk abt it, you'll read the rest. ok. thanks again <3

prev. / mlist.

They’re not saying anything. When she knocked on the door five minutes ago, she looked as happy as ever to see him. Now that they’re sitting a million miles apart in Iwaizumi’s living room, she seems less than pleased.

He knew that this wouldn’t go exactly like he planned, but he didn’t think it would be like this. Instead of their predictable back and forth, she won’t even look at him. 

It makes him feel sick.

Iwaizumi anxiously adjusts in his chair, drawing her attention to him. They hold eye contact for only a moment, before she looks away again, embarrassed.

He had worked himself up to say something, but meeting her eyes rendered him fully useless.

The same tense silence fills the room once more, suffocating them. Finally, she sighs dejectedly. 

“Look, I’m sorry for the other night. I wish you would’ve told me you were so uncomfortable with sleeping with me, but it’s my fault for not checking. You don’t have to talk to me anymore if you don’t want to.”

He doesn’t know how to respond. Her assumption being so off track makes him start to lag behind, as he racks his brain for what he’s done to make her think that.

When he doesn't say anything, still stuck in his own thoughts, she cradles her head in her hands. Seemingly willing the floor to swallow her whole. 

“Are you going to say anything? Or just sit there and let me humiliate myself until I die?” Her question comes out muffled from behind her hands.

He gains enough consciousness to shut that down quickly. “You’re not humiliating yourself. Like I said, I don’t regret what we did.”

Hajime’s first words of the night do little to lighten her spirits. She seems perpetually weighed down, and has since her date with Osamu.

If Iwaizumi could reasonably kill him, he would. 

She sounds unconvinced. “Yeah, ok.” 

“You don’t believe me?” 

Her hands fall from her face, choosing instead to stare at the wall distantly. “I don’t know. You aren’t really acting like you’re proud of what we did.”

The accusation doesn’t sit well with him. Sure, he hadn’t shouted from the mountaintops, but it’s like she’s forgetting what had happened after.

He lies down in just his boxers, her in just his shirt. The labored breathing coming from both of them isn’t enough to quiet the roaring in his ears. She rolls over to face him, eyes still puffy from the rollercoaster she put herself through. “Iwaizumi?”  He just hums, unsure of how steady his voice would be. “Do you regret it?” He knows this is the last bit of her insecurities, the ones he feels responsible to tamper. So as anxious as it makes him to admit it, he does it for her. “…. No.” She doesn’t say anything. He takes it as acceptance enough. “Do you?” The pause is longer from her. But she sounds more sure.  “No.” He lets himself be selfish, and wraps his arms around her, bringing her closer in. If his words aren’t enough, he’ll let his actions do the work. He tries to ignore the shakiness of her shoulders as they fall into a fitful sleep.

 “Well, you aren’t either. I’ve at least come out and said it.”

She sours at that, remnants of the fight probably swimming back up to the surface. She bounces back faster than before, but he knows that’s still holding her back.

“I don’t think I regret it…” She starts, and Hajime starts to dread the ‘but’ that will follow. It’s terrifying how much power she holds over him with just a sentence. 

“...I’m just scared of what’ll happen if I admit it.”

Hajime can see how scared she is. It’s something he’s never witnessed from her before; it doesn’t feel right. She’s supposed to be persistent and nagging him about something stupid, not second guessing herself. Especially not over someone like him.

As much as he hates seeing it, he knows how significant this is to her. He’s been there too, felt the anguish of silence on the other side. 

So he matches her effort, voice hoarse from how quiet it comes out. 

“I’m scared too.” 

It’s so silent in Iwaizumi’s living room that he can hear her breathing, even and controlled. Like she’s willing the oxygen to go down. 

“So what do we do?”

“I’m not really sure.” He feels like a teenage boy again, hyper aware of every movement he makes. “Do you want to do something?”

She grumbles. “I mean, yeah.” 

Hajime’s heart squeezes tight in his chest when he hears it again. He thinks he could never get tired of her admitting it.

“It would be stupid for us to… feel like this and not ‘do something’,” She makes sure to exaggerate the air quotes, much to his annoyance. At least she’s not so anxious that she can’t be a pain in his ass some of the time. 

“But, it would also be stupid to try and avoid the glaring problem between us.”

He agrees with a nod. 

That seems to be the end of it, as neither of them make any move to continue the conversation. 

They’ve never been good in silence. Even when they were out on their dates, it felt like they had the mutual understanding to fight, if only to pass the time. Hajime wonders briefly when all that changed.

He truly cannot place the time when he started thinking about her like this. Like how her happiness and her fire are the only thing he cares about when he’s around her, and even more so when he’s not. 

Honestly, Hajime can’t even remember if he really hated her after their first date. Since he can’t place a time, if he feels this way now he must’ve felt like this then. The butting heads, the petty fights, that’s just who they are. 

But sitting in the silence of this living room, he solemnly wonders if that’s all they’ll ever be. If they can’t get through one conversation to process their feelings, what hope do they have for a future together?

As if she can hear his thoughts, she lets out a shaky breath. 

“If I ask you something, do you promise to answer me honestly?”

Her voice sounds wrong again, like it had that night. Too unsure of itself to belong to her.

“I’ll try.”

She readies herself before dropping the second most catastrophic bomb Iwaizumi could have ever imagined. 

“Why do you fight with me so much?”

There are a million ways he could answer her question, none of which he wants to admit. That he thought that was just their relationship, so he never put much thought into it. That he truly doesn’t know, sometimes he just can’t help himself. That the way it makes his heart race is dangerous, and how he has no intention of stopping because of how excited it makes him.

He could try and answer her, give them a reason to pinpoint and work through so that they could do this, but that would be lying. Hajime could never lie to her.

So instead, he decides to take a leap of faith.

“Is it really a problem though?”

She looks at him puzzled, like he hadn’t listened to a word she said.

He tries again. He's finally getting his momentum, and he can’t afford to lose it now. “What I mean is, yeah we do fight a lot. But it’s never over really important stuff. It’s just bickering.”

She nods as he speaks, wheels turning in her mind. “I don’t know why we fight. It’s probably some deep rooted psychological shit that I don’t care about.” Hajime sends up a silent prayer that his next words won’t humiliate him to the ends of the Earth.

“But I care about you.”

She freezes, probably not expecting him to come right out and say it. He hadn’t expected it to fully admit it tonight, but now that it's out in the universe he has no desire to take it back. It feels too right. 

“I don’t…” She tries to find the words, but Hajime stops her. She pulls a face at the intrusion, but lets him continue. 

“If it bothers you, I’ll try to cut it out. But I like that we fight.” 

She seems even more confused, but he feels excited. He’s finally saying the things that have haunted him since he met her, but only recently gave weight to. He realizes how long he’s been waiting to admit it.

“Sure, it’s always about you being right and being a genuine pain in my ass,” he starts, not fighting his grin anymore. She groans at the accusation, but doesn’t deny it. Hajime can see her lips starting to curl up, which sparks something deep in his chest.

“But you’re not a pushover. You’ll call me out on my bullshit, and not pull any punches. That’s what I want.”

His adrenaline is starting to wear off, but he'll be damned if he doesn't get it all out on the table now, so he pushes down the nerves. It’s not everything he wants to say, but he knows she’ll know.

“You’re who I want.”

The atmosphere in the room softens as the confession falls from his lips. Her face betrays nothing, and Hajime can see all the thoughts floating around in her head. 

She smiled at his words. There’s no denying that. The sight made the whole conversation worth it, regardless of how badly he wanted to shit himself. 

But the sight is short lived, before the conflict falls back over her face. 

“I like it too…” she starts, releasing the lip pulled between her teeth to give him a small shit-eating grin. “It’s gratifying being able to rub it in your face how wrong you are all the time.”

He laughs at that, low and warm.

She looks like she wants to overthink again, but pushes it away. He’s thankful for that; any more overthinking and he’d start to panic again too.

Instead, she deflects. “I was thinking about it the other night.”

Her gaze starts to flick slowly across the room, looking at anything but him.

“You were thinking about me?” 

He doesn’t mean it as a joke, but she takes it as one. 

“Please shut up.” She looks over her shoulder at him with that easy grin before startling herself and turning back.

“What I mean is, I think I know why we fight. But I think if I tell you, you’d take it the wrong way.”

He tries not to be hurt at the accusation, but it’s unsuccessful. Which might be proving her point, but he wants to know anyway.

“You don’t know that unless you say it.” 

His proposal is unsuccessful.

“Even still, I know it’d ruin the mood. I finally stopped feeling like I wanted to die in your presence, why would you want to waste it?.” 

Her persistence makes his curiosity grow stronger, but it’s also with a twinge of unease. He’s not sure what she could be thinking about, but he doesn’t know when they’re gonna have another talk like this. He has to see it through.

When she finally agrees, it's barely above a whisper. So low he can barely make it out. 

“I think I see the worst parts of myself in you.”

Suddenly, he wishes he didn’t hear her.

His ears start ringing again, thoughts running rampant. He leans back against the couch, crossing his arms in an attempt to get some distance. 

He doesn’t mean to seem petulant, but he’s sure he does.

At his movement, she turns around and pins him in his place with her gaze.

“See what I mean?” She softly points a finger at him. “Took it the wrong way.”

Despite this, she moves closer into his space. He tries to walk away, feeling too scorned and hurt to have this conversation anymore. She follows after him quickly, calling out for him to stop.

���I know that because I felt that way too.”

It falls from her lips in a rush, stopping him in his tracks. He still can’t bring himself to face her.

"Wait. It was probably dumb for me to say this now, I’m sorry. I panicked.” She begs, voice wavering slightly. Hajime feels the lightest touch on his arm, beckoning him to turn back. “Please don’t be mad. I promise it makes sense, and I’m not some horrible person for saying this.”

He’s not strong enough to resist her. 

He continues to keep his distance, but the two settle back on the couch. She begins to explain, looking as nervous as Hajime felt earlier. 

“I was trying to think everything through, especially after my freak out when we slept together. I didn’t understand why it impacted me so much, so I started writing about it, until it hit me like a fucking freight train.”

She readies herself with another deep breath, not too different from his own. He wonders if this is the equivalent to her confession.

“I know our bickering is different now, at least it is for me, but at the beginning it was definitely real. Which is why I’ve been so scared to do something, because I don’t want it to go back to that.”

He only nods, letting her continue on. 

“But I think what it was, was that it was easy to hate you because you were too much like me.”

She anxiously adjusts in her spot, drawing his attention to her. He stops after a moment, starting to realize what she means.

“I saw the things I don’t like about myself in someone else, and my insecurities lit up like crazy. I took things out on you because I couldn’t face them in myself.”

As she says it, memories and moments start flooding into his brain. The way he felt on their first date, overly protective of Bokuto and assuming he knew what’s best for him. When she went against his ideas, it felt like a personal attack, so he went in just as hard.

When he found out about her date and immediately felt sorry for himself. So the only thing he could think to do was make her feel bad too. Even if it was with good intentions.

“Which is why I knew you’d take it badly. Because I did too.” She finishes, watching his every move as he processes. 

The wound from the delivery is still a little raw, but he understands what she means. In a weird way, probably lending evidence to her theory, it’s comforting knowing she had the same experience with this revelation as him. 

It’s a little awkward, having everything laid out like that. He feels cut open, put on display for her to see. But in turn, she shared that same feeling with him. He sees that for what it is, and decides to leave it at that. There’s no need hashing out mutual insecurities, at least not now. 

Instead, he simply turns to her with a private kind of smile. “I’ve totally earned the right to read what you wrote about me now.”

Her gaze softens when she processes what he says, relief visible in her body language.

So much so that she starts to laugh. It’s a crazed kind of laugh, like the one you might get after a near death experience.

It makes him laugh too. 

“Why did I say that?” She says through broken gasps.  “You’re never going to let me live that down.”

He can’t fight the stupid grin that covers his face. “No, I’m really not. It’s nice to know you thought about me that much though.”

Not only did they have a serious conversation, they made it through on good terms.

Hajime feels fucking invincible. 

Her laughter subsides, and she settles back against the couch, facing him. “I’m just going to let you forget about it.” 

He faces her too, taking in her features in this softened, less anxious light. “Never gonna happen. I’m going to remind you that you thought about me so much that you just had to write about me. Multiple times, it sounds like.” 

“Ugh. I hate you.” She tries to shoot him a glare, but it doesn’t have nearly as much bite. He might even go as far to say that she’s smiling at him.

“I wonder how often my name appears in your diary. Oh, or your texts. Can I read your texts too? I have to know what you’re saying about me.” 

“Please stop.”

He sees his opportunity, and she realizes her mistake.

“No, don’t do it-” “Last time I checked, you were the one begging me to not stop.”

She groans in despair. “Please let this torment end." 

Riding his high, he braces himself against the back of the couch, putting his arm around her blatantly. 

Despite her complaints, she leans into him willingly. “You really are the worst Iwaizumi.”

It feels odd to think not ten minutes ago he wanted to leave his own apartment to get away from her. Now, he would do anything to freeze this moment forever.

“Eh. You love me.”

His body goes taut, not realizing what he said. He’s joked about it before, but now it has some kind of gravity to it. His heart starts to beat so fast, Hajime worries it might punch a hole through his chest.

She pauses, gaze looking a little wistful as she looks away at a spot on the floor. The words that fall from her mouth are quiet, barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah. I think I might.”

It’s odd how the world exploded at that same moment. 

Hajime doesn’t let himself believe what he just heard. It seems too unbelievable, too perfect to be happening to him. 

They sit in the silence of it, the words repeating over and over in his head. A choir of angels wouldn’t sound half as beautiful as that.

She doesn’t let his reverie last long.

“You’re just... not gonna say anything back? Real dick move there.” 

The soft smile painting her features are enough to negate the shove she lands on his shoulder. 

“Sorry. Sorry. I like you too.” He smiles down at her loopily.

She gasps in fabricated disbelief. “Only like? Are you serious right now?”

He responds with a shrug. “Yeah. You’re alright, I guess. Love is for suckers.”

He can’t resist the jab. It’s in their nature, after all.

“Oh, you wish, Iwaizumi. You wish I sucked.”

He gazes down at her, making sex jokes without a care in the world, and suddenly feels an overwhelming urge to kiss her. 

“You’re gross.”

He loves her. Without a doubt in his mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Iwaizumi.” She replies with a grin. And in a moment, a long, perfect moment, the tiny space that was left between them is gone.

prev. / mlist.

taglist!

@chemiru, @whosmarjj, @seroh, @skrunkly-soaked-rat, @yessimo,

@walllflowerrrsss, @bae-ashlynn, @themoonismymarble, @ryuverse, @yuminako,

@aiieera, @itsdragonius , @sereniteav , @bakugouswh0r3, @zumicho ,

@rory-cakes , @eggyrocks , @kirigiriz, @garfieldissocool, @wave2mia,

@juie13, @19calicos , @hyuckslvr, @csbnova , @1lovestrawberrymilk,

@saralovesrui, @neoclb , @gsyche , @kmwife , @insanelycooljk

@solaqes, @nectardaddy, @akaashikins, @theycallmenanamisgirl, @aboveasphodel,

@cherrypieyourface, @hyenagoated, @thepurpleempath, @dazqa, @soulfullystarry,

@walllflowerrrsss, @bectoshi, @bakingcuriosity, @sun-nny-side-up

[drewsbuzzcut]

A Silver Lining In Ann Arbor

nick moldenhauer x dallas blankenburg

a so it goes blurb

warnings: uncomfortable situation, a guy being pushy, alcohol consumption, and i think that’s all, but let me know if i missed anything

Blaring music pounds against the walls and reverberates in Dallas’ ears. It’s not that she didn’t want to come, because she did, but now she’s over the party that’s going on.

The girl walks to the kitchen, hoping to find some water to settle the couple of beers that she did have.

“Dallas, right?”

She hears someone from behind her ask, making her jump away from where she was rummaging through. She turns to make eye contact with the frat boy who looks like he’s been drinking way too much.

“Um… yes,” Dallas answers hesitantly.

“Let me make you a drink,” he says, walking closer to where she is.

Dallas fiddles with her fingers, not looking at the guy, and trying to figure out how she can leave within the next minute.

“No, thank you,” she’s about to turn around but his words keep her from leaving.

“I’m going to make you a drink.”

“I said no.” She reminds the boy.

“And I said I’m going to make you one, so you’re going to stay here and drink it.”

She starts to feel the panic spread through her body, feet feeling like they’re stuck in quicksand, not letting her move. Dallas makes a few stumbles backwards, running into someone’s body. She feels a set of hands land on her hips, but right away she can tell that their presence is calming, unlike the boy in front of her.

“She said no!” The boy behind her says, voice full of warning and maybe even daring.

“Whatever. She’s a bitch anyway,” the boy mutters, walking away, thankfully.

Dallas’ body deflates in relief, finally turning around to see the guy who saved her. She’s met with a tall guy with pretty eyes and pretty hair.

“Are you okay?” The boy asks.

“Yeah. Sorry, I think I just need a second to process what just happened. Um… thank you so much for coming to my rescue,” she blurts out, eyes widening at how fast the words were flying out her mouth.

“It’s really no problem. No guy should act that way towards anyone let alone a girl.”

She nods her head in agreement, taking a few deep breaths and trying to clear her mind.

“I should probably get home. Thank you again,” she says, walking away.

“Wait!” The guy blurts out, trailing behind her.

“Yeah?” She asks hesitantly, cautious of anyone else trying to force her into something she didn’t want to do.

“Do you have a ride?”

“No, I’m walking.”

“It’s kind of late to walk home by yourself. Can I walk you?” The guy asks, hand rubbing at the back of his neck in nervousness.

“Um…”

“I promise I’m not a creep or anything like that,” he reassures her.

“I don’t want to pull you away from the party,” she responds.

“I wasn’t having fun anyways. Oh! I’m Nick,” he introduces himself to the girl.

She smiles, thinking of her older brother when she hears that they have the same name.

“I’m Dallas,” she introduces herself.

“Dallas. I don’t think I’ve met a girl with that name before.”

“Good! I’m special,” she teases.

As they walk to Dallas’ dorm building, they go back and forth with asking each other questions, getting to know each other without even realizing it.

“How do you not believe in aliens?” Nick shouts and Dallas giggles, reaching up to cover his mouth with her hands.

“I don’t know. Maybe you need to make a believer out of me,” she says, a casual lilt to her voice even though she’s attempting to flirt.

“Maybe I do.”

“This is me! The walk went by really fast, and I had a really good time talking with you,” she whispers, the quietness around them setting in.

“I had a good time, too. Maybe we can do it again, say this Friday coming up at 5pm?” He asks, lips quirked up into a cute smile.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you on Friday, Nick. We should probably exchange phone numbers, though. Um… you know so you can let me know that you got home safe, and so we can communicate about Friday,” she rambled. Nick finds it endearing and very attractive.

After they exchange numbers they exchange quick hugs and Nick even pressed a chaste kiss to Dallas’ cheek. She’s left with burning, flushed cheeks and a heart that beats a little bit faster.

a/n: First part, finally!!! It’s a little boring, but it’ll get better (hopefully) in the next part. Enjoy!

[ztarvokwrites]

Dracule Mihawk - Actions Speak Volumes

a/n: yo yo yo! had this scenario in my head for a few days n decided to write abt it before i lose my train of thought haha! here u go <3

synopsis: it's only when you finally snap that he realises just how much you're hurting, thus he does everything he can to make it up to you.

reader is gn!

warnings: none, just angst, fluff, comfort, maybe a bit of sexual tension at the end if you squint hard enough.

word count: 1,626

Your actions as of recent have been nothing short of frustratingly annoying. After Mihawk returned from a 3-month escapade for only the best supplies for the Guild (he does not trust Buggy’s lackeys), you’ve been acting uncharacteristically cold towards him. Alvida knows what’s bothering you, yet refuses to tell him why you’re suddenly so ice cold, a harsh and bitter contrast to your warm and kind personality that he adored so much.

“You should already know that, seeing how you’re so perceptive of everything,” She says as he asks once again what your problem is. His eyes are on you as you silently help Cabaji set up some weapons in case they need to battle the Navy again. “But, if you can’t see they’re hurting because of you, you’re dumber than I thought.”

“And what exactly did I do to them, may I ask? All I did was go out for supplies,” Mihawk responds sharply, looking at the young woman beside him from the corner of his eye. Alvida looks at him, dumbfounded at the density of the former Warlord. She grunts, putting her hands on her hips.

“Yeah, for 3 whole months without telling them,” Exclaims the woman, brows furrowing as she looks towards you, arms folding over her chest again. “Honestly, I’m surprised they’re still with you considering how bad you’ve been treating them!”

This made his head snap towards her so fast that Alvida jolted back, eyes wide in fear. His golden eyes, usually cold and unfeeling, look surprised at her statement. Surely she’s bluffing, right? Mihawk can’t recall treating his partner poorly. Sure, they might’ve had a little argument here and there, but he was still devoted to them. 

“...What makes you think I am treating my beloved so poorly?” He asks, his cold voice holding an edge of offence to Alvida’s accusation.

“Well…” Alvida hesitates, voice weak for a moment before she continues speaking with confidence. “You haven’t been spending much time with them, your attitude towards them is just downright mean, you brush off their concerns like they’re a waste of time, and-”

“Alvida,” You interrupted, walking up to her with your arms folded. “Stop complaining, would you? Me venting to you when I’m drunk doesn’t permit you to go to Dracule about our relationship troubles. This is something between Dracule and I, so keep your nose out of it.”

Dracule.

You’ve never used his first name before, let alone with such… Unfathomable coldness. Mihawk stares — no, gawks at you, his stoic expression faltering slightly into one of pure confusion. Was what Alvida said true? When your eyes meet his, he watches as you narrow your gaze, a silent command for him to speak to you privately now that he knows too much. His gaze holds your own for a few seconds until you walk away. Following you, he tries to strike up a conversation, but you shoot his attempts down with a simple, “We’ll talk when we’re in private, so be quiet and follow me.”

And so, in uncomfortable silence, Mihawk follows you into your shared tent, staring at you with his arms crossed as you sit at the table. You speak first before he can even open his mouth, airing out your grievances and spilling your heart to the man, knowing he can shrug it off like before. You speak of the neglect as of late, how he has been nonchalant and uncaring towards you, how you’ve been feeling unloved by the man and how you’ve been constantly put aside now that you’ve all formed the Cross Guild.

And perhaps you’ve seen this coming — no, you have seen this coming; the way he deflects and tries to downplay how badly he’s been treating you because he simply refuses to believe it. Of course, this turns into an argument that eventually gets heated, as tears sting your eyes and threaten to spill down your cheeks. You’re practically screaming at this point, desperately trying to get him to see your point of view.

“For once in your life, Dracule,” There you go again, using his first name as if it were venom on your tongue. “Think about me! Think about us! Instead of your top priority being disappearing without a trace for months on end, making me worried sick about you — you should be prioritising what this relationship means to you because this means everything to me! You mean everything to me!”

Mihawk goes silent at your outburst, his arms unfolding and resting by his sides as his attention falls on you. He’s not focused on what he refuses to believe anymore, he’s only focused on you. Only you. It’s like his world stops once he sees your grief-stricken face, your tears finally escaping your tear ducts and caressing your cheeks as they drift down to your chin, your lips pulled into a tight frown. His face remains stoic as he listens, finally listens to you. 

Oh, how he wants to hold you in his arms and apologise, but he doesn’t. He just lets you yell at him and open his eyes to the truth… But you’re gone once you’re done speaking, you're pushing past him and walking out of the tent to get some well-deserved air. The former Warlord steps out of the tent, trying to see where you ran off to, but you are nowhere to be seen.

It’s then that he decides he’s going to make it up to you. He isn’t a fool, he knows he hasn’t been as affectionate as of late, and this argument has made him realise just how much he’ll lose if he loses you. Mihawk certainly doesn’t want to lose you, not after all you’ve been through together.

Throughout the day, he gives you your space but finds little things that remind him of you as he explores what Emptee Bluff’s Island has to offer. Whether it be flowers or your favourite drink in the town that’s opposite Buggy’s Town, he soon returns with three or four bags of gifts and groceries — ignoring the questioning looks on peoples’ faces as he casually carries the heavy bags to your shared tent with ease.

As the week progresses, he slowly starts giving you these gifts in secret, leaving them in your chair or your side of the bed in the morning. Whenever you’d see them, your heart would skip a beat and ache with confusion before a small blush would rise to your cheeks. You know he’s a man of few words, so you are glad he is acknowledging you like this.

Finally, the time comes for the perfect last gift — a romantic dinner under the stars, far away from the chaos of the Guild, even if it was just for an hour or two. You show up wearing your best outfit, a little nervous as it’s been a while since the argument and neither of you have properly talked since. It’s not hard to find the spot, as the candles on the grass illuminate the blanket that you find your partner patiently sitting on. A small pang in your heart strikes as he lifts his head, his golden eyes meeting your gaze and scanning over your outfit. 

You can almost see it, the way his eyes light up behind his cold exterior upon seeing you dressed up like this. Honestly, it makes you flustered the way he just stares at you before motioning you to come forward and take a seat beside him.

“...I thought I’d treat you to something special tonight,” Begins Mihawk, pouring you a glass of wine as you sit down beside him. With a small smile, you take the glass from him and have a sip. “...I’ve been thinking about what Alvida had exposed to me, and what you said during our latest quarrel about a week ago.” A lump forms in your throat as you swallow the sip of your drink, feeling dread fill your stomach. There’s a small silence that overtakes you both as you avoid his gaze, looking up at the stars as he looks at you with those piercing eyes.

“...I don’t want to lose you like I almost did before,” Mihawk continues, staring at you as he puts his drink down on the blanket, his hand gently touching your forearm. “So let me make it up to you. I’m sorry, I promise to never make you feel unloved ever again.” You avert your gaze from the stars, finally looking towards him with tears glistening in your eyes. The hand that rests on your forearm now caresses your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that dares to slide down your flushed skin with his calloused thumb.

“...You’re an asshole sometimes, Mihawk,” You respond, your tone slightly playful yet mixing with a twinge of hurt. “You don’t notice how much you hurt me until it’s too late, and you’re a man with so few words that it surprises me you argue back… But, somehow, you eventually find the right words to say and I come crawling back to you. But I’ve noticed that this time, it’s different. Your actions have spoken volumes louder than your voice has, and it…” You stop rambling once you take in the way he’s looking at you.

The way a small smile barely tugs at his stoic lips, the way his golden eyes soften and pupils dilate as he takes you in. You blush, yet he finds himself smiling just a little more, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek. The two of you find yourselves leaning in, and for a moment you think your lips are going to collide, but instead, Mihawk opens his mouth to say, “Would you like to see what I’ve prepared for this evening, my dear?”

starnote: i'm sleepy :)

dividers by @/ saradika!

[mielwriting]

Venti 🦠?

Gods Can Get Sick? - AlbusLebron - 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

Available here on Tumblr and on ao3!

Illness was not an issue he ever had to reckon with as a wind wisp. He envied his siblings in that regard. The Thousand Winds were unable to related to his sickness, so they tried to comfort him in their own ways. Some of them stayed with Venti, while others scoured the continent in search of a solution. They snuck into the Akademiya’s libraries, swept through Cloud Retainer’s blueprints, and even searched the remains of the Fontaine Research Institute for a cure to a divine cold. He had gotten sick plenty of times before, but each time, some wind wisps searched Teyvat. They hoped that, in the centuries since the last time he was sick, someone had come up with something that could help him recover faster. 

Meanwhile, Venti was sorely rethinking his decision to live outside. Normally, he loved the outdoors! He loved laying on a high branch at Windrise, feeling the way the breeze shakes the trees, and occasionally feel the cool rain on his skin. Now though, his whole body ached, and the roots of Vennessa’s Tree simply felt uncomfortable. 

While his old friend’s Tree was normally his go-to healing spot, that was more for magic issues, such as alchemical corruption or losing some of his power. Against a regular (divine) cold, the Tree was unfortunately unable to help. 

Venti didn’t want to risk infecting Dvalin, and Andrius was never too comforting. He would love to rest in the hands of his (friend’s) statue, but his stronger-than-a-human’s sneezes would attract unwanted scrutiny, and likely bother the people in the plaza. And then the Sisters would notice, and insist on trying to heal him or having him rest in the cathedral’s recovery wing. And then he’d be stuck listening to choir songs singing praises he didn’t deserve, while all the sisters prayed to himself so he could get better!

So, he stayed at the roots of Vennessa’s Tree, trying to make himself comfortable, while several wind wisps tried to comfort him. He closed his eyes, and tried once again to relax. 

“Oh! Apologies, I wasn’t expecting you to be out here.”

He slowly opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the voice, where Grandmaster Jean was standing. She looked concerned. 

“Grandmaster Jean!” He mouths the word ‘acting’ as she goes to correct him, “What a pleasant surprise! What brings you to Windri-Achoo!” Venti groaned.

“I often visit Lady Vennessa’s Tree to clear my head. Are you alright?”

He winced at the thought that he was adding more stress to her plate, “Of Course, Grandmaster Jean!” He wished his voice didn’t sound as hoarse.

Jean looked conflicted, then took a few steps towards Venti and sat down next to him, “I hope I’m not being too presumptuous, but… I wasn’t aware Archons could get sick.”

Venti sneezed again, then looked at Jean, “Oh, it’s just something I have to deal with every few centuries. Alas, even gods are not immune to colds,” He sighed dramatically, “Perhaps this is my punishment for stealing Master Diluc’s wine…”

She looked at his lap, where several wind wisps were currently resting, “Then are the… wind spirits also sick?”

He followed her gaze to the sleeping wind wisps, “Ah, no, they’re just trying to make me - Achoo! - feel better.” 

“Is that why you’re spending more time at the Tree? You mentioned before that it helps you heal.”

“Alas, Valiant Vennessa’s tree only helps heal ailments of the magical kind. Such a mundane problem cannot be healed from a magical source.”

She looked down at her own lap, “I know it’s not my place to question your judgment…”

He placed a hand over his heart and closed his eyes, “Grandmaster Jean, you wound me! I can take any criticism you have to throw at me!” He let his hands fall to his sides, opened his eyes and looked at Jean, “I value your opinion, really! Whatever it is you have to say, please don’t let my status as an archon keep you from sharing!”

“If Lady Vennessa’s Tree can’t heal your cold, then why are you still sitting outside? Fresh air and exercise is imperative to a quick recovery, but so is proper rest. I can’t imagine it’s easy to make the trip to Windrise every day. Surely there’s a park closer to your house.”

“Oh, I don’t actually have a house in the city! I usually just sleep outside.” 

She looked horrified, “Lord Barbatos-”

He quickly interrupted, “It’s fine, really! I love the outdoors!” His smile didn’t seem to convince her. 

“I cannot in good conscience allow a citizen of Mondstadt, archon or otherwise, to remain outside while they are recovering from an illness. I can offer you my house’s spare bedroom.”

“That’s really not -Achoo! - necessary, Grandmaster Jean. Really, this just happens sometimes. I’ll be fine in a few days… ah… ah… Achoo!” 

“I insist, Lo- Venti. We don’t want whatever you have to get worse. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want myself, your other friends, and all your… wind spirits to worry you aren’t taking care of yourself.”

He gasped, “I can’t believe you Grandmaster Jean! Using my compassion against me,” he draped his hand over his forehead, “Oh, woe is me if- Achoo!... Ah… Ah… Achoo!” He dropped his hands back to his sides, “... I’ll go, if only to give you peace of mind. You may have a point about proper rest.”

She smiled, “I’m glad to hear it,” she held a hand out to help him up. As he stood up, several wind wisps roused from their sleep and floated up beside his head. 

“There’s plenty of room for the wind spirits too.”

He took her hand, and smiled earnestly, “Thank you, Grandmaster Jean.”

*** 

An hour later, he was laying on her spare bed, which he had to admit was much comfier than a tree. He was still sneezing every few minutes, but he was as relaxed as he could be in present conditions. Several of the Thousand Winds floated next to him. 4 were trying to sing to him, 3 were nuzzling against him to provide comfort, and others were playing with his hair. 

One of his braids was dangling over the edge of the bed, and 2 wind wisps were quite entertained by watching it sway in the small breezes they created. The other braid had come undone entirely, and 3 wind wisps were trying to rebraid it for him. 

Each time he sneezed, they lost their grip, the half-done braid fell apart, and they had to start over again. It would be a few sneezes before they learn to braid his hair quick enough. They don’t seem to mind having to start over. In fact, they seem to really enjoy constantly braiding his hair. Venti suspects that if his sneezing didn’t regularly undo their progress, they would’ve redone the braid several times by now.

Venti doesn’t want to think about the chaos the other 988 winds were out causing. Instead, he thinks about how nice Jean was to give him the bed even though he probably caused more work for her. He would have to repay her somehow once he got better. 

For now, though, he was content to doze off, safe in his old friend’s house. 

[suzukiblu]

One last WIP excerpt for @this-was-a-terrible-idea behind the cut, and one last dealer's choice, this one resulting in "come on barbie let's go party". tw: unhealthy coping mechanisms, ignoring own boundaries/comfort level during a scene, and Kon just being waaaaay too in his own head and freaking himself out. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon bites the inside of his cheek again, straightening the lay of the jacket, and then glances up at the others warily, not sure what to–expect, still. Bart immediately beams at him, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands, and Cassie bites her lip with a little grin, and Tim tilts his head and hums, just a little. Kon feels like he’s gonna fucking die of embarrassment. 

They’re not–none of them’s laughing, at least. Not yet, anyway.

“Um,” he says, and swallows uncomfortably. “Is it–okay?” 

“You’re grifin’ adorable,” Bart says immediately, and Cassie bites her lip a little harder and grins a little wider. 

“Definitely,” she agrees. 

“Very definitely,” Tim agrees too. 

Well, Kon is definitely gonna die of embarrassment. 

“Very funny,” he mutters, glancing away and wrapping himself up in the jacket a little, and then feeling stupid for doing that. It’s just cheap fucking pleather, not anything actually, like–armored or protective or anything. All it can do is cover him up more and make him look even less hot, he’s sure. It’s like–he isn’t the type to look good without showing off the goods, that’s all. He’s not–he’s too big for . . . 

Well–he’s not big right now, obviously, but–like, it’s not– 

He just doesn’t look good like this. He’s not, like . . . he can’t do anything for them, and he doesn’t even look good. 

And “adorable” is definitely not a thing that he can actually be or look anything like, no matter what fucking size he is or what he wears. Definitely not a way he can act. 

“We mean it,” Tim says with the barest trace of a frown, and Cassie frowns a little too, and then Kon feels stupid again because, like–whatever they want from him, he’s not doing it right and he’s gonna disappoint them and– 

“You’re crazy adorable,” Bart says frankly, reaching out in a blur and grabbing the collar of the jacket to tug at it, and Kon jerks in surprise and–and–“Like so cute I wanna sprock you up.” 

“No one ‘sprocks’ anyone in this fucking century, Bart,” Kon says, feeling his face redden and not sure how he feels about–not sure if– 

“I just wanna pick you up and play with you,” Bart says like that is in some way a reasonable thing to say, and says it, like–consideringly, kind of, his expression turning assessing as his eyes trail over him. “Show you just how sprocked you can get.” 

Kon’s face burns. 

Don’t LAUGH at me, some stupid part of him wants to blurt out, because . . . because Bart could just pick him up right now. He wouldn’t have to fly or use his TTK or anything to make it work; Bart could just do it, just like this. Just tighten his grip on the back of this stupid jacket’s collar and . . . 

They’re not laughing at him. Or–he thinks they’re not. 

Maybe they are, though. The thought makes him feel nauseous, like . . . like they’re playing something different than usual here, something–mean, or whatever. 

Bart and Cassie and Tim aren’t like that. Kon knows they’re not like that. 

He’s thought he knew that about people before, though. He’s thought– 

He knows they’re not. He–he does. He just feels so stupid, and there’s nothing he can do for them like this, and–and he– 

Just tell me what to do, tell me how to do this RIGHT, he doesn’t say, and shrugs away from Bart’s grip on his collar. Which–doesn’t work, for a second, and his heart fucking trips and–and then Bart just lets go, and he nearly overbalances and has to catch himself with his TTK before he can. Usually–usually he can just–

It doesn’t take any effort for him to pull away from somebody else’s grip, usually. Especially not Bart’s. Like–maybe Cassie’s, sure, but Bart’s grip is just–it’s nothing, usually. Doesn’t even really count as a real “grip” at all, unless it’s one he’s deliberately allowing. 

He’s probably still strong enough to get out of Bart’s hands either way, he thinks, but–but usually he doesn’t have to actually try to.