#handbag dry cleaning

[luxury-leather]

Gentle Care for Your Bags: Professional Bag Dry Cleaning

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[weekendmaids]

How to Clean a Prada Nylon Bag: Expert Tips for Keeping Your Luxury Bag Spotless

Explore our detailed guide on cleaning Prada nylon bags at Weekend Maids. Learn the best techniques and products to use for maintaining the pristine condition of your luxury nylon bag. Whether you're dealing with everyday dirt or more stubborn stains, our step-by-step advice ensures your Prada bag stays looking its best. Read Our Blog:- https://weekendmaids.net/blog/how-to-clean-prada-nylon-bag/

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: How To Master An "Effortlessly Elegant" & Put-Together Look

Table of Contents:

Treat your skin like royalty

Take ample care of your natural hair

Dress in crisp neutral outfits that cater to your body shape

Choose your accessories wisely

Embrace feature-enhancing makeup

Keep your nails clean, filed, and simple

Regarding your signature scent(s)

Follow your dental & bodily hygiene routines religiously

Treat your skin like royalty:

Use high-quality skincare twice a day

Wear sunscreen every day

Remove your makeup every night before bed no matter what

Use makeup that doesn't clog your pores/irritate your skin

Change your pillowcases weekly

Eat plenty of produce & drink lots of water

Prioritize sleep

Limit or eliminate alcohol, cigarettes, caffeine, and processed foods/sugary drinks

Keep your skin exfoliated/derma-planed

Take ample care of your natural hair:

Use high-quality shampoo/conditioner combos that suit your hair type & don't cause build-up

Hydrate with a scalp mask 1-4 times a month

Use cold or lukewarm water to wash your hair

Apply shampoo to the roots/hair covering your scalp and conditioner only on the "ponytail" section of your hair

Use a specialty hair towel after getting out of the shower

Always comb wet hair and brush 1-3 times a day when dry

Limit heat on your hair when possible & always use a heat protectant every time you do

Use non-elastic or silk hair ties

Get regular trims at least 3-4 times per year (get your hair layered if it's very thick)

Try to limit how much you dye or, especially bleach, your hair and do elaborate styles with tons of heat & harsh products

Dress in crisp neutral outfits that cater to your body shape:

Embrace minimalist basics (tees, tanks, blouses, sweaters, jeans, trousers, blazers, leather jackets, coats, etc.) in high-quality fabrics (Pima cotton, Merino wool, Tencel, mulberry silk, etc.)

Choose options in black, white, grey, charcoal beige, navy, burgundy, or cream depending on your skin tone and preferences

Invest in a collection of sleek footwear options (black boots, loafers, black pumps, white sneakers, etc.) in minimalist, timeless styles that suit the color palette, hemlines & proportions of your go-to outfits

Ensure your shoes and accessories feel proportional to the weight/silhouette of your outfit, color-coordinate with the rest of your look, and have streamlined hardware from head-to-toe (all silver, all gold, or one piece that mixes silver/gold and another gold & silver piece each to balance out the color palette)

Keep all of your clothes steam and lint-rolled, so they look crisp & fresh all-day

Befriend your tailor to take in or let out clothes as needed when purchased off the rack

Choose clothes/styles that flatter your body shape and proportions

Utilize belts and bra tape to adjust the waist, keep shirts tucked in, and keep straps from falling down or create an impromptu cuff/hem on your pants

When in doubt, select a neutral head-to-toe monochrome outfit

If on a budget, consider choosing black, grey, camel beige items to hide fabric imperfections that could cheapen your look

Choose your accessories wisely:

Select sleek, simple neutral (& almost exclusively) monochrome shoes made with smooth (recycled/vegan) leather with

Pair almost any outfit with a shoe featuring a slight platform, block heel, kitten heel, and/or a sharply pointed toe to elongate your silhouette

Complement your outfit with structured, pared-back handbags with no logos (Focus on quality and construction, not the brand name) in a neutral shade and timeless silhouette

For jewelry, choose at most one statement piece and all others should be focused on different areas of the body (e.g. don't mix statement earrings with layered/bold necklaces or stacked rings * bracelets). When in doubt, choose simple diamond chains or earrings, sleek bangles or chainlink necklaces & bracelets, simple pendant necklaces, and minimalist rings in hardware that all go together

Embrace feature-enhancing makeup:

Cover up any dark circles, blemishes, or hyperpigmentation with a color-matched concealer

Lightly contour with a bronzer that complements your skin tone

Fill in your brows for a naturally full look (or get them professionally tinted)

Apply a light wash of rose, coral, or mauve blush

Use black mascara with a little bit of eyeliner and/or a subtle wash of brown eyeshadow on the lids

Apply a "your lips but better" nude shade or "just kissed' berry lipstick or pigmented lip balm for a subtle wash of color

Keep your nails clean, filed, and simple:

Maintain cut, cleaned, and filed short nails

Opt for a square or almond nail shape

Choose a timeless nail shade (pink, nude, red, beige, dark cherry, navy, dark purple, black) with no nail art

Hydrate your hands and scrub under your nails daily

Regarding your signature scent(s):

Ensure your body wash/lotion and perfume scents don't clash

Test perfumes for a trial day to ensure they smell divine with your unique pheromones

Choose a fragrance appropriate for the seasonal/occasion

Apply a dab on each wrist and on your neck/behind the ears. If the scent doesn't project well on you, try applying these small dabs on the cuffs and shoulders of your jacket/walk into it to get it on your hair (if it would stain your clothes)

Don't layer more than one heady perfume at a time or scents that don't have complementary and/or shared notes

Follow your dental & bodily hygiene routines religiously:

Floss every day (after each meal if possible)

Brush your teeth with an electric toothbrush twice a day

Have mints on hand if you're a garlic, spice, or coffee lover

Keep your lips & hands well-moisturized and protected with SPF

Shower your body daily and be extra diligent in scrubbing your privates, everything behind, and under your arms

Don't use very hot water in the shower (it burns/dries out your skin)

Exfoliate 2-3 times a week with a sugar scrub

Moisturize daily or anytime you get out of the shower

Apply SPF on any exposed sun (especially in the summer or when the UV index is high in your area)

[hotwritergf]

you could write a one shot where the reader (who is part of the bau) always acquits or does what Spencer says, letting him talk for hours and Do you also write down facts that you find interesting? I think that's a very nice thing. (also if there is some smut afterwards I don't complain somehow).

p.s. I love your stories<3

Pretty as a vine, sweet as a grape🍇

(Hi! I’m sorry I know I don’t usually add comments onto my fics anymore but I just needed to say that I loved writing this. This concept was so fun to write and I’m quite happy with how it came out.)

“How is everything you say somehow so profound but yet so socially inept?” You chuckle, shaking your head through your laughter as you look up at him. Spencer laughs along with you sarcastically, an unamused fake grin painted on his face. He takes a step closer to you, lifting the umbrella over your head, protecting you from the unforgiving Quantico rain. Spencer leads you forward, guiding you with his hand on your lower back as he rubs his palm against your damp jacket. “Back to my place?” You speak, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “We’ll get sick if we’re out in the rain too long Spence.” Accepting your offer he links his arm around yours and you begin to walk down the street together. “Sickness is not directly caused by rain, but being outside in rainy conditions could increase your exposure to airborne viruses that might be present.” Spencer explains in his trademark, matter of fact tone. Giggling, as you fiddle with your keys, searching for the right one to unlock your apartment door. He sneaks them out of your hand, inspecting the lock on your door and the keys in hand, picks out the correct key and unlocks the door with a timid smile. “Clean towels in the bathroom if you want to dry yourself off.” You recommend him the blue one, it’s new and fluffy and completely unused, knowing he’s more likely to feel comfortable with the knowledge that it’s new. You want him to feel nothing less than comfortable. Spencer nods his head and makes his way to the bathroom. At the loss of his presence you reach into your bag, pulling out your notebook and pen. Scribbling down some nonsense as a scrappy, badly written diary entry as quickly as you can. Your journals were the one thing that held every detail of your life, not even your social media pages held that much information on you. You dot your i’s and cross your t’s, swiftly closing the book and burrowing it inside your handbag again.

A few days pass and you’re not feeling up to scratch. With the pharmacy not filling your prescription, mixed with the depths of your unrelenting depressing you’re struggling to keep your head above water. The files of paperwork stack up higher than they should on your desk, coffee rings stain the wood on your desk as it wobbles under your writing. Each case seemed to be more emotionally demanding than the last. But there was Spencer. He stumbles over to you, clumsy and un-spatially aware as ever, placing a bag of baked goods in front of you. The smell of cinnamon hits you immediately and you melt into the back of your chair, your lips pin up into a beaming smile. The monster in your head silencing just for a moment under the soft, dulcet act of Reid. “You’ve- you’ve seemed down. I didn’t want to pry incase you didn’t want to share, but sugar stimulates feel-good endorphins associated with reward. So, cinnamon buns!” He announced, his voice airy and angelic as he scratches the back of his head with his left hand; his right fiddling with the buttons on the stomach of his cardigan. He needn’t say anything more, the smile on your face and your back finally resting against the chair, regaining posture, says all the gratitude he needs. Spencer simply taps the bag on your desk with a grin and returns to his desk. Not only did he leave you with a sugary treat, he left with you with more of off the top of his head statistics that you couldn’t get enough of. Each one of them showing he cares, he thinks of you. He puts thought into everything he says, whether or not his words land with the people he speaks to is irrelevant. He shows he cares in his own unique way and you simply cannot get enough of it, you find your journal once more, leaving todays page decorated with his facts about sugar. Reaching into the bag from the local bakery, you take out your bun, wrapping the base with the napkin. With your first bite, you grin. Even if it didn’t ‘stimulate your endorphins’ it still tasted like heaven.

Friday night rolled around eventually, this week had felt never-ending. Slotted next to Spencer on the jet, you reach out and poke his side, demanding his attention. He jerks back with a giggle, you always forget he never grew out of being ticklish. You smirk and tease, “Oh right… ticklish. I forget you’re a little baby.” His cheek gain a new pink blush that reaches all the way to the tips of his ears. “You can’t grow out of your nerve endings in your skin sending electrical signals to the somatosensory cortex. Plus- most adults are t-ticklish.” He stutters over his words, almost as if they are too shy to be spoken. His hands rise to protect himself as your fingers threaten to poke him again, he chuckles in anticipation. “Whatever you say genius, deny it all you want. It’s still adorable.” Your voice soft and teasing as you smirk at him again. “Movie night tomorrow?” You suggest, your hands moving back to your lap as he begins to re-adjust himself and relax. Spencer nods, “Can we watch Star Wars?” He asks, sounding like an excited puppy. You roll your eyes playfully and smile, “Fine. As long as its Revenge of the Sith.” Spence chuckles, shaking his head and rises from his seat, heading to the jet bathroom. As is your new routine, your diary finds its way to the table in front of you. Scrambling to write today’s entry before Spencer returns, you try to remember his every word as you write. As you hear the door unlock you practically throw the book behind you and sit in front of it. Praying that the man with the 187 IQ doesn’t notice, should be fine, right?

Settling the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, you get the TV set up ready for Spencer’s arrival. Everything is perfect, you’d bought his favourite popcorn, salted obviously. You’d also brewed a pot of the tea you’d made him last time, it was just English Breakfast tea but he’d sworn it was mind-blowing. The door is knocked, three times, Spencer’s lucky number. “It’s open!” You bellow your voice and put your feet up onto the sofa. Spence walks in, lifting your legs and placing them down on his lap when he settles next to you. He places his bag down on the floor beside him, but something bashes against it. Reaching down to find the offending item, you find its your journal. “Hey, y/n. I think you left this book on the floor. Where does it live so I can put it back in its rightful home?” He questions, you feel the blood drain out of your face, you pale immediately. “No- its okay! Just gimmie.” You respond, but he notices your shaking hands reaching out to snatch it. Spencer pulls away, opening the first page. “What are these huh?” He teases uncharacteristically. “You writing little love letters?” He jokes, before looking down at the pages and blushing when he reads his own name. He reads at an alarming speed at the best of times, but when he’s transfixed on text, he can read even faster.

“You’re- you’re writing about me? I said every word here.” Spencer’s eyes widen, the hazel irises expanding as he turns the pages rapidly and skims the text. “Oh you just had to write that. Didn’t you?” He chuckles, reading your interactions from yesterday on the jet. “I. I just find you interesting Spencer. I know everyone teases you and interrupts you when you speak, I know they don’t appreciate you enough. They take your words for granted, even when they’re so profound.” Your pale face begins to blush, it was enough that Spencer had read your private diary, but having to admit your feelings that you’ve been trying to repress and ignore, it was seemingly impossible. “I want to remember the things you say because they’re important, and every time you say something personal to me, I want to treasure it. Bottle it and keep it forever, you know?”

Spencer, for once, is at a loss for words. His cheeks burning under the heat of his blush, he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. His brain searching for anything to say, its like he’s frantically looking through the filing cabinet of words in his head and still coming up empty. With no vocabulary on his tongue, he leans forward and crashes his lips into yours. They’re soft and ample, featherlight against your own. No concerns of the lip gloss smearing and decorating his lips. Pulling away with a confused expression, “Spencer?” Your one word question is all you can say as you run your fingers through his hair. Your nails scratching against the back of his head softly and he leans into your touch wanting more. “I can’t help myself. I’ll stop if you want, if you didn’t want that I apologise profusely and I take full responsibility of my actions and I’ll do anything to make it up to you…” He gets in his own head about the moment just gone. “No, I definitely wanted that. Definitely.” You smile cheekily, rubbing your thumb against his heated cheeks. Spencer leans in once more, gasping into your mouth trying to dig deeper and deeper into your soul. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this. I just don’t- I don’t know how to get here. You know?” He explains, his hands find the small of your back and pull you closer to him. Your index finger reaches up, shh-ing against his lips. Silencing him to keep him from rambling for the first time ever. You scramble up onto his lap, leaning over him playfully. “You’re perfect Spencer Reid. Without even knowing it you’ve taken care of me for years. Let me take care of you.”

You roll your hips slowly underneath him, smirking as he fiddles with the back of your bra strap. Even with an IQ of 187 he can’t figure out how to unbuckle a bra. You smirk and let out a giggle and he blushes, “So needy already?” You tease, your voice hoarse and desperate. He grips onto your hips as if he’s deprived, pushing into your lips, kissing you like a man starved. Spencer’s breath is shaky and weak, you take his chin into your thumb and forefinger, lifting it up, deepening the kiss. “I want you.” He speaks shakily, “I know. I want you too.” You say, holding his cheeks in the palms of your hands. Rutting your hips against his bulge again, he convulses underneath you. He gasps and rushes his hand over his mouth and you know what’s happened. Not wanting to embarrassed him, you slide off of him. Slotting yourself next to him on the couch, trying to figure out the social expectation is when your crush finishes in his boxers before you’ve even touched him. You settle on pulling him into a cuddle, rubbing your palm up and down his back, feeling his boney spine through his skin. He looks up at you, his eyes wide and full of adoration, looking like pools of honey. “I need a few minutes, and maybe some of your magic tea.” He chuckles and you sigh in relief at the self depreciating humour he responds to the situation with. “Of course pretty boy.” You press your lips on the top of his forehead softly, breathing in his shampoo and cologne. He smells like coconut and sweetness. You jokingly reach out for your journal. “Today Spencer ended up cumming in his boxers.” You giggle together, your bodies rising and falling with each breath and your legs intertwined. The next hour could take a lifetime to arrive and you’d be a-okay with that.

[theambitiouswoman]

Ways to Add Luxury to Your Life

1. Stop saying “you can’t afford it”

2. Walk through or stop for a drink at a luxurious hotel

3. Create your own luxurious evening routine

4. Create your own luxurious morning routine

5. Schedule in something fancy

6. Wear your favorite handbag and shoes

7. Find your signature scent

8. Do your hair and make up

9. Shop your wardrobe

10. Choose your top 3 must do things everything

11. Cook from scratch

12. Drink champagne

13. Buy silk linens for your bed

14. Celebrate your wins

15. Personalized stationary

16. Visit museums and art galleries

17. Shop at farmers markets

18. Eat organic and fresh foods

19. Go on hikes

20. Play uplifting music

21. Plant a vegetable garden

22. Use lavender pouches in your drawers

23. Exercise daily

24. Only drink quality tea and coffee

25. Wear pretty/silk lingerie and cute lounge wear

26. Have a creative hobby

27. Visit the spa and get facials regularly

28. Buy fresh flowers

29. Use quality skincare and makeup

30. Take hot baths

31. Buy essential oils

32. Treat yourself

33. Add lemon to your water

34. Go to a high end gym or Lounge

35. Read a book before bed

36. Stop saving your nice things for later. Use them now

37. Use an exfoliator for your body

38. Stretching and yoga

39. Go to an artisan cafe for fresh croissants

40. Make your own dressings for your foods

41. Clean your house and your car

42. Take a detox shot in the morning

43. Treat yourself to a professional blow dry

44. Nails always done

45. Bake fresh cookies

46. Watch a classic and elegant film like Breakfast at Tiffany’s

47. Have a full feminine luxurious shower routine

48. Clean your makeup brushes and arrange them like a beauty counter for the next time you use them

49. Learn about art and wines

50. Decorate your home like a 5 star hotel

51. Use a pillow spray

52. Host a dinner party

53. If possible, hire a chef or cleaner to help you

[hbyrde36]

It's Only Forever

It has been an absolute joy to write this big bang fic over the last few months, and I'm SO excited to finally get to share it with the world! I could not have done it without my amazing beta @penny00dreadful, always going above and beyond the call of duty to cheer me on, and help make this story the best it could be. Thanks as well to @hitlikehammers, and of course my official unofficial cheerleader @pearynice!

Featuring art in this chapter also by @penny00dreadful!

[Penny Art Link] and @/SissayeRys [Art Post Link]

R: Mature | WC: 4427 | | Ch 1/8 | Read on AO3

Chapter 1: As The World Falls Down

Steve was running late getting home.

Literally running, because his last ever basketball practice had gone long with everyone wanting to say goodbye to the departing seniors, and he was supposed to be home an hour ago to babysit his little brother.

Not that anyone asked if he wanted to watch the stupid nerd, It’d just come to be expected of him. He'd run into a bit of a dry spell lately as far as dating went, and grown tired of playing third wheel to Tommy and Carol, but after one too many Friday and Saturday nights spent at home, his Mom and Gary seemed to have decided he was now at their disposal every weekend to watch Dustin while they went out for their fancy dinner parties. 

Which he wasn’t bitter about, or anything. 

It’d been overcast all afternoon, the smell in the air all but promising rain, and just as he was cutting through the last backyard with his own house coming into view, the sky opened up, soaking through him to the bone in seconds.

“You’re late.” His mother said, scowling from the top of the porch steps with her arms crossed over her chest. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“Sorry,” Steve grumbled. He’d forgotten to plug in his phone last night and its battery had died by fourth period. “It’s not my fault. Practice–”

“Well don’t stand out there in the rain, you’ll drip all over my nice clean floors.” She cut off his explanation, turning on her heel and striding into the house.

It was a little late for that. Water was already running from his sopping shorts down his legs, but Steve still rushed along behind her, kicking his mud-coated sneakers off by the door to try and minimize the damage.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Steven. Your stepfather and I go out very rarely–”

Lie.

Steve rolled his eyes at her back as she turned to grab her handbag off the foyer table. 

“–And you know I only expect you to babysit when it won’t interfere with your own plans.”

“Like you care about my plans,” Steve mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

She looked him up and down, wrinkling her nose as she adjusted the purse resting on her shoulder. “Go take a shower and check on your brother. He's in his room. Gary left some cash on the kitchen table so you boys can order a pizza for dinner. We should be back around midnight.”

Steve nodded curtly and turned to head up the stairs, but paused, looking back over his shoulder when she called to him again. 

“Oh, and Steven?”

He managed to hold in his sigh, but only just. 

“Yes, mother?”

“Don’t indulge him too much about that fantasy game, whatever it’s called. He’ll never live up to his potential with his head stuck in the clouds like that.”

No problem there. 

Steve had no interest in Dustin’s Dungeons and Dorks game anyway.

Again, he simply nodded, and this time watched her leave, waiting until the front door closed behind her before taking the steps up to his room. 

As much as he loathed babysitting, it was infinitely better than being dragged along as a show and tell object, like he’d been in the past. A pretty trophy to prove that divorce or not, she was still the perfect mother. Look, I raised the co-captain of the swim team! The captain of the basketball team! He’s sure to get into an elite university one day, just you wait and see!

And sure, it was a lot, but she just wanted what was best for him, right? Even if it was a little… suffocating at times.

But, in the end Steve hadn’t done that—had he? Nope! Here he was, set to graduate high school in just a few short weeks, and had gotten exactly zero acceptance letters.

A “gap year”, they called it. He was taking a gap year to discover himself, to travel. That was the lie his mom and Gary would tell their friends when asked which Ivy League school their eldest son would be attending in the fall.

It was kinder than the truth, that his GPA and test scores were no match for the candidates he was up against, no after how hard he’d studied, that he hadn’t caught the eye of even one athletics recruiter. 

He was good, but he wasn’t the best—in anything. 

He couldn’t even attend the local community college with Tommy and Carol to fill his time. The deadline to apply had come and gone, with his mom and step-dad staunchly refusing to let him submit the paperwork. No son of theirs would lower himself to attending the public school equivalent of higher education. 

It left Steve in a rough spot. His chances at getting into what his parents considered a good school wouldn’t be any better in a year's time, and amidst his failure he felt like he’d been written off, his mom and Gary now focusing all their efforts on their youngest son, the one who still had the chance at a proper future.

As much as it pained Steve to admit, he actually liked the kid, loved him even, but he couldn't help feeling a little jealous about the fact that Dustin still had time. He had his whole adolescence ahead of him, while Steve felt stuck, and more than a little lost. 

It was the one shred of truth in his mom’s gap year nonsense. Steve did want to discover himself—yearned for it. Eighteen years on this earth and he didn’t have the first clue who he was, or who he wanted to be. He’d been too busy trying to live up to others’ expectations.

Once upstairs Steve showered quickly, threw on a fresh pair of sweatpants and his favorite yellow sweater, and crossed the hall to Dustin’s room. 

“Steve!” The kid’s face lit up the second he came through the door. “Hey, do you remember that campaign I was telling you about?”

Steve raised his head to the ceiling, praying for patience.

Here we fucking go already.

Dustin barreled ahead, undeterred by his lack of response. “You know, the one with the goblins and the Goblin King who comes to this plane and steals children away? Well, technically he only comes when someone wishes for it. So I guess it’s not exactly stealing but that’s part of the trick, right? And–” 

“Yeah, yeah, I vaguely remember that I guess.” Steve finally jumped in waving a hand, knowing if he didn’t Dustin would keep going on-and-on until the polar ice caps melted, and the sea level rose to the point that their house was underwater.

The kid grinned broadly. “I’ve been working hard on it every night this week, and I think it’s finally ready to play! What do you think?!”

“You want—me—to play your nerd game?” 

Dustin’s smile faltered around the edges. “Yeah, I mean, I know it would be better to play with more people, but I thought—”

“You think more players would make this appealing to me somehow?” Steve asked, incredulous. He crossed his arms, only to drop them back down to his sides immediately, shuddering with the realization that he was doing a perfect imitation of his mother.

“But, when I told you about it before you said it was cool!”

Steve sighed. He probably had said that, but in his defense he hadn’t actually been listening. 

Time for a new tactic then. 

“Dustin, you know how our parents feel about this stuff.”

“Why do you always take their side?!” The younger boy shouted.

“I-I don’t!” Steve sputtered. “They just want what’s best for you, and–”

Dustin scoffed. “That’s bullshit!”

“Buddy, come on–”

“No! You just want them to ruin my life like they did yours!"

Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever seen red so fast. He balled his hands into fists, fuming, and turned to leave without another word.

“Wait! I didn’t mean it!” Dustin called after him. “I’m sorry, Steve. Don’t go, stay and play with me… please?”

“I wish your stupid game was real. I wish the goblins would come and take you away!” Steve hissed through gritted teeth before slamming the door behind him. 

Was it childish? Yes. But at least in his effort to have the last word, he’d gotten the creatures’ name right. 

He was pretty sure.

Steve ran down the stairs, stomping his feet on every step along the way in another juvenile display of anger that he hoped Dustin could hear. 

Itching for something—anything to distract himself from the words Dustin had thrown in his face, he slid some shoes on and took the trash out to the curb for morning pick up, the rain having slowed while he was in the shower. It did nothing to slow the spiraling of his thoughts.

Was his life really ruined? 

Had he made a mistake in following his mother’s direction?

Or was it his own fault for not working harder, not being good enough? 

Was it too late to try for something different?

Steve puttered around the kitchen for a while, killing a little more time before finally calling to order their pizza, and when he felt like he’d cooled down enough to not throttle his kid brother, went back upstairs to check on him. 

“Alright, the pizza should be here in thirty, and If you want, I guess we can play until—” Steve began as he opened the bedroom door, but cut himself off mid-sentence, realizing that Dustin wasn’t sitting where he’d left him. 

“Dustin?” He called out, stepping further into the room. The kid had to be in there somewhere.

A thump over by the bed caught his attention, and Steve turned to see a sizable lump wriggling under the comforter. “Gotcha, you little shit.” He whispered, tiptoeing over as quietly as possible before flinging the covers off to reveal… nothing.

How had the shrimp pulled off that trick?

Steve scrambled around to the other side of the bed, convinced he’d find the boy crouched beside it on the floor, or even hiding under it, but he was nowhere to be found. 

“Okay,” Steve chuckled nervously. The hair on the back of his neck was standing at attention, and his upper lip was starting to sweat. “I give up, you can come out now!”

A sudden and heart-stoppingly loud crack of thunder made him jump, startled, and a flash of lightning seconds later, followed by the room falling into darkness around him as the power went out, was enough to make his breath catch in his throat.

“Shit.” 

Steve ran over to the light switch on the wall, flicking it up and down to no avail. His pulse thrummed loudly in his ears, panic threatening to overtake him, but not quite loud enough to drown out the distant sound of giggles somewhere in the shadows. 

“This isn’t funny, Dustin!” He shouted in the vague direction of the sound.

A muffled bang, and a crash on the opposite side of the room had him swinging his head around again. How was the kid making it sound like he was everywhere, and also nowhere at once?!

“Aren’t you getting a little old for hide and seek?!” 

Steve lunged for the old bay window that took up almost the entirety of one wall of Dustin’s room, intent on throwing the drapes open to let in some moonlight, but before he could reach it the window burst open, letting in a rush of cool wind, sending the curtains billowing and the shadows dancing around him. 

From one moment to the next Steve blinked, and where before there was nothing but the damp window ledge, now stood a boy the likes of which he’d never seen before. 

A riot of dark, unruly curls fell around a pale, pretty face. His deep brown eyes were lined in charcoal, with a silver shimmer painted artfully above, accentuating their already otherworldly beauty. He wore a top of leather armor, like something straight out of medieval times, or one of Dustin’s fantasy novels, and skin tight pants that looked buttery soft, hugging the contours of his hips, calves, and thighs, as if they were painted on, drawing special attention to a certain rather prominent attribute that had Steve looking quickly away, his cheeks positively flaming. Slung over it all was a long cloak that glittered in the dim light. The color so dark blue that it was almost black, with a high fluted collar.

Steve swallowed hard, feeling suddenly lightheaded, like he was about to pass out.

“W-who are you?” He asked.

“You know who I am.” A deep, husky voice emanated from the stunning figure’s throat. “After all, you are the one who called for me.” 

“The Goblin King?” Steve's mouth fell open, his own voice full of doubt and disbelief.

Not only for the fact that none of it was supposed to be real. It was just a stupid game, wasn’t it? But shocked too because goblins were meant to be small, grotesque, monstrous creatures, as far as he knew, and none of those were words he’d use to describe the walking wet dream who’d just broken in through his little brother’s window. 

The Goblin King’s plush lips spread into a wide grin. 

“Not what you were expecting?”

Steve mentally shook himself. He had to focus, Dustin was missing for fuck’s sake. “What did you do to my little brother?”

“Exactly what you asked me to do. I took him away.”

“B-but I didn't mean it!”

The boy gave a gallic shrug. “What’s said is said, sweetheart.”

Though he knew it was only meant to be condescending, a thrill ran up Steve’s spine involuntarily at the pet name. He pushed the feeling aside, shouting, “Bring him back!”

The Goblin King pursed his lips, unimpressed.

Steve cleared his throat. “Um, please?”

“Go back to your life, Steve. Hang out with your friends, play the good son again. Forget about your brother.”

“I can’t!”

“Sure you can! Look, I’ve even brought you a parting gift.” The Goblin King raised his hand, which Steve was sure had been empty before, and held up with the tips of his fingers a perfectly clear flawless sphere, a little larger than a billiard ball.

“What is it?”

“A crystal.” As The Goblin King spoke he began to weave the ball through his fingers, rolling it back and forth along the surface of his hand in a way that appeared to defy gravity, and Steve fought hard not to be mesmerized by the display. 

“If you look into it just right, it’ll show you whatever you want, your wildest dreams even. But something like this?” The man paused, raising an eyebrow as he stilled the crystal and held it out like an offering. “I wouldn't give this to just anyone—say, a pathetic boy who happily spends his nights with his whiny little brother. Give him up, and you can have it.”

“No,” Steve ground out, well aware that he was being baited. And he refused to fall for it. 

“You don’t want to do this, trust me.” The King shook his head. “You’re no match for me and my goblins.” 

“He’s my brother, I have to get him back!”

“Very well.” The Goblin King tossed the crystal skyward where it vanished into thin air, and jumped down from his perch on the window sill, tilting his head as he studied Steve's face. 

Steve held himself carefully still, caught between wanting to shrink away from the other boy, and a strange desire to lean in close to him. 

“You want your brother back?” The Goblin King began, turning to point out the still open window behind him and the view beyond—no longer the night sky and the backyard Steve had known for most of his life, but something entirely different, a stretch of valley, mostly dead and barren, and just beyond that…

“He’s there. At the center of the Labyrinth, in my castle beyond the Goblin City.”

Steve blinked rapidly, taking a few steps closer to the window. He’d never seen anything like the intricate maze before. It was massive, made up of various levels of high walls, and hedges, and who knew what else. And set right in the center of it all was a tall stone castle. 

“Still want to look for him?” The King asked.

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. “It doesn’t look that hard.” 

The enchanting boy began to pace a slow circle around him, and when Steve turned his head to follow the movement, he realized with a start that they were no longer standing in Dustin’s bedroom. The window was gone—the house was gone. He was in that place, standing on the dry dusty grounds that surrounded the Labyrinth, about half a mile from its perimeter. 

“Harder than you think.” The Goblin King gestured down at Steve’s wrist, pointing at the watch he wore there. The hands on it spun wildly as he watched, then all at once came to rest at the top, where an extra hour had appeared on its face. “And time is short. You have 13 hours, one for every year of your little brother’s life, to solve the Labyrinth before he becomes one of us, stuck in the goblin city forever.”

“Forever?!” Steve gasped, raising his eyes to find only empty air. 

The Goblin King had vanished without a trace, and Steve had no choice but to start walking, the sound of his watch ticking its countdown making each step feel more urgent than the last.

As he had done so many times before, Eddie sat back on his throne, legs draped across the arm of it, sulking over the monotonous reality of his existence. 

The Goblin King.

It should have been a dream gig. 

There were parts he found enjoyable, of course, but all-in-all it was lonelier and far more boring than he could have ever imagined. He quickly grew tired of what little entertainment was provided by the plethora of creatures he was now responsible for ruling, and it didn’t take long before he’d explored every nook and cranny of the Labyrinth—his Labyrinth now—to the point where he knew it backwards and forwards, and could find his way to any place within its walls with his eyes closed, with or without magic.

Chrissy’s appearance had been a welcome surprise. Another stolen child left to rot in the Goblin City—one more in a long list of things his predecessor had neglected to mention before he fucked off to god knows where—she had been living among the citizens as one of them for years, unbeknownst to Eddie. Until the day she’d shown up on the castle steps asking to speak with The King about some neighborly grievance or another. He no longer recalled the reason for her outrage but he did remember being impressed by her.

They became fast friends, the only two humans living amongst the wild creatures of the realm. Well, former humans was probably a more accurate descriptor. Surely Eddie was something else now, considering he hadn’t been able to do magic before he became whatever he currently was, and neither he nor Chrissy seemed to be aging at a normal rate. His humanity, or lack thereof, wasn’t something he usually liked to think about too much.

It was wonderful for a while, finally having a real friend by his side, someone he could be himself with, not feeling the need to put on the act of King with her like he did with the goblins or the rest of his subjects, but eventually even Chrissy’s companionship wasn’t enough to fill the gaping void in his chest.

So here he was, sprawled on his throne, swirling a few of his crystal balls around in his hand as he stared into them, looking for something he couldn’t put words to, while watching the other world go by, when something caught his eye—a pretty face with a body and voice to match. He was playing basketball, of all things, and Eddie had never understood the draw of sports before, but he could certainly see the appeal of this particular boy in those sinfully tight little shorts. 

It became a habit after a while, to look in on him every now and then… for research purposes.  

Steve, the name Eddie came to know the other boy by through listening in, was a baffling specimen. As nice as he was to look at—and he was very, very, nice to look at indeed—he was also a bit of an entitled asshole, at his worst around his friends and in school, through classes and sports alike. He became a slightly different version of that guy at home when faced with his parents, and yet another when he spent time with his little brother, who he seemed to hate one minute and love the next as though he couldn't decide one way or the other. 

Then there was the Steve he was when he was by himself. 

Alone in his room with no one around to observe—that he knew of, anyway—Steve was quiet, contemplative. At times Eddie thought he might even be lonely? Which just seemed like a wild concept considering the boy was, more often than not, surrounded by friends and family. 

It pissed Eddie off a little, to be honest.

Here Steve was with the world laid out at his feet. A nice house, a brother who looked up to him, parents who were there, maybe bordering on overbearing sometimes but was that really such a bad thing? Born with a silver fucking spoon in his mouth, and he still wasn’t happy. He didn’t seem to appreciate any of it.

But no matter how much the other boy annoyed him, Eddie couldn’t seem to stop watching, wanting to know more—see more—look his fill, and unravel the puzzle that was Steve Harrington.

Then one day, it happened.

The thing Eddie had been equal parts looking forward to—if only to break up the tedium and escape his own realm for a while—and dreading since the beginning of his tenure as the Goblin King. 

Someone made a wish.

And he was duty bound to see the deal through. He was pretty sure he had wiggle room, but the basics were clear: steal the child, explain the terms, and if the guardian chose to play the game and fight for their child’s return, then play the game he must.

Eddie stood in the middle of his closet, discarded clothes thrown haphazardly around him, and knew he was running out of time. The goblins were anxious to get to work and do their part.

“What are you even doing in there?” Chrissy shouted from the other room. 

She’d been out there waiting for him, judging him, while he swiped on a bit of eye makeup, teasing his hair a bit for good measure, and changed his outfit at least three times, looking for just the right ensemble to help him pull this off. He sighed, looking down at himself—leggings and leathers, It would have to do. 

Eddie poked his head out into the bedchamber. “Uh, getting dressed? What does it look like!” 

Chrissy was lounging on top of his bed, her head propped up while she read over a small stack of scrolls. There were hundreds of them lying around the castle, tucked into desk drawers, shoved in corners, collecting dust on bookshelves, and Chrissy had taken it upon herself to read as many of them as she could to figure out how things worked around here so they could make the most of it. It was slow going, admittedly, Goblin being her second language and all, but she was getting there, and had already uncovered many tricks that were about to seriously come in handy. 

She shot him a sharp look, eyebrows raised.

He grumbled wordlessly, quickly ducking back into the closet to lace up his boots and throw his favorite cloak on for good measure, before finally stepping out.

“Took you long enough,” she said, throwing the roll of parchment she was reading aside. 

“Can’t rush perfection, darling. I have to make sure it all sends the right message.”

“Why, because it’s your first time going back?”

“That, yes. But also—” Eddie looked down, nervously tying, and untying, and retying the fasteners at his neck until his cloak hung just so. “I can’t believe it, but It’s him, Chris.”

“Who?”

“Steve.”

“Oh,” she squeaked in surprise. “The guy you’re always creeping on while you fondle your balls, or whatever?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I am not creeping, I am observing. How else am I supposed to keep up with the times when I'm stuck here?”

“Sure, Jan.”

“I’m going to assume that’s one of those references I don't understand because I've been here since the dawn of time.”

“The eighties were hardly the dawn of time, Eddie.”

“Some days it feels like it,” he groaned, flopping himself down on the pillowy-soft mattress next to her. “How do you know so much about pop culture anyway?”

It was a genuine question, one he'd asked many times before with no luck. She’d been in the Labyrinth much longer than he had, and yet somehow still had a better grasp of the modern outside world. 

“You have your ways of keeping up with the times, and I have mine.” She gave his shoulder a hard shove. “Now, get up and get a move on. You have a job to do, Your Majesty.”

“You don’t have to patronize me,” he huffed.

“And you don’t have to wear those ridiculous collars, but here we are.”

Eddie jumped back up to his feet, slapping a hand to his chest in mock horror. “You wound me! The clothes are the best thing about this job! They’re cool!”

“Yeah,” she snorted. “To nerds.” 

“You’re just jealous.”

“Of what? Your extensive collection of feather boas?”

She was stalling. 

They both were.

Eddie snapped his mouth shut abruptly without another retort, swallowing hard as he backed his way to the door, wishing he could take her with him for moral support.

But Chrissy was right. He had to go, and he had to go now before he lost his nerve. 

“I-I guess this is it. I’ll be back soon with the child,” he said quietly.

She nodded, offering him an encouraging smile as he slipped out. “And I’ll be right here to make sure no one scares him too badly.”

Chapter 2: Into the Labyrinth

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[sheeple]

Miracles don't exist | 37: Heartbroken and vengeful

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): Nothing really [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

You crawl on your hands and feet out of the lake, spluttering and coughing up some of the nasty lake water. You wipe your face in an effort to get rid of the lake bits while you find your footing. 

You cast a drying spell on your clothes as the Golden Trio pulls clean clothes out of Hermione's beaded handbag and discuss the visions Harry saw and what their next step is. 

Suddenly, the trio turns to you and you halt like a deer caught in headlights. Your eyes flicker from Harry to Hermione to Ron and back. "Sorry?"

"The next Horcrux is in Hogwarts."

You shake your head. "Snape's headmaster now. There is no way you can just waltz right in. And my cover is blown so I'm not much help either with sneaking you in."

Harry turns to Ron as he tugs down his shirt. "Uhm... well, we'll go to Hogsmeade, to Honeydukes. Take the secret passage in the cellar."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? The Dark Lord knows you're destroying Horcruxes. He knows which ones you've already managed to get rid of. Don't you think he has sent a horde of Death Eaters to police the streets?"

A chill runs down your spine as your head twitches to the side. Pain flashes through your neck and you bite down a groan, your hand shoots up to massage the sore spot. Hermione frowns as she watches you intently but chooses to stay silent.

By the looks of it, the trio has decided to go to Hogsmeade. You sigh. "I'll... I'll go to Sirius, alert the Order that you're on your way to Hogwarts."

Hermione jumps forward and engulfs you in a hug. You give her a small smile as you don't know if they survive this. With one last nod to the boys, you turn around and disapparate. 

You stumble into the foyer of Grimmault Place, finding your footing as you catch yourself against the stair railing.

"Sirius?", you call out, pocketing your wand.

There's some noise coming from upstairs and when you look up, you see Sirius hanging over the railing. Once he recognises that it is you, he races down the stairs and halts just before you. His eyes rake over your face with a sorrowful look. He lays a hand on your cheek before engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug.

"Never EVER let me think you've died! You gave all of us quite the scare." He cups your face with tears in his eyes.

You sniff with a watery smile on your face. "Sorry, I'll try not to be dragged down the Malfoy cellar the next time." 

The long-haired man before you gives you a look as he drags you into the kitchen. "First of all, you need a good meal. You look as thin as a sheet. Secondly, you gave me quite the scare young lady when Theodore ended up on my doorstep. Alone."

Casting your eyes down guiltily, you tug at the hem of one of your sleeves. "I've... I've heard he's out on a mission for the Order. In Europe."

Sirius' face softens. He takes your hands in his, making you look at him. "What you did was brave. I know how my cousin is and I wouldn't put it past her to murder him if he were there. To hurt you."

You do your best not to cry. You've cried way too much lately and you want to save your tears for when you really need it. 

"How's Teddy?" Your voice sounds small.

"He... he believed You-Know-Who killed you. Begged Shacklebolt for a mission. To keep his mind busy, he said. But everybody knew he was heartbroken and vengeful."

Chewing slowly on your bottom lip, your eyes downcast. Does Teddy really think you are dead? The thought makes you sad. And sick. You lick your lips and take a step away from Sirius. "I need him to know I'm alive."

But Sirius shakes his head. "Shaklebolt has given us a strict no-contact order with Theodore. The Order is crumbling down anyways."

"So Shacklebolt sent Teddy on a suicide mission? You mean to tell me that my husband is out there somewhere and we can't contact him? Fuck that! Harry, Hermione, and Ron are on their way towards Hogwarts and they need every help they can get!"

You grab your wand and conjure your Patronus. "Find Teddy and tell him I'm safe and to come home", you say to the Hippogriff. The slivery creature bows its head before spreading its wings and flying away.

Sirius looks at you with his mouth agape. You raise your brows at him, a silent dare for him to question your actions. 

"We have to collect what is left of the Order and send them to Hogwarts", you pocket your wand and run a hand over your hair, "The war ends today."

You stand next to Sirius as the Order makes its dramatic entrance into the Great Hall. Snape brandishes his wand but the students all dive away once McGonagall stands in front of Harry. She is the first to attack.

But the weird thing... Snape doesn't attack. He only casts defensive spells and lets the spells bounce off to the two Death Eaters behind him, rendering them unconscious. 

A cheer echos through the Great Hall as Snape flees out of a window. But the cheerful mood is soon dampened by screams from every corner of the Great Hall.

"I know that many of you will want to fight", comes the whispering voice of the Dark Lord, and your head twitches involuntarily. "Some of you may even think that to fight is wise. But this is folly."

You make eye contact with Sirius to make sure you're not the only one who's hearing this.

"Give me Harry Potter. Do this and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have one hour."

A student from Slytherin steps forward and points at Harry. Of course, it's Pansy. "What are you waiting for? Someone grab him!"

You pull your wand out of your coat and point it at the girl. "Shut your bitch ass mouth, Parkinson."

Professor McGonagall looks quite shocked at your foul mouth, and so does Pansy. Gaping like a fish on dry land. 

With a deep huff, you march toward the professor. "If I may, Professor. A fight is coming and I don't think it's fair to have to fight one's parents. And it's not safe for the younger ones. Wouldn't it be wise to let the Slytherins and junior years take shelter in the dungeons?"

Professor McGonagall's eyes travel over the student body and she nods. "You are right, Miss...", she trails off, unsure what to call you.

"Nott."

"Right. Mrs Nott is right. Mr Filch, if you would, I would like you to escort the Slytherin's and junior years to the Slytherin common room."

Mr Flitch reluctantly agrees and leads the students towards the dungeons. 

You quickly grab Blaise's sleeve and stop him and Lorenzo. "Please stay stationed at the door. Keep the kids safe." Both boys nod and Blaise gives your shoulder a squeeze. Good luck it says silently.

"I presume you have a reason for returning, Potter", says McGonagall when Harry approaches the two of you. "What is it that you need?"

"Time, Professor. As much as you can get me."

The professor nods. "Do what you have to do. I'll secure the castle."

Harry gives you a look and you follow after him. 

"Potter", McGonagall's words stop the two of you, "It's good to see you."

"Good to see you too, Professor. Hold the fort, Neville." And with that, he's off. 

You pass by Sirius. "I'm going to help Harry. Promise me to keep yourself safe. Please keep an eye out for Teddy."

Sirius nods and gives you a tight hug. "Of course."

The castle is in chaos as students run from here to there. It's mostly last years helping the youngest children find their way to the dungeons and others readying for battle.

"Harry. Hermione and I have been thinking. It doesn't matter if we find a Horcrux."

"What do you mean?", asks Harry confused.

Hermione glances at you. "Unless we can destroy it."

"So, we were thinking..."

"Ron was thinking. It was Ron's idea. It's brilliant."

Oh, dear Salazar... you don't have time for this lovey-dovey stuff. And by the looks of it, neither does Harry.

"You destroyed Tom Riddle's diary with a basilisk fang, right? Me and Hermione know where we might find one."

An imaginary light bulb goes off above Harry. "Okay. Okay, but take this. That way you can find us when you get back." Harry presses some parchment in their hands before giving your arm a slight nudge, motioning you to hurry up the stairs after him.

"Where are you going?", you ask, rushing after him.

"Ravenclaw common room. We have to start somewhere! For the search for the diadem"

"So, the lost diadem of Ravenclaw is the next Horcrux? If I were the Dark Lord I would hide it somewhere in the castle where lost things are. You know, the lost diadem, it's in the name." You raise one eyebrow as you also wave a hand around, stating the obvious.

Harry gives you a surprised look. You cock your head to the side. Hasn't he really not thought about it?

"Okay. So... The Room of Requirement it is."

While climbing to the seventh floor, a sharp pain shoots through your head and you brace yourself against a wall. "They've done it", you whisper, looking at Harry. Harry shares the same look. He felt it too. "We have to hurry."

A loud explosion is heard in the distance before Death Eaters start flying around. You dodge a spell before sending it on to a passing-by smoke cloud. It hits Bullseye and the Death Eater lays petrified on the ground.

Finally, you and Harry reach the empty wall that houses the Room of Requirement. It's early quiet inside. Even the broken record has stopped playing.

"You take left, I take right. When we find something, we call out."

Harry nods in agreement and splits up from you. Your eyes scan frantically around. Between the stacks of old furniture and useless nicknacks, there is no sign of the diadem. But there is a faint high-pitched ringing. Somewhere in the distance. 

You follow after the sound and when whispers prickle the back of your neck, you know you're close. Harry also seemed to pick up the ringing, as both of you end up at the same table.

Harry removes some ropes from the top of a wooden box. You chew on the inside of your cheek as he reaches out and slowly flips open the lid.

"Merlin's saggy balls, we found it", you whisper in amazement.

The blue jewel in the middle shines brightly. Almost too brightly for how dim the room is. Harry touches it, admiringly.

"Well, well. What brings you here, Potter?"

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[the-fiction-witch]

Mr Crown P2

Media - Morbius Character - Lucien Crown Couple - Lucien Milo X OC Reader - (OC) Anastasia Morton (Assistant) Rating - Sexy Af Word Count - 2106

The day passed slowly for Lucien, waking up and having his medication doing a few small tasks here and there, his excitement for the gala building gradually as the hours ticked by. He spent the afternoon in a flurry of prep for the event, his mind occasionally wandering to thoughts of Anastasia and wondering what she would look like all dolled up for the event.

He made sure to freshen up and dress in his most expensive black suit and red silk shirt, eagerly awaiting her arrival at seven.

As he had his second to last medicine for the evening, he tried a few times to get his tie right but it just wouldn't work, in the end, his butler did it even if he didn't do it quite right either, 

Lucien looked in the mirror, assessing his appearance. The suit hung off his now slender frame, emphasizing his weakened state. He took a deep breath, feeling a pang of frustration at having to rely on a cane, but he knew he had no other choice. He turned to the butler standing behind him, a hint of irritation in his voice. "Is this the best you can do with my tie?"

"My apologies Mr Crown," The man nodded, 

He let out a heavy sigh. "No matter. It'll have to suffice for now. Where is she anyway? She should have arrived by now."

"In the garage waiting, sir."

Lucien raised an eyebrow. His curiosity piqued, and he gave one last glance at himself in the mirror before making his way to the garage and towards where Anastasia was waiting. He hobbled down using his cane to make his way down to the garage filled with his many luxury cars, and he stopped short at the sight, the black Bentley sat freshly cleaned and polished practically sparkling, and in front of it stood Anastasia,

She wore strap red designer heels, her hair up Glamour's curls, her make-up impeccable, silver necklace of roses around her neck with a matching bracelet, a silver and rose handbag over her shoulder and her dress… Her gown was a floor length off shoulder silk dress with a high slit that looked as if it had been made to measure to accentuate every single Inch of her a matching red to his own shirt,

"I am acceptable Mr crown?"

Lucien's mouth went dry as he laid eyes on her. The sight of her in the stunning red dress, coupled with her flawless makeup and hair, left him speechless. He stood there for a moment, taking in her appearance, his gaze roaming over her curves and the way the dress seemed to hug her body in all the right places. "Acceptable? No, no, my dear." He paused, his voice slightly hoarse, his eyes unable to look away from her. "You are downright sensational." He took a few steps closer, his cane clicking against the floor, his eyes drinking in her figure. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to run his hands over the silky fabric, to feel her body beneath it. But restraint won out, and instead, he stopped just a few feet away from her, his gaze locked on her face and then roaming down until he was shamelessly admiring her body. His tone held a hint of approval and desire as he spoke again. "You look like a dream, Anastasia."

"Thank you," she smiled, "As strong as always but extra handsome today," she complimented him, "Come here" She immediately took his tie off and fixed it herself,

Lucien chuckled softly as she fixed his tie, Her proximity to him brought her scent to his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of her rose perfume and the closeness of her body. As she adjusted his tie, he couldn't help but appreciate her attentiveness. "Always making me presentable, are you? I'd be lost without you to fix my tie."

"I think without me, you'd have invested far more in clip ones," she chuckled, 

He chuckled in response, knowing damn well her words were true. He knew he was hopeless with ties. "You're probably right. I'd be spending a fortune on clip ones."

"Shall we?" She asked glancing at the Bentley's back door,

"Of course. Lead the way, my dear."

She opened the back door and helped him inside before climbing in herself and shutting the door behind them, she nodded to the driver who started the Bentley and began to drive as soon as they were outside Lucien’s garages the driver rolled up the partition, 

Lucien settled into the back seat, as the partition went up, shutting them off from the driver, a strange sense of intimacy enveloped them in the back seat. The world outside was forgotten as they were alone together in the luxury of the Bentley, the hum of the engine surrounding them. He glanced over at her, taking in her beauty once again. He couldn't help but feel a pang of insecurity in comparison to her elegance. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, a sigh escaping his lips.

she noticed his hand and gave his hair a slight adjustment making his thinning from his sickness less noticeable, 

Lucien's breath caught in his throat as she adjusted his hair, a flutter of vulnerability running through him as she touched him so gently. It served as a stark reminder of his illness, the reason for his weakened state. He looked into her eyes, his expression carrying a mixture of gratitude and insecurity. He was grateful for her presence, her support, but at the same time, he felt ashamed of his weakness and how she must see him, he didn’t want her to see him like that, like this.

She coughed breaking the silence moving from his eyes, "so, which side did you want me on?"

Lucien blinked, snapping out of his thoughts at her question. He considered it for a moment, his gaze roaming over her figure, his mind warring with itself. A part of him wanted to have her seated next to him so he could be closer to her, feel her warmth beside him. But at the same time, he was hesitant, thinking of how it would look, him with a stunning young woman on his arm while he looked weak and ill. After a moment, he let out a soft sigh. "Next to me."

She rolled her eyes a little playfully "Yes Lucien, however it's not a very good look for press or fellow business people to see us climb out the car a debate what arm I need to hold. I don't want to cause you any more trouble," she said glancing to his cane, "So whatever makes it easier,"

Lucien chuckled softly at her playful eye roll. She had a point. He didn't want to seem even weaker than he already appeared. He sighed, his hand involuntarily gripping the cane tighter. "You're right, as always. It would look quite strange to see us debating over what arm you should hold." He grumbled slightly, a hint of irritation in his voice at the idea of his illness being on display. But then he looked at her, her beauty offering some consolation. “My right, hand without my cane.” 

“Perfect,” she agreed,

"You’ll sit next to me?"

"My seat is next to yours at the gala I'll be next to you."

Lucien nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. It was a suitable compromise he supposed. The thought of having her by his side the whole evening offered him some comfort. "Good. I want you nearby. I'm certain you'll be the most gorgeous one there, anyway… Thank you, for coming with me."

"not a problem, a gala is a gala, a business can be done anytime, the most important thing is looking after you," she smiled briefly resting her hand on his,

A soft, almost imperceptible shiver ran through Lucien's body as she rested her hand on his. It was such a gentle, yet powerful gesture. He appreciated her concern for him, and her desire to take care of him. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice slightly hoarse, his hand subconsciously turning to intertwine his fingers with hers. "But you also mustn't neglect your well-being. I want you to enjoy yourself tonight as well."

"I'll do my best, try not to be so... Business."

Lucien chuckled at her comment, amused at her suggestion. "Me? Not be so business? That's a rather tall order, my dear." He gave her hand a slight squeeze, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "But I'll try to remember how to socialize without discussing stocks and investment portfolios. You have my word." He chuckled again, the sound weak but genuine.

She chuckled as she glanced out the blacked-out windows seeing they were almost there lining up for the drop off as all galas are, about ten minutes before they'd be greeted by guests and press so it was final checks,

Lucien fussed over his appearance, ensuring his tie was straight and his hair was presentable. He adjusted his suit, trying to hide his weakness, the way his once muscular frame had diminished. 

Anastasia noticed his fussing as she always did, she did feel a bit of pity knowing how much he hated how his illness made him appear to people, she wanted to cheer him up, and help him go to this gala feeling confident and happy. And she had a wicked little idea. 

He turned to her, but then his gaze caught hers as she smiled at him in a rather wicked way. He raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "And what might you be smiling at so mischievously, Miss Morton?"

She softly took his hand again, leaning a little closer to him.

Lucien looked down at her hand wrapping around his, her touch gentle. He felt a mixture of comfort and vulnerability at the intimate contact. He laced his fingers with hers, his grip slightly weak but firm nonetheless. He looked into her eyes, a soft, vulnerable expression on his face. "You have a devilish glint in your gaze, my dear. I feel like you're up to no good."

She didn't answer she just shrugged and simply closed the gap and let her lips meet his, 

Lucien's breath hitched as she closed the gap between them and their lips met. The moment her lips touched his, a surge of desire and need coursed through him. He responded to the kiss immediately, his hand on hers trembling slightly as he leaned into the kiss, deepening it. 

She kissed back resting her hand on his jaw and bringing him closer as the kiss became heavier,

He broke the kiss momentarily, his breathing ragged and heavy, his forehead resting against hers. "Anastasia..." he murmured her name, his voice thick with need. But he quickly returned to her lips letting his tongue slip into her mouth which she happily encouraged, 

She moved his hand intertwined with hers and let him touch her silk dress running up her waist and pressing his hand onto the top of her dress his hand cupping her breast through the silk, 

Lucien's breath caught in his throat as she guided his hand, He pressed his hand against the silk, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin beneath, the contrast between the smoothness of the material and the contour of her body fueling his desire further. "Anastasia..." he murmured her name, his voice a little rougher than before, He let out a soft moan, his hand on her dress shifting slightly, pulling her closer to him. The world outside faded away, and all that mattered was the taste of her lips on his, the feel of her body against him, and the fire that burned deep within his core.

Lucien was lost in the kiss, his mind and body consumed by her. He had to fight back the primal urge to pull her onto his lap and have her right then and there. Instead, he let his hands explore her body, keeping the one she guided on her breast fondling and squeezing her as they kissed, the other running up her through the slit in her dress slipping under the dress to touch the warm skin of her thighs.

They kissed rather heavily in the back seat for what felt like hours, touching each other through their clothes and moaning against each other’s lips, 

Finally she pulled away and gave his forehead a kiss, "Have fun tonight Lucien. And if you need my help, you ask for it." she reminds him just as the door opened and she climbed out into the galas red carpet,

He took a moment to regain his mind before he shook himself straight grabbing his cane and climbing out too, 

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Rule 2: Everything purely is transactional.

Summary: There were five rules to being a sugar baby—or so you’d heard.

If an opportunity falls into your lap, you take it.

Everything is purely transactional.

Don’t let the lines blur between your sugar daddy and your personal or professional life.

Never meet anyone in his inner circle—no close friends, no family.

Unless it’s in writing, underlined, signed by two lawyers, and you get a new Hermes handbag afterward, don’t fuck your sugar daddy.

So why was it so damn hard to keep these rules in place when it came to your CEO Remy LeBeau?

The week before, your phone had buzzed with a message that seemed to appear out of nowhere, as Remy often did in your life—quick, precise, and always leaving you slightly off-balance.

Get dressed. Someone will be there to pick you up soon.

It was a Saturday morning, and you were not in any state to be getting dressed. The remnants of last night’s tequila shots with Anna still clung to you—a dull headache throbbing in your temples, your mouth dry as sandpaper. You groaned, squinting at the screen, trying to make sense of the text.

Before you could overthink it, there was a second buzz.

Wear something comfortable.

Comfortable? You glanced over at the clock. It wasn’t even noon yet. You hadn’t planned on leaving your bed for at least another few hours. But there was something about the way Remy ordered things so effortlessly. He never asked—he just told you what was going to happen. And somehow, you always found yourself following.

With a heavy sigh, you dragged yourself out of bed and threw on the first clean pair of jeans you could find, along with a loose sweater. You quickly pulled your hair into a messy bun, barely glancing in the mirror before grabbing your sunglasses to shield your still-pounding head from the daylight.

Twenty minutes later, a sleek black car was parked in front of your building. The driver didn’t say a word as you slid into the backseat, and you didn’t ask where you were going. You figured you’d find out soon enough.

The ride was smooth, almost too smooth considering the state of your stomach after last night. You leaned your head against the cool window, watching as the city streets blurred by. Eventually, you realized you were heading toward Fifth Avenue—Manhattan’s most exclusive shopping district.

The car pulled to a stop in front of a boutique that had no name on the door, just an elegant, understated logo etched into frosted glass windows. Before you could even step out, the door was opened for you, and a tall, striking woman with fiery red hair stood waiting on the sidewalk.

“Natasha,” she introduced herself, her voice cool but with a slight smile. She extended a hand, and you took it, feeling slightly disoriented by how quickly this day had taken a turn. “Remy sent me. I’ll be helping you get ready for your trip.”

“Trip?” you echoed, still trying to catch up.

She smiled knowingly, as if she could read the confusion all over your face. “The Caribbean. Remy wants you to be prepared.”

The Caribbean. Right. Remy had mentioned something about a trip over coffee earlier that week, but you hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Now it was all coming together. He hadn’t just invited you—he was taking care of everything. Even this.

Natasha led you inside the boutique, and the interior was nothing like the chaotic department stores you were used to. It was serene, with soft lighting and plush chairs, racks of clothing spaced far apart, each piece looking more exquisite than the last. The kind of place where they didn’t display price tags because if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it.

You stood there, awkwardly shifting your weight, suddenly hyper-aware of your rumpled jeans and the lingering hangover. Natasha, however, moved with purpose and grace, unfazed by your discomfort. She gestured to a dressing area where a collection of clothes had already been laid out—breezy linen dresses, designer swimwear, elegant sandals.

“Remy wants you to have everything you need,” Natasha explained, glancing over the selection. “We’ll start here and make sure you’re set for the entire trip. He’s very particular about details.”

Of course, he was. This was Remy LeBeau we were talking about. He didn’t do anything halfway.

You spent the next two hours trying on outfit after outfit while Natasha gave her approval or called for adjustments. At some point, you stopped feeling self-conscious about the extravagance of it all and started to enjoy it. The clothes were stunning, and the thought of wearing them on a tropical island, with Remy at your side, felt surreal.

By the time you left the boutique, arms full of shopping bags, your hangover was a distant memory. You felt like a different person—someone who belonged in Remy’s world, even if just for a little while.

Now, you were here.

Standing on the tarmac in front of a sleek, private jet, the reality of it all was finally sinking in. The trip was real. The clothes Natasha had selected were real. The fact that you were about to board a jet to the Caribbean with Remy—that was very real.

A nervous excitement bubbled in your chest, and you awkwardly shifted your weight, reaching for your suitcase. But before you could grab the handle, a man in a crisp black suit appeared out of nowhere, lifting it effortlessly and carrying it toward the plane. Everything was handled, every detail covered.

You glanced over at Remy, who was standing a few feet away, watching you with that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It was that look—the one that made you feel like he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying every second of it. He stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back, sending that same shiver down your spine that you still hadn’t gotten used to.

“They’ve got it covered,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, guiding you toward the stairs leading up to the jet.

For a moment, you hesitated, glancing at the jet, then back at him. It wasn’t the extravagance that was daunting—it was the weight of the decision you’d made to be here, to be part of his world.

The moment you’d agreed to his proposition, it felt like the world had shifted beneath your feet. There wasn’t exactly a manual on how to feel about becoming—well, for lack of a better term—Remy LeBeau’s sugar baby. You had tried to avoid thinking of it in those terms, but the truth was, that’s essentially what this was. It wasn’t just about the money or the access to his wealth. It was about the power that came with being close to him, being in his orbit. It was intoxicating, yes, but it also made your stomach churn with uncertainty.

The nights leading up to this trip had been sleepless. You’d run the decision over and over in your mind, wondering if you were making a mistake, if this would change you in ways you weren’t prepared for. But then you thought about the freedom it would give you—freedom from financial worry, freedom to experience things most people could only dream of.

And now, here you were, standing on the edge of that decision, about to step onto a private jet that would take you to a world you had never imagined.

Remy’s hand was still on your back, warm and reassuring. “You ready?” he asked, his voice soft but steady, as if he could sense the turmoil in your mind.

You took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah,” you said, your voice a little shaky but firm enough. “I’m ready.”

He smiled, that slow, easy grin that always seemed to put you at ease, even when you didn’t want it to. “Good,” he said, guiding you up the stairs. “Let’s go, chérie. We’ve got a plane to catch.”

As you ascended the steps, your heart raced in your chest, but it wasn’t entirely from fear. There was an undeniable thrill in this—being part of something bigger, something more. You weren’t sure where this journey would take you, or how it would shape you, but for now, you were willing to find out. The moment you stepped out of the car, the crisp air of the tarmac hit you, but it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver; it was the realization of just how far you’d come from your old life. There, waiting at the base of the private jet’s steps, stood two blonde women, dressed immaculately in tailored uniforms. Their smiles were wide, professional, and welcoming—the kind of practiced politeness that comes from serving the ultra-wealthy. You knew they were stewardesses, though they looked more like models, with their sleek hair pulled back into perfect buns and their makeup flawless, even in the harsh morning light.

As you approached, Remy’s hand remained firmly on the small of your back, a gentle but constant reminder of his presence. You felt his warmth through the thin fabric of your blouse, and though his touch was light, it anchored you in this surreal moment.

“Ladies,” Remy greeted them casually, his voice smooth and confident, as if this was just another day at the office. His eyes moved between the two women, giving them a brief nod before they flicked to you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer. There was an unspoken exchange in his glance, something that made you feel both reassured and slightly on edge, as if he was silently reminding you that you belonged here—at least for now.

The stewardesses returned his nod with polite deference, their eyes flicking to you for just a second, their smiles never faltering. They didn’t seem surprised to see you. No judgment, no curiosity—just professionalism. To them, you were simply another woman at Remy LeBeau’s side. Another woman in his orbit. The thought made your stomach twist uncomfortably, but you forced yourself to smile and move forward, stepping ahead of him as you reached the stairs.

The jet loomed in front of you, sleek and polished, its engines already humming in quiet anticipation. You hesitated for just a moment at the foot of the stairs, a wave of uncertainty hitting you. This wasn’t just a plane—it was a symbol. A symbol of the world you were stepping into, a world where nothing was ordinary, where everything, including you, was carefully curated to fit a certain image.

Remy’s hand pressed slightly against your back, urging you forward. “Go on, chérie,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, just for you. “You’ll get used to it.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced your legs to move, climbing the steps as gracefully as you could manage, knowing that his eyes were on you the entire time. The stewardesses followed behind, their quiet footsteps more like whispers on the metal stairs.

When you stepped inside, the cabin took your breath away. It was more opulent than you could have ever imagined—soft, cream-colored leather seats arranged in elegant clusters, polished wood accents, and ambient lighting that bathed the space in a warm, golden glow. Every inch of the interior screamed luxury, from the plush carpeting beneath your feet to the crystal glassware neatly arranged on the bar at the far end of the cabin.

You’d never been anywhere so lavish, and for a moment, you felt completely out of place. Your fingers brushed the back of one of the seats as you passed, the buttery leather soft beneath your fingertips, grounding you in this strange new reality. You had to remind yourself to breathe, to act as though you belonged here, even if every fiber of your being screamed that you didn’t.

One of the stewardesses gestured politely toward one of the seats, her smile still perfectly in place. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” she said, her voice soft and melodic, as if she’d done this a thousand times before.

You nodded, muttering a quiet “Thank you,” as you slid into the seat. It was even more comfortable than it looked, the kind of seat designed to cradle you in luxury for hours on end. You sank into it, feeling the subtle hum of the jet beneath you, a reminder that you were no longer grounded—not just physically, but in every other sense of the word.

Across from you, Remy settled into his own seat, reclining effortlessly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. One of the stewardesses handed him his laptop, and he accepted it with a brief nod, his attention already shifting back to you. His dark eyes watched you closely, studying the way you were taking it all in, the way your fingers nervously played with the edge of the armrest.

There was a casualness to the way he sat, one leg crossed over the other, but beneath his relaxed demeanor was an unmistakable authority, a quiet, commanding presence that filled the space. He was in control—of the jet, of the people around him, and of you. It was the kind of power that didn’t need to be spoken aloud; it was just there, in the air between you.

“Everything alright?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing. He could see right through your attempt to appear calm, to act as though this was all normal to you.

You swallowed, nodding quickly. “Yeah, just… taking it all in.”

He smirked, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ll get used to it, chérie,” he repeated, his voice smooth and reassuring. “Trust me.”

Trust him. It was a dangerous proposition, but here you were, already in too deep to back out now. You forced yourself to relax, to sink further into the plush seat, trying to match his ease. But it was hard to ignore the way your heart raced, the way your stomach twisted with both excitement and uncertainty.

One of the stewardesses reappeared, sliding a glass of champagne onto the table in front of you. “Would you like anything else, miss?” she asked, her tone polite and deferential.

You glanced at the glass, the delicate bubbles rising to the surface in a slow, mesmerizing dance. You weren’t sure champagne was the best idea, not with the way your nerves were already frayed, but you nodded anyway. “No, this is fine. Thank you.”

She smiled and stepped away, leaving you alone with Remy once more. He hadn’t taken his eyes off you, and the intensity of his gaze was almost too much. It was as if he could see right through you, peeling back every layer of pretense, every doubt, every fear.

You lifted the champagne glass, taking a small sip, the crisp, cool liquid tingling against your tongue. The bubbles fizzed in your throat, but it didn’t do much to calm the churning in your stomach.

Remy leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving yours. “This is just the beginning,” he said, a trace of amusement in his voice. “You’re going to see things you’ve only ever dreamed of, chérie. And when you’re with me, there’s no limit to what you can have.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with promise and implication. You knew that this wasn’t just about the luxurious trips or the expensive clothes. It was about the power that came with being at his side, about stepping into a world where the rules were different—where everything had a price, but nothing was off-limits.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered if you were ready for this. If you could handle the weight of being in his world, of being part of something so much bigger than yourself. But then, as you looked into his eyes, you felt that familiar pull—an intoxicating mix of danger and allure that made it impossible to turn away.

Remy’s smirk deepened as he watched the thoughts flicker across your face. He knew exactly what you were thinking. He always did.

You tried to relax, but your fingers fidgeted in your lap as you stole a glance at the stewardesses preparing for take-off. The plane felt too quiet, and your nerves were starting to get the better of you. Remy’s voice broke the silence, slicing through the hum of the jet engines as they prepared for takeoff. “Nervous flyer?” he asked, his tone light, but his eyes were sharp, as if he could see straight into your thoughts, peeling back the layers of everything you were trying to hide.

You shrugged, doing your best to play it off, though you knew your body language betrayed you. Your hand was gripping the armrest a little too tightly, and your stomach twisted with a mix of anxiety and something else you couldn’t quite name. Part of you wanted to seem calm, to project the confidence you imagined someone in your position should have. But the truth was, you were anything but calm.

“Just a little bit,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended. You turned your gaze out the window, watching the runway stretch endlessly ahead of you. The engines began to hum louder, vibrating through the floor and into your bones. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, heavier with each passing second.

Remy chuckled, a low, knowing sound that made your skin prickle with awareness. “You’ll get used to it,” he said, leaning back into his seat as if he’d done this a thousand times, which, of course, he had. He looked every bit the part of someone who owned the world—or at least had enough money to make it feel that way. “Though I gotta say, it’s kinda cute seein’ you a little rattled.”

You forced a small smile, trying to banish the nerves fluttering in your chest. “I’m sure I’ll be fine once we’re in the air,” you replied, though the words felt hollow. This wasn’t just about flying. This was about everything—the trip, the arrangement, the life you were now stepping into without any clear sense of the way forward.

Remy smirked, as if he could hear the unspoken thoughts rattling around in your head. He reached into the black leather carry-on bag by his side, pulling out his sleek wallet. With a flick of his wrist, he retrieved a card—sleek, black, and impossibly shiny. He slid it across the table toward you, the motion smooth, practiced, casual.

“This is yours now,” he said, his voice gentle, but the weight of his words was anything but.

For a moment, you just stared at the card, your mind trying to catch up with what was happening. It was the black card. The kind you’d only ever heard whispers about—the kind that was more myth than reality to most people. The kind that had no limits. The kind that opened doors to a world most people only glimpsed through the glossy pages of magazines or in movies.

And it had your name on it.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for it, slowly, cautiously, like it might evaporate the moment you touched it. The card felt heavier than you expected when you lifted it into your hand—cool, smooth, and impossibly real. You ran your thumb over the embossed letters of your name, the weight of it settling in both your palm and your mind. This was the moment where everything became real. Not just words, not just agreements whispered over coffee or in the back of a car. This was tangible. This was now.

Remy watched you, his expression calm, amused, but with a glint of something deeper in his eyes. He enjoyed this—watching you process, watching the realization dawn on your face.

“Anything you need,” he said, his voice low, intimate, as if he were sharing a secret meant only for you. “Anything you want. It’s all covered. No limits.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of the card sinking into your hand, into your chest. You could feel the gravity of what it represented. It wasn’t just a piece of plastic—it was a key, a pass, a ticket to a life you’d never imagined. A life most people never even got close to. And now, somehow, you were holding it in your hand.

But it wasn’t just about the money. The money, the luxury, the access—it was all secondary, almost superficial. There was something deeper here, something that made your stomach clench with a mixture of excitement and dread. This card represented a shift, a crossing of some invisible threshold. You weren’t just stepping into a world of wealth—you were stepping into his world. And there were rules in this world. Expectations.

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of what you’d agreed to. You had said yes. You had agreed to this arrangement with Remy, knowing full well what it entailed—or at least, thinking you did. But now, with the card in your hand and the jet engines roaring beneath you, it felt more complicated. More layered. More real.

You glanced up at Remy, who was still watching you with that calm, almost predatory smile, like a lion observing its prey. He knew what this meant to you. He knew how overwhelming it all was, and yet he appeared completely at ease, as if this was just another day for him. And maybe it was.

“What’s the catch?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended, barely audible over the hum of the engines. The question slipped out before you could stop it, but you needed to know. You needed to hear it from him—what exactly you were signing up for, what this exchange really meant.

Remy’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened, becoming more knowing, more dangerous. “No catch, chérie,” he said, his tone easy, like he was explaining something as simple as the weather. “You’re with me now. That’s the deal. You keep me company—on trips, at events. And in return, you get access to all of this.” He gestured around the luxurious cabin of the jet, as if to emphasize just how much was now within your grasp. “All I ask is that you enjoy yourself.”

Enjoy yourself. It sounded so simple, so harmless. But you knew there was more to it than that. Remy wasn’t the kind of man who gave without expecting something in return, even if it wasn’t spelled out in clear terms. There were unspoken rules here, boundaries you weren’t sure you fully understood yet.

You nodded slowly, still holding the card, still trying to wrap your mind around the enormity of what you’d agreed to. This wasn’t just about the trips or the clothes or the money. This was about the relationship you were entering into with Remy. A relationship that wasn’t just professional. It was personal. Intimate. And the weight of that realization settled heavily in your chest.

Remy leaned back in his chair, his smirk still in place as he watched you process it all. “You’ll get used to it,” he repeated, his voice soft but certain.

You wanted to believe him, wanted to convince yourself that this was something you could handle. That you could step into this role and keep your sense of self intact. But as you sat there, the black card heavy in your hand, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this arrangement was more than just an exchange of company for luxury. There was something deeper happening here, something unspoken but understood.

And as the jet began to speed down the runway, lifting into the air, you realized that there was no turning back now. You were in this—for better or worse. You had made your choice.

The plane began to taxi down the runway, and as the engines roared louder, you felt the familiar lurch in your stomach—the kind that always came before takeoff. But this time, it wasn’t just the flight causing the unease. You gripped the black card Remy had given you a little tighter, as if holding onto it could somehow steady you, both physically and mentally. The sleek, cool surface pressed into your palm, a constant reminder of the reality you were stepping into.

Remy leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, his eyes still fixed on you with that ever-present smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He looked like he belonged here, as though the luxury of a private jet was as natural to him as breathing. “You’ll be fine, chérie,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the hum of the engines. There was a calmness to the way he spoke, as if he could sense your inner turmoil but found it almost amusing. “Just relax. You’re in good hands.”

You forced a smile, nodding as the plane lifted off the ground, the soft pressure pushing you back into the plush leather seat. The Caribbean was your destination, but it felt like you were heading toward something much bigger—something unknown. This wasn’t just a vacation. It was the beginning of a new chapter in your life, one you hadn’t fully grasped the magnitude of until now.

As the plane leveled out, the initial rush of takeoff giving way to the smooth hum of cruising altitude, you found yourself growing restless. The quiet luxury of the cabin—the soft leather, the polished wood, the ambient lighting—only made it feel more surreal, like you’d stepped into another world. The kind of world where people like you didn’t belong. Where everything was too perfect, too polished, too… unattainable. And yet, here you were.

The black card in your hand felt like a key to this strange new reality, but it also weighed you down, both literally and figuratively. You had agreed to this arrangement with Remy; you’d said yes to the trips, the events, the money. But now that it was all starting to unfold, the implications were sinking in more heavily than you’d anticipated.

You shifted in your seat, your leg bouncing with nervous energy. Glancing out the window didn’t help—the endless blue sky stretching out in every direction only heightened the sense of isolation, the sense that you were far from the world you once knew. The tension in your chest built with each passing minute, until finally, you couldn’t sit still any longer. You needed space, air—anything to clear your head.

Without thinking, you stood up, your movements abrupt in the quiet, controlled environment of the jet. Remy, who had been typing away on his laptop, immediately looked up, his dark eyes sharp and alert despite the casual way he sat. His fingers paused over the keys, his gaze locking onto you with that familiar intensity.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice smooth but with an undercurrent of concern. He didn’t sound alarmed, but there was a knowing edge to his words, like he could sense exactly what was going through your mind. Like he always could.

You nodded quickly, your hands brushing down the front of your clothes as if smoothing invisible wrinkles. “Yeah,” you replied, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just got to go to the bathroom.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if weighing whether he should press further. But then he nodded once, his attention drifting back to his laptop. “Take your time, chérie,” he said softly, his voice carrying an understanding that made your heart beat a little faster. There was something in the way he said it—something that made you feel seen, but also exposed.

You turned and made your way down the narrow aisle toward the back of the plane, your footsteps too loud in the otherwise silent cabin. The plush carpet beneath your shoes did nothing to muffle the sound of your own thoughts, which seemed to grow louder with each step. Every thud of your heart felt like an echo in the small space, bouncing off the polished wood and leather.

When you finally reached the bathroom, you closed the door behind you and let out a long, shaky breath. The small, mirrored space felt like a sanctuary, a place where you could at least try to collect yourself without Remy’s intense gaze on you. For a moment, you stood there, your back pressed against the door, your eyes closed as you tried to calm the whirlwind of emotions spiraling inside you.

When you opened your eyes, you caught your reflection in the mirror. Your face looked pale, your expression tense, and for a moment, you barely recognized yourself. The person staring back at you wasn’t the same person who had stepped onto this plane. This was someone new—someone caught between two worlds, unsure of where they truly belonged.

What had you gotten yourself into?

The black card Remy had given you was still in your pocket, its edges pressing into your thigh, a cold weight that seemed to anchor you to this new reality. Slowly, you pulled it out, holding it between your fingers and staring down at the sleek, shiny surface. Your name was printed in bold, elegant letters, right below the exclusive logo. Seeing it there, in your hands, made everything feel more real. Too real.

This wasn’t just a casual arrangement. This wasn’t just a business trip. You were stepping into a world where money, power, and influence flowed freely, and you were at the center of it—at Remy’s side. The implications of that were both exhilarating and terrifying.

Could you really do this? Could you navigate this world, play this role, and still hold on to who you were? Or would it change you in ways you couldn’t predict, couldn’t control? The questions looped through your mind, over and over, until you felt dizzy from the weight of them.

And then there was Remy. He’d been nothing but charming, confident, and—surprisingly—understanding. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his offer than he let on. Was this really just about companionship? Or was there something deeper, something unspoken, that he hadn’t revealed yet? The unspoken expectations hung in the air between you, and you knew, eventually, you’d have to confront them.

You leaned against the counter, pressing your palms against the cool marble sink, hoping it would ground you. You stared down at the black card again. This was your life now, at least for as long as you chose it to be. Remy had made it clear that there were no strings attached, no obligations you hadn’t agreed to. But still, there was that nagging feeling in the back of your mind—that voice whispering about the strings you couldn’t see yet.

Taking another deep breath, you put the card back in your pocket, straightened your posture, and looked at yourself in the mirror again. This was happening—whether you were fully ready or not. You had made a choice, and now you had to follow through.

You couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever.

Gathering the last bits of your resolve, you opened the door and stepped back into the cabin. The quiet hum of the engines greeted you, a constant reminder of the distance growing between you and your old life. Remy was still seated at the table, his laptop open in front of him, though now his fingers were resting idly on the keyboard. He looked up when you re-entered, his gaze flickering with something unreadable before he offered you a small, knowing smile. “You sure you’re okay?” Remy asked, his voice gentle but pointed, laced with just enough concern to let you know he wasn’t buying your earlier nonchalance. He wasn’t pushing, but the intensity of his gaze told you he wasn’t blind to the fact that you were feeling overwhelmed. How could you not be?

You hesitated for a beat, meeting his eyes. There was something about the way he looked at you—like he already knew what you were thinking, like he understood more than you’d given him credit for. It made you feel exposed, vulnerable, but also oddly reassured. Remy always seemed a step ahead, like he knew the game before anyone else had even learned the rules.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice a little steadier this time. “Just… a lot to take in.”

He nodded, his gaze softening as he leaned back in his seat, the leather creaking slightly under his weight. His posture was relaxed, but there was an unspoken patience in the way he watched you, like he had all the time in the world for you to figure this out. “I know it’s a lot, chérie,” he said quietly, his Southern drawl wrapping around the words like silk, soothing and warm. “This life—it can be overwhelming. But you’ll get used to it. And if you ever need to slow down… just say the word.”

You gave him a small, appreciative smile, though a part of you wasn’t sure if you entirely believed that. Could you really just slow down once you’d stepped into this world? Once you’d accepted the black card and everything that came with it? It felt like you were on a moving train, and stepping off wasn’t an option anymore.

Remy watched you for a moment longer before his expression shifted back to its usual playful self, the tension in the air dissipating. “Luckily,” he said, his eyes glinting with amusement, “I know just the thing to take your mind off it all.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. “Oh? What’s that?”

He grinned, that trademark mischievous smile that always seemed to carry a hint of danger. “We’re headin’ to the Caribbean, chérie. Three days of sun, sand, and good company. Plus, you’ll be meetin’ some of my associates. And one of their wives. They’re a good crowd—maybe a little too high society for their own good, but they’ll treat you well.”

Your stomach fluttered with nerves at the thought of meeting his associates. High society—his world. You hadn’t even fully wrapped your mind around being on this plane, much less stepping into that social circle. The idea of being scrutinized by people who probably judged others for the cut of their clothes or the pedigree of their last name made your palms sweat. What would they think of you? Would they see you as an outsider, a temporary fixture at Remy’s side?

Remy must have sensed your hesitation because he leaned forward slightly, his expression softening again. “Don’t worry, chérie,” he said, his voice reassuring. “You’ll fit right in. Just be yourself. And if anyone gives you a hard time, well…” His grin widened, a little sharper now. “They’ll have me to deal with.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, though the nerves still fluttered in your chest. Remy had a way of making you feel like you could handle anything, even when you weren’t so sure yourself. There was a confidence in his words, in the way he carried himself, that was infectious. If nothing else, at least you weren’t alone in this. Remy might be many things—powerful, intimidating, larger than life—but he wasn’t leaving you to navigate this world on your own. And somehow, that made it a little easier to breathe.

“So, the Caribbean, huh?” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “I hope you don’t expect me to lounge around in some tiny bikini all day.”

Remy’s smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with that wicked sense of humor you were growing used to. “Well, now that you mention it, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but…”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with an exaggerated sigh. “Of course. I should’ve known. Maybe I’ll surprise you and show up in cargo shorts and a T-shirt. Who knows? Could be a new look.”

Remy chuckled, a low, rich sound that made the tension in your shoulders ease just a little more. “Cargo shorts, huh? Now that’s an image. I’d pay to see that.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Don’t tempt me. I’m not above making you regret this whole situation.”

He shook his head, still smiling as he glanced out the window, the endless blue sky reflected in his eyes. “You know, you keep makin’ me laugh like that, chérie, and I’m gonna have to take you on more trips just for the entertainment.”

You laughed softly, feeling the knot of tension in your chest loosen just a bit more. For the first time since you’d stepped onto the plane, the weight of everything didn’t feel quite so crushing. The banter, the easy back-and-forth—it was a welcome distraction from the enormity of the situation you were in. For a moment, it almost felt normal. Almost.

“Seriously though,” you said after a beat, your tone softening, “what’s the deal with this trip? You mentioned your associates… What am I walking into?”

Remy’s smile faded slightly, though the glint of amusement never fully left his eyes. He leaned back in his chair again, crossing one leg over the other in that relaxed, effortless way he always did. “Nothin’ too complicated. A little business, a little pleasure. You’ll meet some people, make a few connections. It’ll be good for you to get a feel for this world. But you don’t have to worry about impressin’ anyone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because it sounds like I’m about to be thrown into a pool of sharks.”

Remy’s smirk returned, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Maybe. But you’re a lot tougher than you think, chérie. You’ll be just fine.”

You wanted to believe him, but the truth was, you weren’t sure. This wasn’t your world, not yet. But as you looked at him—at the calm confidence he exuded, the way he seemed so sure of everything—you felt a flicker of that same confidence growing inside you. Maybe you could do this. Maybe you could handle whatever came next.

Remy’s gaze softened as he studied you, his expression a mix of amusement and something more intimate. “Besides,” he added, his voice dropping lower, “you’ve got me. And I don’t let anyone mess with what’s mine.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, not because of the possessiveness in them, but because of the way he said it—so casually, so matter-of-fact, like it was a foregone conclusion. Like you were already a part of his world, whether you realized it or not.

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “Right,” you murmured, though your mind was still racing with everything that came with that statement. What exactly did it mean to be ‘his’? Where did the boundaries fall? And how much of yourself were you willing to give to stay in this world, by his side?

But those were questions for another time. For now, you leaned back in your seat, feeling the soft hum of the engines beneath you, the steady rhythm of the flight lulling you into a momentary calm.

The Caribbean awaited. And whatever else came with it, you had no choice but to face it head-on, one step at a time.

And Remy's words echoed in your mind: You’ve got me.

After hours in the air, the sound of the jet engines humming quietly in the background, you finally felt the plane begin its descent. Your stomach fluttered with a mix of anticipation and nerves, the reality of what awaited you starting to sink in. You glanced out the window, catching glimpses of the turquoise water far below, sparkling under the sun. The Caribbean stretched out in every direction, a paradise of endless blue and white sand beaches.

Remy had been engrossed in his laptop most of the flight, occasionally glancing up to check on you, but for the most part, leaving you to your thoughts. Now, as the plane prepared to land, he closed the laptop with a soft *click* and leaned back in his seat, his eyes finding yours.

“You ready, chérie?” he asked, his voice smooth and calm. There was a subtle gleam in his eye, like he knew exactly the effect this place would have on you.

You nodded, though the tension in your chest hadn’t fully eased. “I think so.”

Remy smiled, a slow, knowing grin as he stood up, stretching slightly. “Good. You’re gonna love this.”

The jet touched down smoothly, and before long, you were stepping out onto the tarmac. The sun was brighter than you expected, the heat of it kissing your skin immediately as you descended the steps. There was a light breeze, warm and fragrant with the scent of the ocean and tropical flowers. It felt like stepping into another world—one far removed from the city, from your normal life.

A sleek golf cart waited just off the runway, its driver standing by with a polite smile. You barely had time to take in the sprawling landscape before Remy’s hand was on your lower back again, gently steering you toward the waiting vehicle. The dark-haired man from earlier had already whisked away your bags, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how smoothly everything seemed to run in this world. No waiting, no hassle—just ease.

The cart zipped along a narrow path lined with lush greenery, palm trees swaying gently in the breeze, their leaves casting dappled shadows on the pristine path. The air smelled of salt and fresh vegetation, a mix that made you feel both alive and strangely at peace.

As you rounded a bend in the path, the island opened up before you.

The private island itself was like something out of a dream. A crescent-shaped bay stretched out in front of you, the sand impossibly white and soft, meeting crystal-clear water that shimmered in shades of blue and green. It was the kind of beach you’d only ever seen in magazines, the kind that felt almost too perfect to be real. The shoreline was dotted with private cabanas, their white curtains fluttering in the breeze. Beyond the beach, the island rose gently into low hills covered in vibrant, tropical vegetation—lush palms, hibiscus flowers, and thick greenery, all bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon sun.

Near the edge of the beach sat a sprawling villa, its whitewashed walls and terracotta roof blending seamlessly with the natural beauty around it. Wide windows and open terraces offered breathtaking views of the ocean, and you could see the glint of a large infinity pool reflecting the sky. It was luxurious but not ostentatious—elegant in a way that spoke of quiet wealth, the kind that didn’t need to shout to make its presence known.

You tried to take it all in, the sheer beauty of the place leaving you momentarily breathless. You’d never seen anything like it, and the realization that this was where you’d be spending the next three days—on this private island, in this paradise—was almost too much to process.

“This is… incredible,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

Remy chuckled beside you, clearly pleased by your reaction. “I told you,” he said, his voice low and warm. “It’s somethin’, ain’t it?”

You nodded, still staring at the landscape in awe. “It’s like a dream.”

Remy’s hand brushed lightly against your back again, a subtle but possessive gesture. “Get used to it, chérie. This is just day one.”

The cart came to a stop in front of the villa, and you were greeted by a small team of staff—each person dressed impeccably, their smiles polite but professional. You barely had time to wonder how many people it took to run a place like this before Remy was stepping out of the cart, offering you his hand to help you down.

As you stepped onto the stone path leading to the villa, the first thing that hit you was the cool, salty breeze rolling in from the ocean. It brushed against your skin, carrying with it the scent of the sea—crisp, fresh, and tinged with the faintest hint of jasmine, which clung to the air like a delicate whisper. The sound of the waves crashing softly in the distance only added to the sense of serenity that seemed to surround the place. The staff, dressed in simple yet elegant uniforms, greeted you with soft voices, offering cold towels and drinks—refreshing, citrus-infused water served in crystal glasses that sparkled in the sunlight. Everything was calm, controlled, and impossibly perfect, like stepping into a dream.

Remy exchanged a few quiet words with the head of staff, something about tonight’s itinerary, before turning his full attention to you. His demeanor was relaxed, the tension of the flight now long gone from his shoulders. “We’ve got a couple of hours before dinner,” he said, his tone easy, casual. “I figured you might want to settle in, maybe take a walk around the beach. Clear your head before tonight.”

“Tonight?” You glanced at him, curiosity flickering behind your eyes.

Remy’s smile turned a little more playful, that familiar glint of mischief returning. “There’s a dinner with some of my associates. You’ll meet a few of them. Nothing too formal, but it’ll be a good chance for you to get familiar with the crowd.” He paused, his gaze softening as he caught the slight shift in your expression. “I know it’s a lot to take in, and it might feel overwhelming, but remember—you don’t have to be anyone but yourself. Just relax and enjoy the evening.”

You nodded, but a knot of anxiety was already twisting in your stomach at the thought of meeting his associates—people who, no doubt, were used to a life of wealth and luxury, people who moved through this world with ease. Would they be able to tell you didn’t belong? Would they see right through to the part of you that still felt like you were playing dress-up in someone else’s life? The nerves, which you’d managed to keep at bay until now, began to buzz under your skin again.

Remy must have sensed your hesitation because he stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours for a brief moment. His touch was warm, grounding, and when you looked up at him, his expression was softer, more reassuring than you expected. “You’ll do fine, chérie,” he said, his voice low, soothing. “You’ve got nothin’ to worry about. I’ve got your back.”

You offered him a small, grateful smile, though the anxiety still clung to you like a second skin. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll try to relax.”

His grin widened, a little more of that devil-may-care attitude slipping back into his expression. His fingertips grazed your wrist before he pulled away. “Good. Now go enjoy the view. I’ll meet you back here in a bit.”

With that, he turned and strode into the villa, leaving you standing on the stone path, the warmth of the sun kissing your skin and the rhythmic sound of the waves calling you toward the beach. You took a deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs, trying to let go of the tension that had built up since the moment you stepped off the plane.

Slowly, you began to make your way toward the shore, your sandals crunching softly on the stone path that led down to the beach. When you reached the sand, you kicked off your shoes, letting the cool, soft grains slip between your toes. The sand was smooth, almost velvet-like, and it gave way easily under your steps as you wandered closer to the water’s edge.

The beach stretched out in front of you, a long ribbon of pale, silken sand framed by lush, tropical greenery on one side and the endless expanse of the ocean on the other. The water shimmered under the late afternoon sun, a vibrant turquoise that seemed almost unreal in its clarity. Gentle waves lapped at the shore, their rhythm steady and soothing, as if the ocean itself was breathing in time with the world around it.

Further down the beach, palm trees swayed lazily in the breeze, their long fronds dancing in the wind, casting shadows that shifted and stretched as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon. The sky was a canvas of soft, melting colors—pale pinks, delicate oranges, and golden hues that bled into one another like watercolors. It was the kind of sunset that seemed to pause time, the kind that invited you to just stop and be, if only for a few quiet moments.

You walked along the water’s edge, the cool waves brushing against your ankles, and for the first time in what felt like days, your mind began to quiet. The weight of everything—the deal you’d made, the expectations, the uncertainties—seemed to lift, if only for a little while. The beauty of the island, the simplicity of the moment, was enough to make it all fade into the background. Here, with the ocean stretching out before you, vast and unending, the worries that had been circling in your mind seemed small, insignificant.

You stopped for a moment, letting the water swirl around your feet. The horizon stretched endlessly before you, the sun casting a glittering path across the surface of the ocean as it sank lower in the sky. The breeze tugged at your hair, soft and warm, carrying with it the scent of salt and something sweet—maybe the jasmine you’d smelled earlier, or perhaps some tropical bloom hidden within the thickets of greenery behind you.

For a brief, fleeting moment, you let yourself imagine that this could be your life—this peace, this beauty. That maybe, just maybe, you could belong here in this world of luxury, where everything seemed designed to soothe and delight the senses. But then, reality crept back in. This was your life for the next three days. After that, who knew?

You took another deep breath, letting the salty air fill your lungs, and turned your gaze back toward the villa. Its white stone walls gleamed in the fading light, framed by the vibrant green of the surrounding palms and tropical plants. It looked like something out of a postcard—perfect, serene, and utterly unattainable for most people. And yet, here you were, a part of it, if only for a little while.

The thought of tonight’s dinner still weighed on your mind, but for now, you decided to let it go. Remy had told you to relax, to enjoy the view, and for once, you were going to try to take his advice. As the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in soft pastels of pink and orange, you continued to walk along the shoreline, the cool water lapping at your ankles. The rhythmic sound of the waves breaking against the sand and the gentle breeze brushing your skin were enough to momentarily soothe your mind. The beauty of the island was almost enough to distract you from the knot of anxiety still coiled in your chest—almost. Each step felt like a reminder of the evening ahead, and the looming weight of it pressed down on you like a second shadow.

You heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the sand behind you, and you didn’t need to turn around to know it was Remy. His presence was unmistakable—there was a quiet confidence in the way he moved, always sure of himself, always in control. He walked up beside you, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his linen pants, his gaze sweeping across the horizon before settling on you.

“Thought I’d join you for a bit,” he said, his voice low and easy, carrying the same warmth as the setting sun. “Nice out here, isn’t it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, still staring out at the water. For a moment, you let yourself believe that this was just a vacation—just a peaceful getaway with someone you trusted. The ocean stretched out endlessly before you, the sky above it a swirl of soft pinks, purples, and golds. It was the kind of beauty that made everything else feel small and distant—if only for a moment. But the reality of the evening ahead loomed large in the back of your mind, refusing to let you fully succumb to the calm.

Remy must've sensed your thoughts because he shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours as you continued to walk along the beach. The touch was brief, barely noticeable, but it was enough to remind you of his presence, his steady assurance. “I figured I’d give you a little heads-up about tonight,” he said, his tone casual but focused. “Some of the people you’ll be meetin’—they’re… well, let’s just say they’re not your everyday crowd.”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Not everyday crowd? You mean like you?”

He chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Something like that. But even by my standards, some of them are a bit… intense.”

You bit your lip, feeling the tension in your chest tighten a little more. “Who exactly will be there?”

Remy’s eyes flickered toward you, and for a moment, his expression became unreadable, as if calculating how much to share. Then, he let out a soft breath and began listing the names. “First up, Tony Stark of Stark Industries. You might’ve heard of him. His wife, Pepper, will be there too. They’re good people, sharp as hell—Tony’s a bit of a showman, but underneath it, he’s one of the best minds in the world.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Tony Stark? The Tony Stark? You’d definitely heard of him—his face was everywhere, from magazine covers to news articles. He was one of the most famous men in the world, a literal genius, and the billionaire behind some of the most advanced technology on the planet. The kind of man who changed the course of industries with a single decision.

“Tony Stark,” you repeated, slightly breathless. “Wow. Okay.”

Remy smirked at your reaction, clearly amused. “Yeah, he’s a character. But he’s got a good heart. Pepper—well, she’s the one who keeps him grounded. You’ll like her.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of the evening pressing down on you a little heavier now. If Tony Stark was just the first name on the list, you could only imagine who else you’d be meeting. The realization hit you that tonight wasn’t just any dinner—it was a gathering of powerhouses, people who shaped the world in ways you could hardly fathom. And you were about to step into their world.

Remy continued, his voice a little more serious now. “Next up is Norman Osborn. He runs Oscorp. You’ve probably heard his name too.”

Your footsteps faltered slightly, and you turned to Remy with a look of surprise. “Wait—Norman Osborn? The same Norman Osborn who was prosecuted last year for… all that stuff?”

You didn’t need to elaborate. The whole world had been watching as Norman Osborn faced charges for a laundry list of other things that made your stomach churn. It had been one of the biggest scandals of the year, and though Osborn had managed to slither out of it, the stench of it still lingered in the public’s mind.

Remy nodded, his expression calm but guarded. “Yeah, that’s the one. But the charges were dropped.”

You pulled a face, the skepticism clear on your features. “Dropped doesn’t mean innocent,” you muttered, your tone laced with disbelief.

Remy’s lips twitched into a wry smile, and he let out a low chuckle. “You’re not wrong, *chérie*. Trust me, I don’t buy into his innocence either. But it’s business, not friendship. Norman’s got connections, and he’s powerful. That’s why he’s here.”

There was something in the way Remy said it—so matter-of-fact, so pragmatic—that made you realize just how complicated this world really was. It wasn’t just about wealth and luxury. It was about power, influence, and playing the game, even if it meant rubbing shoulders with people you’d rather avoid. The stakes were higher than you’d imagined.

You exhaled softly, trying to process it all. “I guess that makes sense. But still… he gives me the creeps.”

Remy nodded, his expression serious for a moment. “You and me both. Don’t worry, though. I’ll keep my eye on him tonight. Just stay close, and you’ll be fine.”

You gave him a small, appreciative nod, though the thought of being in the same room as Norman Osborn still made your skin crawl. The idea that people like him could move freely in these circles, despite everything, was unsettling. But you were starting to learn that morality and power didn’t always walk hand-in-hand in this world.

Remy cleared his throat, shifting the conversation back to a lighter tone. “Last on the guest list is Roberto Da Costa. You might not know the name, but he inherited AIM from his father. He’s young, smart, and a bit of a wildcard. But he’s one of the most resourceful people I’ve ever met.”

You turned to Remy, curious. “AIM? As in Advanced Idea Mechanics? Like… the tech company?”

“That’s the one,” Remy confirmed, his eyes glinting with amusement again. “Roberto’s got big plans for it. He’s a good guy, though. Out of everyone tonight, I’d say he’s the one you’ll get along with best. He’s not as—let’s say, complicated as the others.”

You chewed your lip, digesting all this information. Tony Stark, Norman Osborn, Roberto Da Costa… The people you’d be meeting tonight weren’t just wealthy—they were titans of industry, people who shaped the world you lived in with their decisions, their innovations, and their power. And you—you were just trying to figure out where you fit into all of this. It felt like you were standing at the edge of a cliff, about to dive into something much bigger than yourself.

“Sounds like an interesting crowd,” you said finally, your voice a little more stable now, though your nerves hadn’t entirely settled.

Remy chuckled softly, his hand brushing against your arm in a gesture that was both reassuring and possessive. His touch lingered just long enough to remind you that, despite it all, you weren’t alone in this. “That’s one way to put it. Just remember—you’re with me. You don’t need to impress anyone. Just be yourself, and let me handle the rest.”

You nodded, trying to let his words sink in. The sun had dipped lower now, casting a golden sheen across the water, and the sky had deepened into shades of fiery orange and violet. The world around you was breathtaking, a stark contrast to the complicated web of relationships and power games awaiting you tonight.

Remy’s presence beside you, steady and unshakable, was the only thing keeping you grounded as you prepared to step into a world you barely understood. But as you continued to walk along the beach, the cool water swirling around your ankles, you realized something: even if you didn’t know exactly where you fit in yet, you weren’t completely lost.

You nodded, though the thought of being in a room with such powerful people still made your stomach twist. “I’ll try.” Remy smiled, his tone soft as he glanced at you. "You’ll be fine, chérie. These people—they might have money and influence, but at the end of the day, they’re just people. They’ve got their own insecurities, their own messes. You’ll see.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to believe him, though the knot of anxiety still sat stubbornly in your chest. “I hope you’re right.”

He shot you a sideways glance, the corners of his lips curling into an amused smirk. “Hope I’m right? Chérie, I’m always right.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “Always right? That’s a dangerous level of confidence.”

His grin widened, and he gave a casual shrug. “Well, I’m at least right about this. You’ll fit in just fine. I’d bet on it.”

You raised an eyebrow, your skepticism clear. “Betting on me now? Is that how you reassure people—by turning it into a wager?”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and rich against the backdrop of the ocean. “Depends. You want to make it interesting?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m not betting on my ability to make it through a dinner with Tony Stark, Norman Osborn, and whoever else is on this guest list.”

Remy tilted his head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Survive? Chérie, you’ll do more than survive. You’ll charm the hell outta them. Just don’t outshine me too much.”

“Oh, yeah, because that’s my biggest concern,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Outshining you.”

“Hey, it’s happened before,” he said, pretending to be wounded. “You’ve got that whole mysterious, ‘I’m too good for this’ aura. It’s dangerous, I tell ya.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Mysterious, huh? Speaking of dangerous… didn’t I read something about you punching someone at a dinner party a few years ago? You know, back when you were still married? Ringing any bells?”

Remy’s grin faltered for a split second, and he let out a low chuckle, clearly caught off guard. “Ah, so you’ve been doin’ your homework, huh?”

You shrugged, unable to resist pushing a little further. “I mean, it’s not every day your boss makes headlines by knocking someone out at a dinner party. That was the talk of the office for weeks.”

Remy rubbed the back of his neck, his expression hovering between amusement and mild embarrassment. “Yeah, well… the guy had it comin’. He said somethin’ ‘bout my wife at the time, and… let’s just say I didn’t appreciate it.”

You grinned, crossing your arms a little tighter. “So what you’re saying is I should be ready for a potential repeat performance tonight?”

He shot you a playful glare. “I’m tryin’ to behave these days, chérie. But if anyone gives you trouble tonight, I’ll handle it—preferably without throwin’ punches this time.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Good to know. I’d rather not have another office scandal to deal with. And I definitely don’t need any more tabloid headlines about my boss decking someone at a fancy party.”

Remy grinned, the easy banter helping to ease the tension between you. “Don’t worry, I’ll try to keep my fists to myself. Besides, I don’t wanna give you more paperwork to deal with.”

“Well, we’ll see how long that lasts,” you teased, the playful tone lightening the mood as the two of you continued walking down the beach. The waves lapped gently at your feet, the cool water a soothing contrast to the warmth of the sand. The sky had begun to deepen into shades of fiery orange and pink, and for the first time, you felt the tightness in your chest starting to ease.

Remy glanced at you, his expression softening again. “Look, I know tonight’s a big deal, but you’ve got nothin’ to worry about. These people might have their fancy titles and big companies, but they’ve all got their own messes. They’re not as intimidating as they seem.”

You nodded, though the weight of the evening still loomed in your mind. “I’ll keep that in mind. But if you really want to reassure me, maybe don’t punch anyone this time?”

He chuckled, his hand brushing against your arm in a gesture that was both reassuring and affectionate. “No promises, chérie. But if I do, at least you’ll know it’s for a good reason.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “I’m holding you to that.”

Remy’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he smirked. “Deal. But when you’re the star of the night and everyone’s talkin’ about how you stole the show, I’ll expect an apology for all this doubt you’ve been throwin’ my way.”

You shot him a playful look. “Don’t hold your breath.”

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting everything in a soft, golden glow, you let yourself relax a little more. Whatever happened tonight, at least you weren’t going into it alone. And with Remy—punches or no punches—you figured you’d survive just fine.

But you couldn't resist adding one last jab. “And if by some miracle you manage to keep your fists to yourself, maybe I’ll apologize.”

He grinned, his voice teasing. “I’ll take that as a challenge.” <><><><>

The evening began as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the island in hues of deep gold and rose. The villa was transformed into a glowing beacon of luxury, lanterns lit along the pathways and soft music drifting from the open terrace. You could hear the faint clink of glasses and the low murmur of voices as the guests arrived, each one a significant figure in their own right, each one a player in a world of wealth and influence you had only glimpsed from the outside.

You stood next to Remy at the entrance of the villa, your nerves tightening as you watched the first guests step inside. He was dressed impeccably, his usual laid-back charm replaced with a sharper, more focused energy. He exuded confidence, his presence commanding without being overbearing. There was something about him tonight—something protective, possessive—that made you feel both grounded and slightly on edge.

His hand, warm and sure, rested lightly on your lower back. It was a subtle gesture, but it was constant, as if reminding you—and everyone else—that you were with him. That you were part of his world now.

The first to arrive were Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, their presence immediately commanding attention. Tony was just as you imagined—smooth, charismatic, and larger than life, his sharp suit tailored to perfection and his signature smirk ever-present. Pepper, elegant and poised, was the perfect complement, her calm demeanor balancing Tony’s quick wit.

Remy stepped forward smoothly, his hand guiding you with him as he greeted Tony with a firm handshake and an easy smile. “Tony, Pepper—glad you could make it.”

Tony grinned, his eyes flicking to you briefly before returning to Remy. “Wouldn’t miss it, LeBeau. You know how much I love a good island getaway.”

Pepper smiled warmly, and her gaze lingered on you for a moment, her eyes kind but curious. “You must be Remy’s guest," she said, extending her hand to you. "I’m Pepper. It’s so nice to meet you.”

You shook her hand, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Remy’s hand stayed at your back, a reassuring presence as he smoothly introduced you, “She’s with me.”

Tony raised an eyebrow but smiled as he shook your hand. “With Remy, huh? You must be something special then.”

You forced a small smile, unsure how to respond, but Pepper’s gentle nod helped ease some of the tension in your chest. She stepped in and smoothly changed the subject, asking about your experience on the island so far, and before long, the conversation flowed easily between all of you.

Remy, ever the charmer, kept drawing you into the dialogue when it veered toward business or topics you weren’t familiar with. He made sure you were never left out, offering you an easy entry point into each discussion, his hand never leaving your back. It anchored you, kept you steady, even as you felt the weight of these powerful people’s attention shift toward you.

As more guests arrived, you found yourself in a whirlwind of introductions. Norman Osborn appeared next, his presence cold and calculated, his smile never quite reaching his eyes. Remy’s grip on you tightened slightly as he introduced you to the head of Oscorp, and you could feel the tension between them, an unspoken understanding that this was purely business—no more, no less.

“Norman,” Remy said smoothly, his voice polite but distant.

Norman’s smile was thin as he extended his hand to you, his eyes sharp. “A pleasure,” he said in a voice that was far too practiced.

You shook his hand, but the unease you felt earlier only deepened. There was something about Osborn that made your skin crawl, something dark lurking beneath the surface of his polished exterior. Still, you forced a polite smile, reminding yourself that this was part of the game.

Remy’s hand stayed firmly on your back, guiding you through the brief conversation until you were able to move on, his presence always between you and Norman, as if he could sense your discomfort.

The night wore on, and as the villa filled with the soft sound of laughter and clinking glasses, Remy introduced you to Roberto Da Costa. He was younger than most of the other guests, his energy more vibrant, his smile more genuine. He greeted you with a warm handshake and an easy grin, and you found yourself relaxing slightly in his presence.

“Remy’s told me a lot about you,” Roberto said, his dark eyes glinting with curiosity. “I’m glad I finally get to put a face to the name.”

“Good things, I hope,” you replied, your smile more natural now.

“Only the best,” Roberto said with a wink, then turned to Remy. “You’ve got good taste, LeBeau.”

Remy chuckled, his hand sliding from your back to rest briefly on your waist before pulling away. “I try,” he said, his tone light but with a hint of pride.

As the evening progressed, you noticed Remy becoming more comfortable with leaving you alone in the conversations. At first, it was subtle—he’d step away for a moment to speak with a member of the staff, or to grab a drink, but he was always quick to return, slipping back to your side with that same reassuring presence. It was clear he was making sure you were comfortable, making sure you weren’t overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the evening.

But as you began to find your footing, as you warmed to people like Pepper and Roberto, he started giving you more space. He’d introduce you to someone, make sure you were engaged in the conversation, and then step away to speak with Tony or Norman, leaving you to hold your own.

At first, it made you nervous—being left alone with people like Tony Stark or Roberto Da Costa. But you quickly realized that Remy had been preparing you for this the entire evening. He’d made sure you could follow the conversations, made sure you were introduced in a way that gave you credibility in this world. And now, as you stood on your own, sipping a glass of champagne while discussing the latest tech innovations with Tony and Pepper, you realized you were doing just fine.

Still, Remy never strayed far. Even when he was across the room, speaking with Norman or one of the other guests, his gaze would flicker toward you, checking in, making sure you were okay. And when you caught his eye, he’d give you a small, reassuring smile, as if to say, You’ve got this.

And you did. Somehow, in the midst of all this wealth and power, you were holding your own.

As the evening wore on, you found yourself laughing with Roberto about some ridiculous story Tony was telling, while Pepper smiled indulgently at her husband’s antics. You felt something shift inside you—a sense of acceptance, of belonging, even if it was still new and fragile. The evening had taken on an unexpected rhythm as you found yourself in an easy flow of conversation with Tony Stark. You’d drifted into a discussion about 80’s rock bands—Tony, as it turned out, had a deep appreciation for the classics, and his knowledge of obscure trivia was surprisingly vast.

"You can’t bring up 80’s rock without mentioning Van Halen,” Tony said, his eyes gleaming with the kind of enthusiasm you’d expect from a man who had built entire empires. “I mean, Eruption? That solo was revolutionary.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “Sure, Van Halen’s great, but you can’t overlook Journey. Don’t Stop Believin’ is still an anthem for a reason.”

Tony scoffed playfully, taking a sip of his drink. “Oh, come on, Don’t Stop Believin’? That’s like the ‘free space’ of rock songs. Everyone loves it, sure, but it’s safe. Thank-you Glee. Now, if you’re talking obscure 80’s rock, I raise you one: Blue Öyster Cult’s Veteran of the Psychic Wars. That was a song that didn’t get enough credit.”

You raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Blue Öyster Cult? Psychic Wars? Now that’s a deep cut. You’re really pulling out the music nerd card here, Stark.”

He smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “What can I say? I have range.”

The banter continued, flowing easily between you both, the kind of light, effortless conversation you hadn’t expected going into the night. Tony had a way of making you feel like you were on his level, even when you knew the gulf between your worlds was massive. It was his charm—equal parts intellect and ego, but balanced just enough to make him likable.

You glanced across the room and caught Remy’s eyes on you, his expression a mix of pride and something more—something warmer, softer. He raised his glass in a silent toast, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and you felt a wave of reassurance wash over you. For the first time that night, the knot of anxiety that had gripped your chest seemed to loosen. You were here, in this world of wealth and influence, and somehow… you were making it.

The evening had gone better than you’d expected. Tony’s banter had been easy, Roberto’s charm disarming, and Pepper’s warmth made you feel welcomed, even in their rarefied circle. You had navigated the conversations, the glances, the subtle power plays with more grace than you thought possible. And as the night wore on, you found yourself starting to enjoy it—if only a little.

Remy, who had been keeping a close eye on you all evening, eventually made his way back to your side. His hand found its familiar place on the small of your back, and he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as his voice dropped to that low, intimate murmur. “You’re doin’ great, chérie,” he said, his tone filled with quiet approval. “Told you you’d fit right in.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his presence as it grounded you. “I guess you were right,” you whispered back, a playful glint in your eye. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing lightly against your back. “Too late for that, chérie.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face. Remy always knew how to make you feel at ease, even in situations that felt larger than life. But as much as you appreciated his steady presence, the weight of the evening was beginning to catch up with you. The constant energy, the conversations, the subtle power dynamics—it was all a lot to take in.

As Remy turned to chat with Roberto about something, you felt the need to take a breather, to step away from the crowd and give yourself a moment to reset. You gently excused yourself, slipping away from the group and making your way toward the railing that overlooked the starlit beach below. The sound of the waves crashing softly in the distance was a welcome reprieve from the hum of conversation inside, and the cool night air felt refreshing against your skin.

You leaned on the railing, gazing out at the dark horizon where the ocean met the sky. The stars twinkled overhead, and for a moment, you let yourself relax, savoring the quiet. It felt good to breathe, to just be, away from the intensity of the evening.

But your peace didn’t last long.

You hadn’t even heard him approach. One moment, you were admiring the view, your mind drifting with the sound of the waves, and the next, Norman Osborn was standing too close beside you. His presence was abrupt, an unwelcome intrusion into your quiet moment, and far too close for comfort.

“You seem to be settling in well,” Norman Osborn said, his voice dripping with casual charm, though there was something unsettling in the way his eyes lingered on you. They swept over you, deliberate and slow, as if he were evaluating every inch. “Remy’s got good taste.”

You forced a polite smile, though every instinct screamed at you to be cautious. There was an edge to this conversation, something unsaid yet heavy in the air. “It’s been an interesting evening, to say the least,” you replied, taking a small but deliberate step back, hoping to create some distance between you.

Norman’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes darkened slightly, the intensity behind them growing. “I imagine so,” he said, his voice smooth but now laced with something darker. “This world can be overwhelming—but you seem to be handling it better than most.”

The compliment felt more like a test, as if he were probing for cracks in your composure. His gaze stayed on you, uncomfortably focused, and you instinctively took another step back. But Norman moved with you, closing the gap effortlessly, a predator playing with its prey.

His hand brushed against your waist, lingering for a moment too long. The touch was light, but it sent a chill down your spine, your discomfort sharpening into something more tangible.

You stiffened, your body tensing as you fixed him with a cold stare. “Get your hand off me before I break it off,” you said, your voice steady, a warning clear in every word.

Norman’s grin widened, as if he found your threat amusing. Instead of backing away, he leaned in closer, his presence looming over you. “Feisty,” he murmured, his voice low, his breath brushing against your cheek. He didn’t move his hand.

Your eyes flicked back to him, narrowing as you gave him a tight, controlled smile. “I’m not going to ask nicely next time,” you said, your voice calm but deadly. The tension in the air thickened, and for a brief second, you wondered if he was going to push further.

But then, Norman raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, his grin still plastered on his face. “Alright, alright,” he said, his tone light, but the danger in his eyes was unmistakable. “No need for dramatics.”

Before you could respond, Remy appeared at your side, his presence sudden yet reassuring. His hand immediately found its familiar spot on your waist, pulling you closer as he stepped into the space between you and Norman.

Remy’s eyes flicked between you and Norman, his expression cool but sharp. “Everything alright here?” he asked, his voice calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

Norman’s grin widened just a little more as he turned to Remy. “Quite the charm she has,” he said smoothly, his gaze flicking back to you for a moment. “You’ve found yourself an interesting one, LeBeau.”

Remy’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, his posture relaxed but protective. “She’s more than just charm,” Remy said, his voice light but with a hint of steel beneath it. “And she can handle herself just fine.”

Norman’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable as his smile thinned slightly. “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he replied, his voice still smooth, though there was a flicker of annoyance behind his gaze. “I’m just… impressed.”

Remy’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sure you are,” he said, his tone cool, but there was a clear warning in his words. “But like I said, she can handle herself. So how about you keep your hands to yourself?”

Norman chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. “No harm intended,” he said, lifting his hands again in that same mock-surrender pose. “Just a friendly chat.”

Remy’s gaze didn’t leave Norman’s, the tension between them thick and palpable. “Good to hear,” Remy said, his voice soft but firm. “Let’s keep it that way.”

There was a brief, tense silence, but Norman didn’t push it. With one last lingering look at you, he gave a slight nod. “Well, it was lovely chatting,” Norman said, his tone still polite but with an undercurrent of something darker. “I’m sure we’ll speak again.”

He turned and slipped back into the crowd as easily as he had appeared, his presence leaving a cold, unsettling weight in the air.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your body still tense from the encounter. Remy’s hand remained on your waist, his thumb brushing lightly against your side, a silent gesture of comfort.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice softer now, the earlier tension in his tone fading.

As you and Remy made your way back into the party, the tension from your encounter with Norman still lingered, though it had begun to loosen its grip. Remy’s arm stayed wrapped securely around your waist, his presence grounding you as the hum of conversation and laughter swirled around the room once more.

“I’ll admit,” you said with a small laugh, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort, “I didn’t expect that from Osborn. Not exactly the highlight of my night.”

Remy’s lips twitched into a half-smile, though his eyes were still dark with the remnants of anger. “Osborn’s always thinkin’ he can push people around,” he muttered, his tone protective but tinged with frustration. “He’s lucky you didn’t take him up on that threat to break his hand.”

You smirked, glancing up at him. “I was tempted.”

Remy chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit. “Would’ve been quite the scene, chérie,” he teased, his voice dropping to that familiar, playful drawl. “Though I might’ve had to step in just to make sure you didn’t hurt him too bad.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a playful nudge with your elbow. “Oh, I didn’t need your help. I could’ve handled it.”

He grinned, his hand squeezing your waist a little tighter. “I know you could, ma belle. No doubt you can handle yourself just fine.”

You both shared a quiet laugh, the moment lightening the tension still hovering in the air. But there was something more in Remy’s eyes—something protective, something fierce. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower as he murmured in your ear, “Y’know, you don’t need to worry about keepin’ an eye on me. I’m not the one throwin’ punches around here.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “Yeah, well, if you keep letting people like Norman get that close, I might have to start.”

Remy’s laughter was soft but genuine, the sound a balm to your frayed nerves. “Chérie, you throwin’ punches in a room full of billionaires? I’d pay good money to see that.”

You gave him a playful glare. “Careful what you wish for, LeBeau.”

He winked, his thumb brushing lightly against your side. “Oh, I’m not worried. I got a front-row seat to the best show in town.”

With a laugh, you leaned into him as he guided you back through the crowd, the tension of the evening fading further into the background with every step. Remy’s playful banter, his steady presence—it was enough to remind you that no matter what the evening threw your way, you’d be just fine.

“Come on,” Remy said then, his tone lighter now, though the protective undercurrent never quite left. “Let’s get back t’ the party. I think Stark’s ‘bout to start tellin’ another one o’ his ridiculous stories, an’ trust me—you don’ wanna miss it.”

You laughed softly, the tension easing slightly at the thought of Tony’s antics. “Lead the way.”

As you both made your way back toward the crowd, Remy’s hand found its familiar place at the small of your back again, a subtle but constant reminder that you weren’t alone in this world—at least, not tonight.

And as you re-entered the villa, the soft glow of the lanterns casting long shadows across the room, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of vulnerability and strength. You were navigating a world far more complex than you’d realized, but with Remy by your side, you felt like you could handle whatever came next.

Even if that meant facing men like Norman Osborn. As the night began to quiet down and the hum of conversation faded from the villa, you found yourself walking beside Remy down a long, dimly lit corridor. The party had been winding down for a while now, the once-lively atmosphere slowly giving way to the soft, sleepy sounds of the ocean outside. Most guests had retired to their rooms or disappeared into private corners of the estate, leaving the two of you alone in the stillness of the night.

Remy’s hand rested lightly at the small of your back as he guided you through the villa, the same gentle but protective touch you’d grown accustomed to over the course of the evening. His presence was steady, grounding, but as you walked in silence, the buzz of the evening’s events replayed in your mind—flickers of tension, of unease, of moments that had left you questioning more than just the people around you.

Norman’s lingering gaze. His hand brushing against your waist. The subtle power plays and veiled threats hidden behind charming smiles and polite words. The night had been a whirlwind—a delicate dance of navigating not only the social dynamics of the people around you but also your own emotions. You had been on edge for most of it, constantly aware of your surroundings, of the unspoken rules Remy had laid out for you. It had been exhausting.

And now, with Remy leading you toward the guest wing, a new set of thoughts began to crowd your mind.

You wondered, in the quiet of the hallway, what exactly was expected of you tonight. The nature of these circles was still new to you, filled with unspoken agreements, subtle cues, and expectations that weren’t always clear. As Remy led you toward what you assumed was your room, the question lingered in the back of your mind, gnawing at you.

Would he expect you to stay with him?

The thought made your heart race, but not in the way you might have hoped. There was attraction between you, that much was undeniable, but this world—the world Remy lived in—was full of layers you didn’t fully understand yet. Would spending the night with him be seen as part of this game? Was there some underlying expectation that had been set without you even realizing it?

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye trying to read his expression, but Remy remained as unreadable as ever, his easy charm masking whatever deeper thoughts might be running through his mind. His hand was still gentle at your back, guiding but never pushing, and yet, the question lingered.

Would he expect more from you tonight?

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, each step amplifying your uncertainty. You knew Remy wasn’t like the others—not like Norman or the countless other powerful men in the room who saw people as pawns in their games. But still, the unfamiliarity of this world made you question everything. There was always something underlined in these interactions, something that wasn’t spoken but was always present.

Was there something expected of you that was never truly written?

Your thoughts spiraled, looping back on themselves as you weighed the possibilities. You didn’t want to misread the situation. You didn’t want to assume the worst. But the truth was, you were tired—emotionally drained from the evening’s tension and the constant need to be on guard. The idea of having to navigate yet another layer of expectation, of having to figure out what Remy wanted from you, felt overwhelming.

Finally, Remy stopped in front of a door, his hand slipping from your back as he reached for the handle.

“This here’s your room for the night, chère,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet of the hallway. He pushed the door open, revealing a beautifully furnished guest room, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting a warm light over the space.

Your breath caught in your throat for a moment, your mind still racing with questions, your body tense with the anticipation of what might come next.

But then, Remy stepped back, his hand falling casually to his side, and he gave you that familiar, easy smile. “Get some rest,” he said, his voice low, his Cajun accent curling around the words like a gentle embrace. “It’s been a long night.”

For a moment, you blinked, the tension in your chest slowly unraveling as you realized what he was saying—what he wasn’t saying. He wasn’t expecting anything. There was no hidden agenda here, no unspoken demand or assumption lingering in the air between you. He was simply showing you to your room. Nothing more.

You wanted to breathe out a sigh of relief, but instead, you let the weight of the moment settle in your chest, a quiet gratitude blooming there. Remy wasn’t like the others. He didn’t expect anything more than whatever this was between you—this quiet understanding, this connection that was still finding its footing amidst the chaos of the world you were navigating together.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you stepped into the room. The warmth of the space enveloped you, and for the first time tonight, you felt like you could truly relax.

Remy lingered in the doorway for a moment, his eyes soft but unreadable in the dim light. “If y’ need anythin’, y’ know where t’ find me,” he said, his voice still low, still carrying that familiar warmth that made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “Goodnight, Remy.”

He gave you one last look—something unspoken in his eyes, something that made your heart flutter just slightly—before he nodded and turned to leave, closing the door behind him with a soft *click*.

For a moment, you stood there in the quiet of the room, the events of the night swirling in your mind. The tension, the uncertainty, the fear—all of it slowly began to fade into the background as you let out a long breath, your body finally relaxing.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, your mind still processing everything that had happened, but there was a quiet comfort in knowing that Remy hadn’t expected anything more from you tonight. He hadn’t pushed. He hadn’t assumed. He had simply been there, guiding you through a world that, for all its dangers and complexities, felt a little less overwhelming with him by your side.

But even as you settled into the comfort of your room, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder—what was this, exactly? Whatever it was between you and Remy, it was slowly taking shape, but it was still undefined, still lingering somewhere between friendship and something more.

For tonight, though, you were grateful for the space he’d given you—grateful that, in a world full of unspoken expectations, Remy had made it clear that he wasn’t expecting anything at all.

You lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the sound of the ocean drifted through the window.

Tonight, you were safe. You were alone. And for now, that was enough. The next two days felt like a dream—a blur of sunlit lunches on the terrace, dinners under the stars, and laughter that echoed through the villa long into the night. The tension from the first evening with Norman Osborn quickly began to feel like a distant memory, replaced by the easy camaraderie of a group of people who, despite their wealth and power, seemed genuinely interested in enjoying each other’s company.

Pepper Potts had taken you under her wing almost immediately after that first night. Her calm, composed presence was a welcome counterbalance to the more chaotic personalities around you—Tony's brash humor, Remy's playful charm, and the occasional tension that still lingered whenever Norman’s name was mentioned. On the second day, Pepper whisked you away for some much-needed girl time, leading you to a private room where a manicurist—flown in by Tony, of course—waited to pamper you both.

The quiet intimacy of it was a relief after the whirlwind of the previous night. The soft hum of conversation, the sound of the ocean in the distance, and the gentle touch of the manicurist’s hands offered a brief escape from the high-stakes, high-glamour world you’d been thrust into. And here, in this tranquil setting, with only Pepper’s warm, calming energy beside you, you finally felt the tension in your shoulders begin to ease.

As the manicurist shaped your nails, Pepper leaned back in her chair, her expression relaxed but observant, a glass of sparkling water in hand. She began to tell you stories about her life—about the juggling act of managing Tony Stark’s empire and the strange, surreal world she’d found herself navigating. But more than that, she told you about Remy—his adventures, or rather, his misadventures.

"Remy’s always been a bit of a wildcard," she said with a knowing smile, her eyes flickering with amusement. “I’m sure you’ve already figured that out.” She glanced at you, her eyes twinkling, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly, nodding in agreement.

“I’ve definitely noticed,” you replied, your voice light but fond.

Pepper chuckled, setting her glass down. “He has this way of getting himself into trouble, whether he means to or not. It’s just… in his nature, I suppose. He’s got a heart of gold, but sometimes that Cajun charm of his can lead him into situations that spiral out of control.”

You laughed at that, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. “Yeah, he does seem to have a knack for mischief.”

Pepper’s expression softened as she looked at you, her tone shifting slightly. “But Remy’s loyal—fiercely loyal. He’d do anything for the people he cares about. That’s something you can count on.” She paused, taking a breath, then added, “Just… keep an eye on him. He’s got a temper, especially when it comes to people he cares about.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Remy? A temper?”

Pepper smiled knowingly, leaning in a little as though she were sharing a secret. “Oh, don’t let that laid-back attitude fool you. He’s easygoing most of the time, but when someone crosses a line… especially when it involves someone he cares about? He can be quick to act. Sometimes too quick.”

Her words gave you pause, a flicker of memory flashing in your mind—Remy’s protective stance the other night when Norman had gotten too close, the way his hand tightened possessively around your waist, the dangerous glint in his eyes as he confronted Osborn. You’d seen that shift in him, the way his easy charm could harden into something far more dangerous in an instant.

“I saw what happened with Norman,” Pepper continued, her voice softer now, more careful. “It wasn’t hard to miss, and I noticed how Remy reacted. He didn’t throw a punch, but the way he looked at Norman… let’s just say I’ve seen that look before.” She gave you a small, understanding smile. “He was ready to step in if you hadn’t handled it.”

You exhaled slowly, a small knot in your stomach loosening. “I didn’t realize…”

Pepper waved a hand dismissively. “You handled it perfectly. But Remy? He’s protective. And when he feels like someone’s crossed a line with someone he cares about, he doesn’t always think things through before acting.” She paused, her eyes searching yours for a moment. “It’s not a bad thing, just… something to be aware of. Especially in this world, where every action has consequences.”

You nodded, her words sinking in. “I guess I should be keeping an eye on him, then—not the other way around.”

Pepper laughed, the sound light and warm. “Exactly. Remy might think he’s the one looking out for you, but you’ll probably end up saving him from himself more times than he’ll admit.”

You shared a smile, the easy camaraderie between you both a comforting contrast to the intensity of the previous night. Pepper’s insight was invaluable—her calm, grounded wisdom something you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

“I’ve seen it before,” she continued, her tone gentler now. “Tony… well, let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of moments where I had to step in before things escalated. Sometimes, keeping these men out of trouble is an art form.”

You laughed softly, feeling a sense of kinship with her. “I can’t imagine what that must be like—dealing with Tony and Remy.”

Pepper leaned back in her chair, a smile tugging at her lips. “It has its moments, believe me. But… they’re worth it. They make life interesting, to say the least.”

As the manicurist finished up, Pepper glanced back at you, her expression softening once more. “You’re in good hands with Remy. But don’t forget—you’re more than capable of handling yourself in this world. And if you ever need backup…” She winked, her smile widening. “I’m always just a phone call away.”

Her words were reassuring, a reminder that you weren’t alone in navigating this strange, glamorous, and often complicated world. With Pepper’s guidance, the path ahead felt a little less daunting, the challenges a little less overwhelming. It was easy to feel out of place here, surrounded by people who had spent their entire lives playing these intricate games of power and influence. But with Pepper by your side, the weight of it all seemed lighter.

As the two of you stood to leave, walking back toward where the others were gathered outside by the terrace, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, you felt a new sense of confidence. There would be more challenges ahead, more moments where you’d have to navigate the complexities of this world. But with Remy by your side, and with friends like Pepper offering their quiet support, you knew you could face whatever came next.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d be the one keeping Remy out of trouble after all. On the third day, the sun was high, casting long, golden rays over the beach as the waves rolled gently onto the shore. You and Roberto were lounging lazily on the sun chairs, feet buried in the warm sand, deep in a playful argument about the pronunciation of a bird you had spotted earlier that morning.

“I’m telling you, it’s ka-TAA-rah,” Roberto said, his tone full of mock seriousness as he reclined with a grin.

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, no, no. It’s ka-TAY-rah. You’re just trying to sound smart, but I’m not buying it.”

Roberto pressed a hand over his heart in exaggerated offense. “You wound me! I’m Brazilian, querida, I know my birds!”

Still giggling, you shot back, “Being Brazilian doesn’t mean you automatically know how to pronounce everything with wings.”

Unbeknownst to either of you, Remy had wandered down the path from the villa, stopping just a few feet away. He paused, watching from the shadow of a nearby palm tree, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he listened to your banter. He wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but there was something about hearing the easy way you laughed and teased with Roberto that made him linger just a moment longer.

It had only been a few weeks since you and Remy had started spending time together, but in that short time, you had already managed to do what few people could—get under his skin. Remy LeBeau was a man who prided himself on being difficult to pin down, on keeping his emotions at arm's length, especially in situations like this. Your arrangement—a casual, flirtatious dance that neither of you had fully defined—was supposed to be just that: light, fun, without complications.

But somehow, you had slipped past his defenses.

It wasn’t just your sharp wit, though that was certainly part of it. You had a way of keeping him on his toes, never letting him get too comfortable. You could meet his banter word for word, and you didn’t let him get away with his usual charm without giving it right back to him. But it was more than that. It was the way you seemed to slide so effortlessly into his world. You didn’t fawn over him like so many others did, nor did you treat him with the suspicion that often came with his reputation. Instead, you saw him for exactly who he was—and somehow, you fit.

It unnerved him, how natural it felt. How seamless it was for you to be here, in his world, surrounded by people like Roberto and Tony, laughing as if you had always been part of their circle. And that ease, that effortless way you navigated this strange life of wealth, power, and danger, made it harder for Remy to keep his distance.

The arrangement the two of you had—casual, undefined, with no promises—was supposed to keep things simple. But he was beginning to realize that simplicity wasn’t something you brought into his life. And the truth was, he didn’t mind. He liked the way you challenged him, the way you could hold your own against him and anyone else who tried to put you on the spot. He liked that you made him laugh, even when he didn’t expect to. Most of all, he liked that being around you felt… easy.

And that was dangerous.

He watched for another moment as you and Roberto continued your debate, your laughter mixing with the sound of the waves. His chest tightened slightly, a mix of warmth and something more complicated that he couldn’t quite name. He wasn’t in love with you—not yet, anyway—but you had definitely gotten under his skin, and that was starting to feel like its own kind of vulnerability.

Remy took a breath, pushed aside the thoughts that were beginning to crowd his mind, and finally stepped forward, calling out to the two of you. “Well, well, look at y’all. Thick as thieves down here.”

You and Roberto turned at the sound of his voice. A bright smile spread across your face when you saw him, and something inside Remy softened at the sight.

“Remy!” you called, your voice teasing. “Help us settle this. Roberto thinks he knows how to pronounce ka-TAY-rah—but he’s completely wrong.”

Roberto groaned as Remy approached, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t drag him into this! He’ll just take your side because you’ve charmed him out of his common sense.”

Remy chuckled, shaking his head as he stopped in front of you both, his hands resting casually in his pockets. “Oh, is that what’s happenin’ here? You think she’s got me all turned around, Roberto?”

Roberto shot him a grin. “I’m just saying, she’s got you down here in the sand, pretending to care about bird names. Sounds like someone’s losing his grip.”

Remy smiled, but his attention drifted to you, his eyes lingering on your face for just a moment longer than he intended. The truth was, Roberto wasn’t far off. He wasn’t losing his grip, not exactly, but you certainly had a way of distracting him.

“I’m down here ‘cause I like the view,” Remy said, his voice smooth as ever, though there was a teasing edge. “But I don’t need to steal her away from you, Roberto. She’s already got enough sense to know when she’s winnin’.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking at Remy. “So you’re saying I’m right?”

He laughed as he took the sun lounge next to yours, stretching out comfortably, his body relaxed but his mind still working through the layers of what he was feeling. “Maybe,” he said, his tone playful. “But I’m not gonna admit it out loud.”

Roberto groaned again, dramatically throwing his head back. “See? You’ve got him wrapped around your finger already.”

You leaned back in your chair, shaking your head with a smile. “I don’t know about that.”

But Remy knew better. He could feel it—the pull you had on him, the way you had already started to slip past the walls he usually kept firmly in place. Whether it was your wit, your laugh, or the way you seemed to fit so naturally into this world of his, it was clear that you’d gotten under his skin. And the arrangement between the two of you? It was starting to feel a little more complicated than he had planned.

As he settled in beside you, the sun warm on his skin and the sound of your laughter still ringing in his ears, Remy couldn’t help but wonder just how deep this was going to go—and whether he was ready for whatever came next.

As the weekend came to a close and the villa began to empty, the golden light of the late afternoon softened the edges of the estate. Everyone had gathered one last time by the pool, exchanging farewells with the kind of easy familiarity shared by people who knew they’d see each other again at another lavish event in some other exotic locale. The men traded handshakes, back slaps, and inside jokes, while Pepper Potts gave you a warm hug, her smile kind as ever.

“I’ll text you the name of that spa I mentioned,” she said with a knowing grin. “You’ll need it after this weekend.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

As the group continued winding down, Roberto Di Costa, effortlessly charming as always, approached you with a sly grin. He extended his hand, shaking yours firmly, but there was that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes.

“If you ever get tired of Remy and his bossiness,” Roberto said, slipping a sleek business card into your hand with a wink, “you’ve got my number now. Feel free to jump ship to my company whenever you’re ready.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, glancing down at the card. It was simple but elegant, a tangible reminder of the power dynamics always at play in this world. Even though Roberto’s offer was made in jest, there was something flattering about it—a small acknowledgment that you had, in some way, proven yourself among them.

“Thanks, Roberto,” you replied, smirking. “I’ll keep that in mind—especially when I’m forced back into the office tomorrow morning.”

Roberto clutched his chest in mock horror. “The office? After a weekend like this? That’s cruel and unusual punishment.”

Before you could respond, you noticed Remy standing off to the side, arms crossed, his eyebrow raised in mock disapproval. His lips curved into a crooked grin as he watched the exchange, clearly enjoying the show.

“Now, now, Roberto,” Remy drawled, his Cajun accent thick with amusement. “We got a no-poachin’ rule, mon ami. Ain’t that right?”

Roberto chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Can’t blame a man for trying, Remy. Just giving her some options, you know?”

Remy’s grin widened, but his eyes stayed on you, his expression softening just a touch. “Chère, y’know they all gon’ try t’ steal ya from me. Guess I better keep an eye on y’all.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, slipping Roberto’s card into your pocket. “I’ll be sure to weigh all my options as I sit in that conference room tomorrow morning,” you teased.

Remy took a step closer, his hand finding its familiar place at the small of your back, the gesture casual but protective. “Don’t y’ worry,” he said quietly, though the playful warmth in his voice remained. “Ain’t nobody gon’ take y’ from me.”

There was something more to his words than just banter—something unspoken but unmistakable. The lighthearted back-and-forth between him and Roberto was just that—banter—but beneath it, there was an undercurrent of something deeper. What had started as a casual, undefined arrangement between you two was beginning to blur the lines, becoming something neither of you had quite expected.

You raised an eyebrow, shooting him a smirk. “You sure about that, LeBeau?”

Remy’s smile didn’t waver, his fingers brushing lightly against your back. “Pretty sure, chère,” he replied, his voice low.

Roberto, sensing the shift in the air, grinned knowingly before stepping back. “Alright, alright,” he said, raising his hands again in exaggerated defeat. “Remy wins this round. But the offer stands!” He winked before turning to say his goodbyes to the others.

As Roberto walked away, you and Remy stood there for a moment, the rest of the group fading into the background. The weekend had been filled with laughter, banter, and the kind of camaraderie that came with being part of this strange, privileged world. But now, as the sun dipped lower in the sky and the villa began to empty, you couldn’t help but feel that something between you and Remy had shifted.

You glanced up at him, catching a flicker of something more serious in his eyes before he quickly masked it with his usual easygoing charm. “Looks like I’m stuck with you, huh?” you teased lightly.

Remy chuckled, his thumb tracing idle circles against your back. “Could be worse,” he said, his tone playful but layered with something else—something more honest.

As the two of you made your way toward the exit, the rest of the group’s chatter fading into the background, you couldn’t help but wonder if the lines between your arrangement and something deeper had already begun to blur. Something told you that neither of you had the answer yet—but whatever it was, it felt like it was heading toward a place neither of you could easily ignore. As the car pulled away from the villa, leaving the weekend behind, you found yourself smiling softly. Whatever was next, you had a feeling it would be as unpredictable—and as thrilling—as everything that had come before it. One of the waitresses had brought you a small blanket earlier in the evening, and now, tucked into your seat with your feet curled up beneath you, the warmth was a welcome comfort. The last few days had been a whirlwind—luxury, laughter, and the subtle tension of navigating a social landscape full of powerful personalities. You were tired, but it was the kind of exhaustion that came with satisfaction, the feeling of having held your own.

Remy was sitting next to you, leaning back in his seat with an easy confidence, watching you with a lazy, half-amused smile. The dim lighting in the cabin cast soft shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the playful glint in his eyes.

“Y’know,” he began, his voice low and smooth, laced with that familiar Cajun accent, “I saw how cozy y’ got with Roberto this weekend. Should I be worried?”

You glanced over at him, stifling a laugh as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. “Worried?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Worried about what, exactly?”

Remy smirked, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Well, chère,” he drawled, “Roberto’s got that smooth talk an’ all—an’ he did slip you his personal number. I thought I might’ve lost ya to A.I.M. by now.” His grin widened, the mischievous edge in his gaze impossible to ignore.

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “Oh, please. Roberto’s charming, sure, but I think I’ll stick with you. For now.” You shot him a teasing look, knowing full well the effect your words would have. The banter between you flowed easily, like it always did. There was an undeniable rhythm to your conversations, a back-and-forth that felt effortless, natural. It was a game you both played, and you were good at it. But beneath the playful exchanges, there was always something else—a deeper undercurrent that neither of you seemed ready to fully acknowledge.

As the flight continued, the low hum of the plane’s engines filled the cabin with a comforting rhythm. The exhaustion from the weekend began settling into your bones, and you let out a loud, unfiltered yawn, stretching slightly in your seat.

Remy chuckled softly beside you, a sound that was more affectionate than teasing this time. “Chère,” he said, his voice carrying a warmth that cut through the usual banter. “Y’ did good. Real good.”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard. It wasn’t just about how you’d navigated the social dynamics or held your own in a world that wasn’t quite yours. It was something deeper—an acknowledgment of how well you’d adapted, how you’d fit into this strange, extravagant life without losing yourself in the process.

You smiled, feeling a quiet sense of pride bloom in your chest. “Thanks,” you murmured, your body sinking further into the plush leather seat as the tension from the weekend finally began to ease.

But Remy wasn’t quite done. His grin returned, the mischievous glint back in his eyes as he leaned back in his seat.  “I thought for sure Roberto was gon’ convince y’ to jump ship with that sweet offer he made. What was it? Full access t’ his private jet? An office with a view?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Office with a  view. And tempting as that was,” you replied, smirking, “I think I’ll stick with you. For now. Plus I’d miss Yelena too much.”

“For now, huh?” Remy repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Guess I’m gon’ have t’ step up my game.”

The playful exchange left a comfortable silence between you, the kind that only comes after spending days together in close quarters. You leaned back, gazing out the window at the dark expanse beneath the plane, the ocean stretching endlessly below, glittering faintly in the distance. It felt peaceful, a stark contrast to the buzzing energy of the weekend you were leaving behind.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Remy shifting in his seat beside you. He rummaged through his bag, his movements casual but purposeful. You glanced over at him, curiosity piqued, and caught his eye just as he pulled something small from his bag.

He looked up at you, a soft, almost sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I wasn’t gonna give this t’ ya ‘til after the trip,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “But figured y’ might like it sooner.”

He slid a small velvet box across the tray table toward you, the deep, rich fabric catching the dim cabin light. A flicker of surprise passed through you as you stared down at it, your heart giving a small, unexpected flutter. This wasn’t something you had anticipated—Remy wasn’t exactly the type to give gifts without a reason.

Your fingers brushed lightly over the soft surface of the box before you slowly lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in delicate satin, was a pair of earrings—small, elegant, and undeniably stunning. The gemstones caught the light from the plane window, sparkling with an understated brilliance. They were simple, but the craftsmanship was exquisite. Even at a glance, you could tell they were expensive—really expensive.

Your breath caught for a moment, surprise flickering across your face as you looked up at Remy. “Remy… these are… Wow.”

He leaned back, his grin soft, almost shy. “Figured y’ deserved somethin’ nice after this weekend. Y’ handled everything real smooth. Thought these might suit ya.”

The soft hum of the plane’s engines created a steady rhythm, soothing yet distant, as you sat there, staring down at the small velvet box. Your breath hitched slightly, your mind racing. You weren’t used to this—to gifts like this. You’d seen people like Pepper and Tony exchange lavish tokens of affection without a second thought, grand gestures that reflected their lifestyle. But this was different. This wasn’t just another extravagant display of wealth. This was for you. And that made it feel heavier, more intimate.

Your fingers hovered over the delicate earrings inside the box, the cool metal brushing against your skin. They were stunning—elegant yet understated, the gemstones catching the dim cabin light in a way that felt almost magical. But it wasn’t just their beauty that had you so off balance. It was the meaning behind them, the sincerity in the gesture that left you momentarily speechless.

You glanced up at Remy, your fingers still resting on the edge of the box, unsure of what to say. “Remy, I—” you started, but the words seemed to get caught in your throat. There was a lump of emotion rising, unexpected and unfamiliar, and you weren’t sure how to balance the weight of this gift with the easy, playful banter you’d been sharing just moments ago.

Remy leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes catching the flicker of uncertainty in yours. His expression softened, the usual teasing edge in his gaze tempered with something warmer. “Don’ make a big deal outta it, chère,” he said with a soft chuckle, though the tenderness in his voice was unmistakable. He wasn’t brushing it off, but he also wasn’t making you feel like this was something to be overwhelmed by. “They just reminded me o’ you. Thought they’d look good on ya.”

His words were simple, but the sincerity behind them cut through your initial shock. There wasn’t any expectation lurking in his voice, no pressure for you to respond in kind. Just a thoughtful, quiet gesture. And somehow, that made it feel even more meaningful.

You blinked, feeling the tightness in your chest ease just a little. Your fingers gently grazed the earrings again, feeling the cool metal beneath your touch. They were beautiful—delicate but strong, just like the way you imagined Remy might see you. That realization made your heart skip in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I—thank you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “They’re… they’re stunning.”

Remy flashed you one of his signature crooked smiles, leaning back in his seat with that relaxed, effortless confidence he always seemed to carry. “I know,” he said with a wink, the teasing tone slipping back into his voice. “But don’t go losin’ ‘em, alright? I ain’t flyin’ back t’ Paris t’ get you another pair if y’ do.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up naturally, easing the tension that had settled between you. You rolled your eyes at his teasing, but there was still that warmth blooming in your chest, a quiet sense of gratitude that you weren’t quite sure how to put into words. He had a way of disarming you, of making everything feel lighter, even when the weight of the moment threatened to overwhelm.

As you carefully closed the box and set it down beside you, you caught Remy watching you. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, his gaze softer, more contemplative. It wasn’t the playful, roguish look he often gave you when you traded barbs or flirted—it was something deeper, more thoughtful. Like he was seeing past the surface, seeing you in a way that made your heart beat just a little faster.

For a brief moment, you wondered what exactly he was thinking, but before you could ask—or even fully process the emotions swirling between you—he cleared his throat, breaking the spell.

“Y’did good this weekend, chère,” he said again, his voice returning to that familiar, easy rhythm. “Real good. Kept up with the best o’ ‘em, didn’t miss a beat. Bet y’ didn’t even need me half the time.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, trust me,” you said, leaning back into your seat, “I needed you. But I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

Remy’s grin softened, and there it was again—that look. A mixture of admiration and something else, something lingering just beneath the surface. “Well,” he drawled, his voice quiet but steady, “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. So if y’ever need me, chère, y’know where t’ find me.”

His words were light, almost casual, but there was an undeniable gravity to them. And as you sat there, the weight of the earrings still resting in your lap, you couldn’t help but feel that this moment between you—this exchange, this quiet connection—was the start of something more. Something neither of you had fully put into words yet, but something both of you could feel.

You glanced out the window, the vast ocean stretching beneath the plane, glimmering faintly in the fading light. The world below seemed so far away, and yet, for the first time in a long time, you felt grounded. Maybe it was the exhaustion of the weekend, or maybe it was the way Remy’s presence had a way of steadying you, of making you feel like you belonged here, in this strange world of luxury and power.

But whatever it was, you knew one thing for certain: Remy LeBeau had a way of getting under your skin—quietly, effortlessly—and you weren’t sure you wanted him to stop.

As the plane hummed steadily through the sky, you leaned back into your seat, your fingers brushing against the velvet box once more, and let yourself settle into the quiet understanding that passed between you and Remy. Whatever this was—it was just beginning. And somehow, that thought didn’t scare you. Not anymore. And then, just as quickly, Remy smirked and looked away, his fingers tapping idly on the armrest as he effortlessly shifted the conversation back to something lighter. He made a casual remark about the food at the villa, throwing in a sarcastic comment about the chef’s obsession with truffle oil, and just like that, the tension in the air dissolved. The easy banter between you two resumed, like slipping into a well-worn rhythm, comfortable and familiar.

But even as you laughed at his jokes, the small velvet box sitting next to you felt heavier than it should. Not because of the value of the earrings—though they were undoubtedly expensive—but because of what they represented. This wasn’t just a gift. It was a quiet, unspoken gesture that carried with it a deeper meaning, one that Remy hadn’t put into words, but that you could feel in the subtle shifts of his tone, the look in his eyes when he handed it to you.

The earrings weren’t just an accessory. They were a piece of him, a piece of his world—this strange, opulent world of power, wealth, and influence that, despite how foreign it still felt at times, he was slowly, deliberately inviting you into. It was as if, with this small act, he was reminding you that you weren’t just a bystander to the whirlwind of luxury and intrigue that surrounded him. You belonged here, with him, in whatever undefined space the two of you were carving out together.

You glanced back out the window, the clouds drifting lazily below, their soft, white edges giving way to the endless blue of the ocean. The vastness of it all felt surreal, a stark contrast to the intimacy of the moment you’d just shared. The world outside stretched on, infinite and distant, but here, in this small, isolated pocket of the sky, something was changing between you and Remy.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, though the weight of the past few days pressed softly against your mind. The weekend had been a whirlwind of social maneuvering, opulent parties, and the subtle dance of power dynamics that came with being in Remy’s orbit. And through it all, you’d somehow managed to hold your own. But now, as the adrenaline of the weekend faded and the quiet hum of the plane lulled you into a state of reflection, you realized just how significant the shift between you and Remy had been.

This wasn’t just playful banter anymore. It wasn’t just a flirtation or a casual arrangement. Whatever it was between you and Remy—it was growing, deepening in ways you hadn’t fully anticipated. The way his hand had lingered at the small of your back, the quiet protectiveness in his tone when Roberto had tried to flirt with you, the thoughtful gift now resting beside you—each moment, each gesture, had been building toward something more.

You didn’t have all the answers yet. Hell, you weren’t even sure you wanted all the answers just yet. But there was a quiet certainty settling in your chest, a sense of rightness in the way things were unfolding. For the first time in a long while, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

Remy glanced over at you again, catching your quiet smile. His lips quirked into a smirk, his eyes sparkling with that familiar playful glint, but there was something softer beneath it. “What y’ smilin’ about, chère?” he asked, his voice teasing but laced with curiosity.

You shrugged, leaning back into your seat and pulling the blanket a little tighter around yourself. “Nothing,” you said, though the warmth spreading through your chest told you otherwise. “Just… thinking.”

“‘Bout what?” he pressed, his tone light, but there was genuine interest in his eyes.

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze flicking over to the small box beside you, the weight of it still present in your mind. “About how unpredictable this weekend’s been,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady. Remy leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms above his head with a lazy grin. “Y’know, chère,” he drawled, glancing at you with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes, “come tomorrow mornin’, it’s back t’ the office. Back t’ reality.”

You groaned softly, sinking further into your seat as the thought of returning to the daily grind hit you. The luxury and ease of the weekend felt miles away now, and the idea of diving back into work felt like a sudden splash of cold water.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead as if to stave off the looming reality. “I was just starting to forget all about it.”

Remy chuckled, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of amusement and sympathy. “Can’t live in paradise forever, chère. But hey,” he added with a wink, “at least y' got somethin’ nice t’ wear when y’ head back.”

You glanced down at the small velvet box resting beside you, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Guess that’s true,” you replied, your voice softening. “Could be worse.”

Remy’s smirk widened, his tone light but his eyes thoughtful. “Yeah, could be. But don’t worry—paradise’ll be waitin’ for us again soon enough.”

[blerb-f1]

" Cooked Australian"

Oscar Piastri x trad goth!reader

Qatar left Oscar quite dead but at least a eery kind doctor is there to revive him

“Haaaa” Oscar sighed, laying down on the couch in his driver’s room. Qatar was an absolute drain of a race and Lando’s pushing at the end surely didn’t help his wellbeing. His Legs felt weak and wobbly as he hobbled back into the room. He fell onto the ground, air spinning. Leaving a voice message on some group was all he could muster, laying on the ground.

As little ducks started spinning in the air above him, the door opened after a short knock. He saw a person step in, clad in fully black clothes. Some kind of goth. White Makeup melting off her face as she got on her knees next to him.

“I’m Y/N, Oscar. I’m a registered Doctor, I'll help you, okay? The team sent me. I’ll put you into an ice bath, for that I need to take off your clothes. Is that fine?”

Oscar nodded weakly. He really didn’t care about being seen. All he could think of was relief.

He felt a cool towel being placed on his head and water gurgling into a plastic basin. Shortly after he felt his race suit being pulled off, then his fireproof. The cold air was almost uncomfortable on his steaming skin.

“I’ll wipe you down first, okay? So that you won’t get flashed by the cold.” the voice said, her voice having a comforting melody to it.  He flinched under the cold cloth passing over his skin, but it had turned into relief white soon.

“I need you to tense up now. That makes lifting you easier.”

Oscar did as asked, tensing his worn muscles as much as he could manage. The woman grabbed him before letting him sink into the water. Once again, big flinch.

The water bit at his skin as more sweat poured over his head, burning his sensitive skin. “Close your eyes please.” 

Cold water brushed over his head, he felt his hair being gone through and then a headband pushed it up. A soft towel cleaning his face again. 

“Have a drink please” 

The usual driver's straw hit his lips and he gingerly drank from it. The water tasted disgusting, probably riddled with things good for the body.

Oscar fully leaned back against the plastic tub, just sipping the water offered to him. Finally his conscience started returning to him as he felt the Lady -Y/N- being her name, take his pulse.

He stared up at her, the white and black make-up now fully smudged and half run off from all the water she had handled. The jet black hair had started sticking together and her black clothes equally wet. 

“Are you feeling a bit better?” she asked him, worried in her eyes. 

“...Yeah” he weekly voiced, a smile crossing his face at her big panda eyes.

“hm?” she asked. “What's making you smile?”

“Your makeup. It's gone.” Oscar stated quickly.

She fumbled around in her handbag, getting out a beautiful classic looking mirror, eyeing her appearance. “I look like garbage. Not like you’re in better shape though.” She twisted the mirror for him to see his reflection.

Red face, swollen and exhausted. His hair was pushed up with a fluffy cat eared headband. The water made a splashing noise as she put a little duck in there before grabbing back her mirror and some wipes. Strong wipes and water splashes helped take off her makeup . An equally exhausted face appeared underneath the strong mask covering it.

“So you’re not alone. I’m just outside the room. Try not to drown please. I'll report to the team. They're worried about you, allright.”

Oscar splished around in the Water before finally feeling good enough to step out. He gently stepped out, falling back on his lounge chair. The stack of towels was already prepared as he started drying himself off, grabbing fresh clothes from his drawers. Being dressed again, he flopped back onto the chair, eyeing the room. The entire floor was covered in water and wet towels, his racesuit buried in a big stack of orange Frotte. Oscar returned to sipping his water, watching the rubber duck spin in circles as he saw the door open again. 

Y/N gasped. “Who said you could walk yourself? Did you get hurt?!”

“No” was his simple factual statement.

Y/N looked around the room, grabbing a new bottle from the deep bottoms of her leather coat. “Here, drink this instead. Tastes better.” She pushed his special straw in the new bottle, handing it over. Oscar took a sip. It did taste better.

Y/N had brought a laundry basket in which she threw the towels and his sweaty clothes before pushing it out of the door.

She then lifted the storage bin that posed as his bath, letting the water down the drain. A last towel served as a mop to reduce the room's slipping hazard.

The woman looked quite proud of her work as she placed her hands on her hips, procuring her bag again and disappearing in his bathroom. A while later she re-emerged , dressed in a fresh change of equally black clothes and new , but simpler, makeup applied on her face.

“Ready to show yourself to the Team Oscar?”

 He nodded. No point in dilly-dallying, he’d have to go outside either way.

supported by Y/N’s Arm, he stepped outside. The bright lights being aggressive on his still bloodshot eyes. 

The team was looking up with nervous expressions. Apparently, they were all quite worried. 

‘Quite a surprise’, Oscar thought. He was sure they’d worry about Lando more, him being their Driver 1 but apparently, no. Zack Brown was quick to approach him, checking his appearance up and down with hawklike, watchful eyes. With his Hand patting Oscar's Shoulder, he pulled him into a warm, comfortable hug.

“You did well Oscar.”

Oscar looked up at Zack, at Lando whose Face was trying to hide his own disappointment and at all the mechanics that had worked so hard the season. While this surely wasn’t a win, nonetheless it was something many drivers had never reached in their entire life. A little droplet escaped his eyes, quickly hiding it behind his sleeve.  One thing confused him however, where exactly did Y/N come from?

Zack answered as if he could read his thoughts. “Good that Y/N was already here, otherwise we would have had to drag you to the medical center but the cameras were like Hyenas today. They caught Lance and Alex at some very unfortunate angles.”

“Why was Y/N here?”

“She’s currently in training as Replacement for Dr. Ian Roberts. He feels like his body isn’t that movable anymore so he wants to relocate towards research and Development for Driver Security. The FIA held open tests. We told you about them, don't you remember?”

Oscar tried his hardest to remember but that mention must have escaped him.

“Of course you dont. “ siggghhh “Anyway, Y/N was the one that passed the tryouts so she’s currently being trained by Dr. Roberts himself. While she doesn’t have as much experience in the medical field as him, the knowledge required for this position is way too specialized anyway to be learned in a normal Hospital.”

Y/N nodded as if agreeing with the Statement, before adding:”Theoretically today was just my first look at the job. First thing I have to do besides learning about Drivers Injuries is getting used to the fast driving. Alan has been doing some rounds around Qatar with me. I don't know how you endure that at those speeds. I had a good vomit into a flower Basket the second he stopped the Medical Car.” She chuckled before tugging her Hair back. “The fastest I've ever gone was 130kmh and my little Hyundai felt like it was exploding. “

“I could take you for a spin if you’d like. Maybe that will help you get used to it?”

Oscar’s breath hiked. Had he actually said that loudly? That was just an intrusive thought, how could he just- “Wait some time, Cowboy. At least until you’re not looking like the walking dead anymore.”

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

*ping*

Oscar had spent the last three days resting in his UK Apartment, just on standby after the drain that was Qatar. That is, until a Message by an unknown number appeared. He expected it to be another insane fan or some scam nigerian prince, willing to share his inheritance.

It was, however, neither of those.

Which offer had he made her again? Offer, Offer…OH JEEPERS A drive around a track.

> HII OSCAR

> This is Y/N - Logan gave me your number after I checked on him!

> I wanted- 

*message deleted*

> i wanted to take you up on your offer!

*ping*

Snetterton? Oscar did some quick calculations. It was early morning, the drive would take around 3 hours. 2 if he were to speed…

> Friends of Mine are at Snetterton today. 

> would that work for you?

< Sure! I’ll see you at Snetterton!

Shit. That wasn’t one of his smartest moments, not by a long shot. Oscar quickly jumped in his bath, getting ready. He picked some clothes that looked appropriate while getting the swoop in his hair in order. Rushing outside, he grabbed his bag with a race suit and helmet - he might need it at a Race Track?-,  dumping it onto the car's passenger seat while sliding into the Driver's Seat. “Google, Route to Snetterton Race Track.” 

His McLaren Artuna had been fueled up to the brim, thankfully. Time to make a 3h track in 2 hours. 

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

As he pulled into the Carpark, Oscar realized he had made a big  mistake. This wasn’t the privately booked tracks he was used to, it was open track day. With many gearheads that were sure to recognise him. What had he done?

 As Oscar pulled into a parking space (much better than Charles would have ever done!) his phone made a 'ping!' again.

Shortly after that message, with his sunglasses covering his face as he leaned against his car, he heard a horrible farty noise approach him.

> We’ve just arrived! Should we pick you up at your Car?

< Yes please, i’m at E5. The Papaya McLaren

> 😂 ofc

> keep your sunglasses on, if you have them

> My friends car is…embarrassing

‘Please don't be it. Please don't be it  he prayed to himself. But Alas, his Luck has run out.

The car approaching him was a riced Golf V. Massive farty exhaust, fugly bodykit and an even more hideous paintjob covering the gullwing doors that were opening

Had he seen that correctly? Gullwing Doors.

He had, horrifyingly enough. He saw Y/N sitting in the Passenger Seat, her Hair teased up highly, Large Cat Eye Sunglasses hiding her expression. The white paint on her skin being lit up by the Cars ugly RGB Light-interieur. She had lifted her gloved hands to wave at him before lifting her long skirt to step out. 

“I’m so glad we were able to find you! This is madness! So many people buzzing about"

Oscar looked around. Yeah, Madness. The McLaren Cap on his head, the McLaren car and the helmet he brought which had turned out to be his actual race helmet, would probably only strengthen this madness.

As he was about to disappear into his own mind, the horrible engine farts stopped and the driver stepped out. A young woman in Overalls, blond braid and equally large sunglasses.

She stretched her hand to shake. He took it.

“I’m Jessica, Y/N’s friend. You don’t have to hide your expression, we know how ugly this car is. I’m a mechanic and sadly the one paid to build this monstrosity.”

Osar let out a sigh of relief. He knew how clear his thoughts were on his face, not knowing how long he would have to disguise the disgust.

“Also, Y/N mentioned you being some kind of driver. I have no clue about Motorsports so don’t worry, I won't rat you out or something. All I care about is testing this fartcannon because the owner actually wants to go on track with it.”

“Have you invited me to try it  then?”

“No, that’s Jessica’s Job. She’s insured if something were to go wrong. I’m not stopping you though if you want.”

Oscar eyed the fartcannon and a sense of morbid curiosity overcame him. Something in him wanted to know what this thing drove like.

“Give me the keys!”

As Oscar settled into the Driver’s Seat, he took note of the car's shift pattern, pulling out. He considered putting on his helmet in case of this shitbox falling apart but being smashed to small chunks appeared more appealing than being found alive but injured in it. 

He pushed the Sunglasses higher on his nose. Gotta do at least something. 

As he shifted up the gears, eye focused on the whimpering boost gauge and body concentrated on the fighting street tires. The other normal street cars looked in awe as this fast fartcannon flew by them. BMWs, Mercs and even some Porsches couldn't stand against this expertly built Ricer. 

That was until he heard some controlled throat noises behind him. A short Glance in the rear-view Mirror revealed that Y/N was struggling to keep her breakfast down. As stopping wasn't allowed, Oscar tried his hardest to slowly and calmly drive back to the parking area. 

A group of people that had seen this mad car had appeared to catch a glimpse of it but they were quickly stopped by Oscar who’d asked them where the toilets were.

While Jessica was away with Y/N, Oscar hid in the car to not be discovered. As the two women returned Y/N just eyed the Car with massive disgust.

“I’m not getting in there again.” She stated clearly, trying to fix her rustled clothes.

At that moment, as if heaven sent, Jessica looked at her phone as a call came in. The owner wanted his car back, she would have to go home. YN would have to take a train home instead.

“I could drive you, '' Oscar offered. “It’ll be dark later. I wouldn't want you traveling alone in the dark”

YN appeared to consider her choices before finally coming to a conclusion. 

“I’d appreciate you driving me. But first, we gotta finish a lap. A singular lap at least. I have to get used to this.”

Jessica bid her farewells, disappearing in the fartcannon, wondering how Y/N even got a position in Motorsport while getting Car Sick.

Oscar helped her into the Artura, settling into his own seat.

“I'll take it slow for the first lap”

Oscar did as promised, one slowish round of Snetterton with People curiously eying the car. This mostly being the fact that it was working, which most Artura didn't.

Then came a fast Lap. Y/N grabbed the doors tightly, Fear imminent though her painted face but success. No throwing up.

Wasn't that a start?

The young driver pulled his car back into the car park, curiously glancing at his passenger again. YN was looking a bit unsettled but much better than before, not that he could tell from her face color though. As he turned the engine off, Y/N leaned back, sighing loudly. 

“I really didn’t consider that I might get sick at high speeds when I applied for this job.” 

“Have you ever driven a car fast before, Y/N?” was Oscar's first proper question. “On a track or even a street?”

She appeared to actually think of an equally proper answer before turning to respond. “Not really.My little Hyundai gets to 130 kmh if i push it but that's above the speed limit. And on a Racetrack? On my own? Never."

Oscar unbuckled his seatbelt, swinging his legs out and opening the passenger door instead. 

“You drive.” Y/N looked at him in Confusion, still getting into the driver's seat though. 

“Why should I drive this car?” she simply asked.

“Why? Because this is a track. Being a passenger is one thing but driving yourself another. Maybe this will help you be less car sick.” 

Y/N sat there in Oscar's Sitting position, not daring to touch anything on this car. “I can't drive this! It’s way too expensive! What if I bin it?”

“McLaren’s just gonna have to get me another then.”

“I don’t know how to drive an automatic!”

“Any idiot can drive an automatic.”

Y/N let out a sound of defeat before adjusting her seat according to Oscars Instructions, searching for the Key in the Ignition. 

“How do I turn this on?”

“You don’t need your left leg. Right foot on the break, the start buttons right next to the wheel”

She did as told and the engine came alive with a loud hum.

“How do I put it in gear?”

“The D for dumbass button in the center console. Boy am I glad I reversed into this parking spot. Oh be careful, you have combined like 600hp more than your Hyundai so better be AHHHH”

The car shot forward as Y/N had engaged the gas pedal way too much, more akin to pushing a little three cylinder car than a V6 Hybrid. 

“Now please”, Oscar continued, clutching whatever he could to stay alive, “P l  e a s e be careful with the brakes. These will be much stronger than the old ass ones on your car. I don’t particularly possess the desire to die in Snetterton”

Y/N directed the Car onto the Track, curious eyes watching why this expensive car is so unstable. Oscar himself was less worried about the car itself and more about his own survival as Y/N had discovered the Joy of Speed. Colin McRae would have been proud of her as she started racing around at what was flat out speed to her, intimating Sunday Drivers by letting the engine howl up behind them or slowing down just to speed up and overtake.

As she finally pulled into the parking lot again, putting the Car into “Park” as instructed, he found himself feeling as tired as he did after Qatar. Was this how his parents felt when driving along with him back when he got his license?

“Oscar, the Cluster is rattling?”

“Oh yeah, it’s been like that the entire time, you were just distracted. These Arturas are notorious for breaking down. I was lowkey hoping you’d bin it so that I would get something more reliable.”

“I think McLaren would have sued me for killing their Car.”

"Nonsense. You saved me from becoming a cooked Australien back in Qatar. If they would have sued you, I'd have announced my move to Red Bull or something.”

“Oscar, it says … The display overheated?”

“I didn’t even know a Display could overheat. Maybe i’ll get my reliable pink Toyota Vitz now”

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

The next day Zack Brown found himself quite unhappy as he discovered a copy of ‘The Sun’ laid on his desk. The cover displayed his youngest Driver Oscar Piastri standing at the side of the road, next to him the new F1 Medic Y/N in her Darkest Sunday's Best and in the middle, a smoking, Papaya coloured McLaren Artura. Or to be even more specific, a burning one. As emphasized by the Fire Trucks closeby.

He angrily slammed down his cup of coffee before reading the title aloud. “McLaren Star Oscar Piastri caught having a Car BBQ along with a Clown doubling as Funeral Director”

As he took his breaths, deep breaths at that, he came to a single conclusion: While this situation was not great, at least he neither was the FIA and had to deal with Cooked Drivers in Qatar or the entire Aston Martin Social Media Team.

[luxury-leather]

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[stargalaxxy]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ Reuniting with Michael Afton

Hihi ᡣ𐭩 I wanted to try something different with a long story with Michael I was inspired by a Battington analogue horror video, bruuuuhhh they are good!!! but anyways this story is inspired by that. No one tell them pweaseeeeee ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ This can be seen as platonic or romantic, so I hope you enjoy ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

‧₊˚✩彡 Tw: Panic Attack, Use of Pills, Murder, and other unsettling stuff...

✮⋆˙ Now Playing: Too Sweet by, Hozier ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

You sit at a booth fiddling with napkins as you absentmindedly tuned out screaming children and beeping of arcade machines going off in another room, a hand on your cheek as you waited for the man who had invited you here.

Ten minutes having gone by as you smack your lips leaning against the back of the booth eyeing the stage closed red velvet curtains with a wooden sign posted in front with, “We’ll Be Back Soon!” written in ink. 

You squint as children would come by the curtains that was guarded by yellow tape with words of, “DO NOT CROSS” bolded for even the blind to see, Children would continue their way to new games or to families excitedly pointing to the stage wishing to see the animatronics.

Crossing your legs, you swallow as you suck in a breath holding it as you notice each child that stopped right in front of the lines in curiosity and continue walking once their attention was gained by flashing lights or food. Your foot starts to bounce as you tap your nail against the table, ticking noises of a grandfather clock in your head in tune of your tapping the swinging of the dial going in sync with every bounce of your foot. 

Cold sweat runs down your neck feeling the knot in your stomach start to form as your heart begins to race, you were panicking having not been in this hell hole for ten years. Not ever since your accident, you still beat yourself up since that day, never having the grace to forgive yourself for what you did.

‘Damnit Michael, where are you” you whisper to yourself as you shifted your legs over the other getting restless, if you stayed here any longer you might’ve run out those doors in a blind panic. You reach into your handbag in desperation as you push your contents out of the way to find what you are looking for, hands shaking as your items fall from your bag, but you were too focused on retrieving the item that you were looking for to care. 

You start to sweat as you fear the worst finally a shaky gasp falls from your lips as you grab the prescribed pill bottle. You fiddle with the top as you finally got the contents open, you shake the open bottle lightly into your shaken hand as you pop the pill into your mouth, you struggle a little as you swallow the dry pill. Closing the bottle, you place a hand on your beating heart, as you swallow practicing breathing exercises as you felt as start to feel better after taking the pill, feeling the stability, and convincing yourself that its contents were working. though you could breathe right from taking your pills you’ve found yourself having counted on them a bit too much. But you never questioned too far as you were distracted by the results they gave.

Finally coming to your senses, you shakily sigh as you start cleaning up the items dropped shoving them into your bag, along with your pill bottle. Allowing yourself to lean your head back continuing your wait for Michael.

You start to grumble in annoyance, if Michael didn’t show up in the next minute you were leav-

“(y/n)?” you shoot up at the man in front of you, he was in a black hoodie and baggy jeans. He had a mask over his mouth and his hands in his pocket, “h-hey Michael” you shake out a greeting.

Michael took a seat in front of you as he awkwardly looked around, he placed his backpack to the side of him as he finally rests. 

“Michael, it’s alright we’re safe here” you assure him also to help yourself as you lean forward to see his face a bit clearly, his flesh was purple. He didn’t smell the nicest, but it was better than the first time you saw him, 

“y-yea, I know” his voice was rough and strained as he shakes his head, as if shaking off his anxiety. You decide to get him back on track as you get him to focus as to why he brought you here, “so, why did you ask to see me?” you squint as you kept close to him leaning over the table to try and keep your conversation as private as possible.

“Y-yea, uhm- look I know I have no right to ask for your time s-so thank you for meeting me.” You stare a Michael flabbergasted,

You knew him since you two were preschoolers, having lived next door to each other since his family first moved to Washington County, Utah. You knew his brother, and little sister, and the incident. After that you and your family moved away, having lived close to the Pizzeria and after your own misfortune, your family couldn’t take it any longer leaving your family home to Ohio where your grandmother lived. 

But coming back you realized you had no reason to, but nightmares and memories flooding back to you forced you to come back, 

You wondered; did he want you back?

Coming to your hometown you didn’t expect to see Michael as you would have thought that his family would have taken the same route as your family did and moved away. However, when you found Michael walking on the sidewalk with groceries you look at the man in slight horror at how much he’s changed, mainly physically, and mentally.

Michael was a rowdy boy growing up constantly fighting for his parents’ attention by doing outlandish stunts. After his mom disappeared leaving him with his absent father, he got worst, hanging out with the wrong crowd, pulling pranks, and finally teasing his brother when his baby sister went missing. 

Again, you knew Michael since you both were in preschool; Michael was the new to the neighborhood moving from England, you were fascinated by his accent as a child and because that you’d invite him to play with you. 

You watch him change as you both grew up together, as tragedy after tragedy befalls him, now here you both are, finding each other once again, he was now a broken shell. Literally and figuratively, he caught you up on what happened to him when you asked that day you ran into him. He explained in bits and pieces slowly looking over his shoulder, you remember looking mortified at what you learned Michael seemed to catch on as he looks away.

“I’m doing this for a reason, (y/n), this is all for them, to save them.” Since then, Michael invited you for a meal, you were sure it wasn’t for catch up, but you came anyways. The curiosity killing you, 

However, another reason tempted you to come as Michael stated that he knew what happened to you brother. With that he left, telling you if you wanted to know more to come to the Pizzeria,

And here you were, Michael in front of you nervously fiddling with his jackets string. “Michael, you said you knew something about my brother” you look to him still fiddling with the string attached to his hoodie. “Please, whatever you know, please tell me. I don’t care about what happened in the past, I just want to know what happened to him.” The desperation in your voice got Michael to finally look at you, and the desperation in your eyes got him talking. 

Taking a breath, he reaches into his backpack to pull out a rolled up rectangular sheet of grid paper. It was laminated, as to protect the contents showing on the paper as Michael slips the rubber band from holding the paper as he rolls it out on the table as you realize that what you were looking were blueprints. 

However, your mind was having trouble wrapping around at what these blueprints were for, but soon your heart spiked as you gasp realizing now of what you were looking at. 

“Where the hell did you get these?” your voice was quiet, but your hatred was visible as disgust crawled its way up your throat or maybe that was fear. Fear of the answer that Michael would give you and the fear of accepting the monstrosity in front of you.

Michael sighs as he predicted this reaction from you, “I found them in this underground basement of Circus Baby Entertainment and Rental, it was made for private parties where people could rent out animatronics for parties.

I worked as a night guard repairing the animatronics before they go out in the day for parties, one night I found those prints in an office, connecting the dots it doesn’t take a genius to know what these animatronics were really built for.” He looks to your paled face hands covering your mouth as your world shifted under you, Michael then continues as he leans over his hand above the prints, you flinch as you catch his purple bandaged up hand in your field of vision however his finger lands on the bottom left-hand corner of the print. 

You follow his finger as your body shakes at the bolded tiny letters on the bottom left side corner of the blueprints showing its properties. 

“Afton Robotics, LLC” your breathing stops as you finally look to Michaels ashamed face, he looked so guilty as if he created these monsters. “My father, he created the animatronics to trap kids inside, for a reason I don’t know-“ he retracts his hand to fold it under himself, 

“When I found this out I started connecting the murders of those kids-“ “They were lured by a rabbit.” Michael nods as he continues, “Spring Bonnie, it was my father's first creation from his first restaurant built with Mr. Emily.” 

“W-wait, but Spring Bonnie was shut down after the accident, Freddy’s Pizzeria was in a totally different location than Fred bears Family.” You try and reason as Michael nods again, “I thought that too, however, my dad knew the locations he built inside and out. He had blueprints and cameras littered all over Circus Baby Rental’s basement” Michael scoffs in vexation as his knuckles whitened from how hard he gripped his fist.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he took Spring Bonnie from that location and lured those children into the backrooms.” It made sense, as Afton had access to his animatronics, but why…

“Michael what you are implying is that your dad…murdered all those kids, murdered my brother…” Michael’s brows furrowed as stabs his index into the blueprints, “this is proof, (y/n), that old man always had something going on. Always disappearing into his office, grinning like a crazed lunatic whenever he came home at random hours of the night.” Michael’s teeth clenched as you continue to stare at the blueprints. As they started to reveal something that was trapped in your brain for the longest time, 

“The smell, of the animatronics” Michael lifts a brow as he looks to you unsure of what you were getting at. 

“After the accident, and after my brother’s disappearance… i-it was a day before my family and I left for Ohio, I wanted to visit it one last time before the Freddy’s Pizzeria closed for good to conduct investigations.” You quickly connect pieces as if they would float away from you, placing a hand on your forehead you continue, “those things, they smelled…rotten, like a decayed animal was stuffed in there.” Tears start to collect in your eyes as they start to fall, finally Michael caught on and gave a sympathetic look. 

“Was he in there Michael? Was my brother in there and I left him?” your voice cracked at the revelation you made; your breath hitched as silently cried in front of Michael as emotions washed over you. 

Michael didn’t know how to comfort you, deciding it was best to let you ride out the wave of sorrow. Looking away to give you peace in crying without anyone looking at you in fear of feeling embarrassed. 

Soon your hiccups reduced to sniffles after a couple of minutes as you look up to Michael who had a napkin in his hand while looking away. you accept it as you mumble a ‘thank you’ as you blew your nose using another napkin to wipe your puffy eyes. 

“Thank you, Michael” you finally look to him as Michael turns to you with a nod and a hum accepting your gratitude, “So, where’s your dad now?” you ask after gathering yourself and continuing with your conversation.

“I don’t know, after all that crap that went down he disappeared and I haven’t seen him in years, I gotta call from Mr. Emily a few months back asking if I could help him out find some stuff-“ he scratches his neck as he continues, “which brought to Circus Baby Rental, and I got scooped. After that I got in contact with him and told him everything, ever since then I’ve been trying to look for Father.” You hum as you fold your arms together much like Michael had his, “so when you find him, what’s next?” Michael reaches into his bag to pull out an old looking cassette tape, Masking tape covered the front with the words. “Freddy’s Repair’s” Michael exhales through his nose as he looks at the tape as if it held all the answers, maybe it did.

“I found this tape inside a Freddy head, since Circus Rental was close to Freddy’s company wise and repair wise, my father hada bunch of stuff from old locations. hiding any evidence in the basement where no one would find it.” Michael goes to put the tape back in his bag, 

“After I found that video bits of clues haunted the tape telling me to find more to uncover what truly happened, As well as my fathers’ motives.” Michael glides his thumb across his other hands knuckles absentmindedly, “those kids are haunting the tapes, begging to be released. But their sanity is so corrupt they don’t know person from threat.” Michael gathers the blueprint as he sighs, “I need to help them, it’s the only thing that helps clear any sort of conscious. I wanted to tell you the things I learned to inform you of what happened to your brother so you can stop blaming yourself.” Michael slings his backpack behind his shoulder as he stands, it shocks you as you stand with him,

“(y/n), my father is a horrible ma- monster, when I find him, I’m not even sure he’ll be human. I want you to know that if anything happens to me, I wanna ask if you could visit my brother at his grave, could you tell him how sorry I am. And that is big brother is doing everything he can to set his friends free.” Michael looks back to you with a cracked smile, as he walks off. 

“Michael! Wait!” you almost make a scene with parents, teenagers, and kids as you race after Michael who wasn’t stopping. You were walking faster as you grab Michael’s shoulder and spun him around once he got close to the entrance,

“You’re not leaving me Michael, not again. You can’t do this by yourself, so I wanna help. And I’m not taking no for an answer, your father murdered my brother, you’re looking to find him and when you do I wanna be the one to throw the first punch.” Your determined frowned turned into a grin as you hold up your fist, you were serious, you wanted to avenge your brother, your mother’s heartache, and your mind from what that monster had taken from you.

Michael looks to you with an unreadable expression, as he exhales through his nose and looks away, “I can’t protect you, those things aren’t just animatronics, you’re gonna see some wild shi-“ you stop him, “I can handle it” you promised as you continue to stare at him.

Michael looks back to you this time with a dead serious expression he grips your shoulders as he looks into your eyes almost trying to find some hint of hesitation, “If you get in trouble, I’m not coming back to rescue you, I was given a mission to save these kids and bring my father to hell with myself included. My journey ends with him under my boot, do you understand?” Michael voice was low, and his accent present. His words didn’t bother you as you huffed and nodded. “I won’t get in your way, Michael.” 

Michael still holds you firm your body trapped under his grip as he finally lets go, “fine, let’s go.” Michael reluctantly sighs as he shoves his hands into his pockets continuing his walk. You smile as you catch up to him walking side by side as you both enter the hell that was waiting for you both.

But your determination to save your brother is what calmed your nerves better than any pill could ever do, and Michael smiles as well as he watches you join him glad that he didn’t have to do this alone.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

Oml, I'm so sorry for how long this is... I hope you guys liked this story and don't mind the length omggg ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Love, ⋆˚࿔ Karrots 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[femmefatalevibe]

How to be beauty with brains (like Amal Clooney) always looking extremely polished, put together, well educated and being successful and eloquent?

Maintain proper hygiene

Stay consistent with your beauty routines: Skincare, haircare, nailcare, and makeup

Find clothes in high-quality fabrics that fit you well (or are tailored to your shape) that are fairly timeless/contemporary classics that can be easily styled together

Keep your clothes clean, steamed/dry cleaned, and lint-free

Choose your accessories wisely and invest in a classic, high-quality handbag or two, a few pairs of shoes, a selection of jewelry, sunglasses, and cold-weather accessories (if applicable)

Dress appropriate for the occasion and the season

Minimal to no logos

Invest in a quality haircut

Make time to read and/or study every day

Practice active listening, ask thoughtful follow-up questions, and learn to share from a place of assertion & authenticity vs. a desire for validation and social approval

Maintain good posture and learn the art of direct eye contact

Take your time: slow down your speech, mannerisms, and reaction time to your emotions or high-pressure situations

Believe in yourself and adopt a growth mindset

[atlasscrumpit]

Miguel x reader

(18 PLUS!)

(nsfw murder and blood)

You were on your way home from work, nearing your apartment you heard a strange noise.

You looked around in confusion before you turned the corner into the alleyway near your apartment.

You stared forward in shock, dropping your hand bag as your blood ran cold.

In front of you stood your husband holding a bloody knife in his head with your co-worker dead on the ground below him.

"M-Miguel?" You whispered in utter fear as he looked up at you.

"Oh, sweetheart. You weren't meant to see any of this." He said as you slowly started backing away.

Every step you took back, Miguel took one forward, stepping over the body.

"Easy now, darling. Don't run away, okay? If you run away do you know what will happen? You'll look guilty, sweetheart. The police will find this body and know you had something to do with it." He whispered as he finally stood in front of you and put his bloody hand on your cheek.

Your eyes were wide like a deer in the head lights as you stared into his eyes.

"You don't want to go to jail, do you honey?" Miguel whispered as you shook your head a little.

"Exactly, baby. So, I need you to go up to our apartment, wash yourself off and wait for me, okay? You think you can do that for me?" He asked as you continued to stare into his eyes.

"I know you're scared, love. You don't have to worry about anything, all you need to do is listen to me, alright?" He continued as you nodded again.

"Good girl, I'll see you in the apartment. Don't forget your handbag, sweetheart." He said as you quickly grabbed your bag and ran towards your apartment.

You got up to your level and ran into the apartment, slamming the door closed before you started stripping off your clothes.

Your shaking hands barely being able to get your uniform undone.

You got into the shower and stood under the warm water, the blood on your cheek washing away as you just stared in front of you, your heart beating a mile a minute.

You lost track of time, just standing under the shower staring forward.

You heard the door of the bathroom open and you panicked, pressing yourself against the shower wall.

The shower curtain was pulled back and Miguel stood there, completely cleaned off of blood and in new clothes.

"Oh, sweetheart." He whispered as he began to take his clothes off.

Once he was naked he stepped into the shower with you and made the water a little warmer.

He grabbed a wash cloth and some soap and began to clean your body.

"Oh, darling. You couldn't even clean yourself off, could you? It's okay, I'm here to help." He whispered as he gently washed your skin with the wash cloth.

It was hard to believe that the man that was treating you so gently had just murdered a man.

After he finished he helped you out of the shower and began drying you off.

"Why?" You whispered as he softly wiped off your face of water.

"Let's talk about it soon, sweetheart. You need to get some new clothes on." He whispered in response as you nodded a little and let him lead you out of the bathroom.

He sat you down on your bed before he got some underwear for you and a nightgown.

After he helped you dress he sat beside you and took your hands.

"Can you look at me, Y/N?" He questioned as you slowly looked at him.

"I shouldn't have been so foolish, you were never meant to see any of that. I'm sorry I scared you." He whispered, gently caressing your hands.

"Why did you do it?" You muttered as he reached up and brushed some hair away from your face.

"He was getting too close to you, I knew what he wanted... I know you thought he was just nice but he was attracted to you and I couldn't let that get in the way." He replied as you looked at him with utter horror in your eyes.

"You murdered him because he was attracted to me?" You whispered with disbelief.

You stood up and slowly backed away.

"You can't just kill people, Miguel! What the fuck is wrong with you!?" You screamed as him as he got up and lunged at you, pinning you against the wall and clamping his hand over your mouth.

"Shh, don't be so loud." He growled as you looked at him in fear.

"You don't need to be afraid of me, baby. I'm just protecting you, but I need you to keep this a secret, sweetheart. Can you do that? Because if you don't we're both going to end up in prison, seperate prisons, love. You think you can live without me? Getting fucked and beaten by women?" He asked as you felt tears roll down your face.

He slowly took his hand away and wiped your tears from your face.

"Exactly, sweetheart. So, you need to be good and do as I say. That way you'll never be any danger, and I can have you right here with me forever. Can you do that for me, baby?" He asked, running his finger along your jawline.

"This isn't the first time you've done this... Is it?" You whispered as he sighed.

"No... It's not, I know you don't understand any of this, baby. I have to keep you safe and you have to stay by my side. So, please please be good and just trust me, okay?" He asked as he leaned in to kiss you softly.

You kissed him back and felt yourself starting to relax.

"No, this is all wrong..." You whispered as Miguel looked down at you.

"No one is ever going to hurt you, and I will never hurt you, baby. There's just some things I have to take care of sometimes. You promised you would love me no matter what, didn't you? Do you still love me?" He whispered as he leant in and began kissing your neck softly.

"Come on, baby. Tell me you still love me, I can't lose you." He whispered still kissing your neck.

"I still love you..." You whispered as he pulled away a little and smiled.

"Oh, sweetheart. I love you so much. You don't have to worry about anything anymore, okay? You don't need to go back to your job." He said, going back to kissing your neck.

"I'm going to take care of it all." He whispered as his hand slid under your nightgown and settled on your bare hip.

"I'm scared." You whispered as he looked at you.

"You don't need to be scared, baby. I'm right here and I'm going to protect you." He replied as you slowly leant forward and kissed him softly.

He smiled and pulled you towards the bed and got you to sit down.

"Let's make you forget all about those awful things, baby." He whispered, kneeling at the end of the bed in between yours legs.

"Can I help you feel better, baby?" He asked, resting his hand on your knee.

You looked down at you and nodded, not saying anything.

"That's a good girl." He whispered as he rolled your nightgown up and slowly took your underwear off.

His large hands went to you thighs and gently spread your legs before he leant for and slowly licked along the outside of your pussy.

He pushed his tounge in more and ran his tounge over your clit making you gasp and brace yourself on the bed behind you.

He started to suck on your clit while one of his hands came up and pushed one finger inside of you.

"M-Miguel." You moaned out in a whispered as he continued to pleasure you.

After he had opened you up enough he pulled away and climbed up onto the bed, straddling you and kissing you passionately.

He started pulling down his own pants while he kissed you.

"Do you want me, baby? Do you need me inside of you?" He whispered as he pulled his boxers down and waited for you to respond.

"Yes... Yes please I need you, make me forget." You whispered making him smile.

"There's my good girl."

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

hiii,

could i please get a fic for melissa schemmenti with this promt from the list that you reblogged:

"I still can't believe you fell in love with me." "Yeah, me neither."

with reader being the one saying that to melissa.

please and thank you so much.

So I couldn’t quite settle on one idea for this one, so it turned into a series of little ficlets (or are they drabbles?)  Also, full disclosure, I do not speak Italian so apologies if the tiny phrase included feels out of place or is inaccurate (I used Google).

95% fluff (but with reference to drunk reader, so sorry if you’re not comfortable with that)

*

You’re sitting on the worktop in Melissa’s kitchen, a cup of tea cradled in your hands.  It’s Saturday morning and with nowhere to be, and nowhere else you want to be, you’re being treated to the ever more familiar sight of the red head moving around her kitchen as she makes you both breakfast.  She still sports marvellous bed hair, and wears nothing but a sleep shirt and her underwear.  It’s a glorious sight to behold.

You’d offered to help, but didn’t put up too much of a fight when Melissa settled you on the worktop, pressing a kiss to your lips and cup of tea into your hand.  Her kitchen is her happy place.  Everything is set up just the way she likes it and when she cooks it’s like a well-rehearsed dance.  It’s a joy to watch, and it warms your heart that she lets you.

“I still can’t believe you fell in love with me,” you say, barely registering you’ve said it out loud.

“Yeah, me neither, kid,” she replies, not even looking away from the cooker.  “I mean, the unicorn onesie was one thing, but those…” she gestures at you with her spatula. 

You look down at your pyjamas, grinning.  You happened to like the rainbows, doughnuts and flying cats combo. 

*

“I still can’t believe you fell in love with me.”

You turn at the softly spoken words, finding Melissa looking at you with a smile tugging at her lips.  “Yeah, me neither,” you smirk.  “What with the warm, welcome reception I got when we first met.”

“You spilled coffee on me!” she shrieks.  “What was I meant to do?  Say thank you?”

You laugh, shifting to lay your head on her shoulder as you both watch Barb and Gerald dance slowly together.  They were renewing their vows.  It was a beautiful day dedicated to a beautiful couple.  It was also the first formal event you had attended as Melissa’s girlfriend.  “If I remember right I paid for your dry cleaning and covered your lunch duty for a week.”

“Yeah, you also asked Barb where my favourite coffee shop was and brought me coffee that whole week too,” she reminds you warmly.

“What can I say,” you smile, turning to press a kiss against her skin.  “I aim to please.  And I had to get into your good books somehow.” 

“Hmmm, yeah, you’re just lucky you’re cute.”

You sit up, turning to look at her.  “Did you think I was cute then?”

She raises an eyebrow.  “When you were practically feeling me up under the guise of helping me get the stain off?”

At least you have the good grace to blush.

She smirks.  “Yeah, I did.”  She slides an arm around your waist, letting you lean into her as she drops her voice and speaks softly into your ear. “I would ask what you thought of me but I think we both remember that little slip of the tongue.”

“I said the coffee was hot!”

A filthy chuckle falls from red painted lips.  “Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Hon.”

*

“I still can’t believe you fell in love with me,” you slur as you lean into Melissa, who at this point is supporting most of your weight in your drunken state.

“Yeah, me neither,” quips Melissa.  “Hold these,” she tells you, waiting for you to take hold of the heels you were too drunk to walk in before she opens your handbag and fishes out your keys.  She was already beginning to regret her offer to pick you up after a girls’ night out with your friends.

You smile at her adoringly as she unlocks the door and ushers you inside.  With the door closed behind you she props you up against the wall as she relieves you once again of your shoes before setting to work on your coat. 

She dodges your attempt at a kiss.  “Kitchen.  You’re eating something and getting a drink of water before you even think about going to bed.”

With her hands firmly on your hips, manoeuvring you in the right direction, you make it.  “What would I do without you?” you ask as she folds you into a chair at your small kitchen table. 

“Break your ankle in those shoes and fall asleep in the gutter?” she offers as she pours you a glass of water and throws some bread in the toaster.  Coming back to stand in front of you she presses the glass into your hand.  “Drink.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” you reply, throwing in a poorly coordinated two finger salute that gains you a raised eyebrow.

Shaking her head, Melissa leaves you to drink your water as she butters your toast before bringing it over to the table.  She sits in the spare seat, her expression softening as she takes in the adoring smile being aimed at her. 

“I love you,” you tell her as you put down your now empty glass. 

“I love you, too,” she replies without hesitation.

“Even like this?”

A soft smile spreads across her lips.  “Yes, il mio asinello, even like this.”

[theboywithburninghands]

Haven’t got anything to say this time. Hope you like the latest chapter! @fernstarsblog your tag as always

T/W: Era appropriate sexism

Primum Peccatum Ch. 6: Stuttering, Cold and Damp

Primum Peccatum was only about four miles long, the majority of it empty land purchased by rich families, waiting to be cultivated for their sons’ and daughters’ estates. The trees consisted mostly of black pine, with the occasional thicket of dogwood or white birch.

Landmarks were mostly gathered around the center of the island, other than the handful of completed estates scattered about such as the Shutnyk and Rooker Estates, and the post office, which was by the pier for obvious reasons. These landmarks included the island’s branch of The Gray Church, Lakepoint Assembly Hall, for Homeowners Association meetings and holiday events, and a small freshwater pond known as Falconhurst Cove, named after one of the founders of the island. It contained little, other than 8 feet of water, some small guppies, cattails, algae and a few ducks or loons on occasion. It had been public property for years, a quiet bit of unmanufactured nature for the residents to enjoy.

Pomni sat by Falconhurst with her novel. It wasn’t her favorite spot for reading, that would be her father’s library, but she didn’t want to be in her parents’ vicinity at the moment. Her mother would doubtlessly ask for her opinions on wedding decor and what Pomni wanted her dress to look like. Pomni had told her, several times, quite clearly, that she wanted nothing gaudy, and a black and white color scheme. Her favorite colors were red and blue, yes, but they looked good on flowers and birds, not people.

Falconhurst was a reasonable substitute. Pomni liked the pond. It was a tranquil place, and even in the summertime it didn’t attract very many mosquitos, mostly craneflies and pond skimmers. But the water was stagnant and too filthy for swimming, and while her parents enjoyed feeding bread to the waterfowl, Pomni didn’t much care for them. They were loud and greedy, and they left their droppings all over the grass. Cute as they were, she’d rather be alone.

She was enjoying rereading her novel, even if she had the whole thing memorized. Houston’s prose was so clean and precise. She described settings with such ease. The town in Humidity was as clear to her mind’s eye as was the pond right in front of her. If she were a better artist, she might have attempted to draw it.

There was a tap on her open book, like someone lightly drumming a finger on it. A blotch of water about the size of a pea sat in the middle of page 43. Pomni looked up at the sky, which was a soft gray. She heard other drops land on the leaves of grass and make rings on the pond.

“Oh, blast… I was hoping it would hold off a bit longer.” Pomni sighed. She wiped the raindrop off the page of her book to avoid smearing the ink, shut it and tucked it into her handbag. She got to her feet and began to walk to The Gray Church, about a half mile away. She could wait out the rain in the Assembly Hall just a short walk away, but the HOA President Mr. Kretschmann might have locked the door, and even then, she’d rather be at the church with a friend than in a dark function room by herself. She never liked that place much anyway, with all the tedious parties her parents had made her attend.

The few droplets of rain had picked up into a drizzle as she made her way to the road. Pomni walked beneath the treeline to keep the rain off, enjoying the pleasant sound of raindrops whispering in the pine needles above her. If this weather kept up, she might have actually tried to find an especially dry place to read, but the book didn’t belong to her. So the church it was.

As she walked towards the church, the rain gradually picked up in volume. Hm, this was starting to become risky. She didn’t want to run the risk of a head cold. That would force her to stay at home and listen to her mother’s nattering. She quickened her pace, droplets of water beginning to eke through the pine needles above her with increasing frequency.

She came upon the church on the horizon. What a relief… She hoped Ragatha had the kettle on. It was a bit selfish to think such a thing, but she hadn’t had the chance to enjoy solitude with one of her only friends on this island, at least without being interrupted by that dreadful shapeman with huge teeth.

“Well, it seems our paths align once again, my dear.”

Pomni nearly slipped and dropped her book upon hearing a familiar, glib voice nearby.

Jax Krolik stood out on the road under a black umbrella, clad in his usual gray on gray waistcoat and trousers, although this time with an ultramarine ascot rather than his usual red one. He smiled.

“Mr. Krolik. Is it truly a crossing of paths, or are you following me?” Pomni countered.

“Once again, your talent for presumption truly astounds.” Jax said, his smile not faltering. “I suppose any coincidence you encounter inspires a conspiracy theory, hm? Perhaps my being here was foretold by the very constellations.”

He gave a theatrical wave of the hand. Pomni scoffed, crossing her arms. “A true wordsmith. Do you employ such doggerel with all of your marks?”

“Only with my betrothed. You should come under the umbrella, the rain is picking up.”

“I’m just fine, thank you,” Pomni answered curtly.

“Somehow I find that difficult to believe. Is that a library book? You wouldn’t want that ruined, I’m certain. You have such a fine library at home, I figured you must have some appreciation of the written word.”

“Our agreement, need I remind you, Mr. Krolik-”

Jax merely walked over to Pomni, shading her with his umbrella.

“You needn’t remind me. I’m quite aware. However, it would be ungentlemanly to allow you to stand there and become drenched. You don’t honestly believe the rumors that we beastfolk bite, do you?”

Jax seemed to show more of his teeth.

“I… Appreciate the gesture, I suppose. Even if it is basic courtesy.” Pomni said. “Must you always act so… self-assured?”

“Act? My self-assurance is entirely genuine.”

“Genuine it may be, yet no less irritating. If you wouldn’t mind, please tell me why you’re here.”

Jax pointed to the church in the distance. “I was just about to inquire if the island’s Gray Sister had seen my sister-in-law. I heard footsteps and thought it may have been Kali, but, alas, it was only you.”

Pomni rolled her eyes. “Hmm. I encountered Kali on the ferry earlier. She said she was on her way to visit you. Has she become lost?”

“Hardly,” Jax replied. “I had one last query for her, but I had forgotten all about it until after she left The Rooker Estate. I saw her leave in this direction.”

“Yes, she told me she was going to the church,” Pomni said. “She may still be inside.”

“Wonderful! Let’s investigate together, shall we?” Jax strode forward, Pomni having to quicken her pace to keep dry beneath his umbrella.

This marked the second time her fiancé had intruded on one of her sanctuaries. It was fortunate he had an umbrella, but that was coincidental, surely. It seemed this fellow had no intention of following the agreement that he himself put forth… disappointing yet ultimately unsurprising.

“How are the wedding preparations coming along in your household, Ms. Shutnyk?” asked Jax.

“Er… I wouldn’t know. I’ve been doing what I can to remain distant from the whole business. I assume that’s why you’re living here on Primum Peccatum rather than on the mainland. Apart from ‘keeping up appearances,’ that is.”

Jax grinned yet again. His frequent smiling disturbed Pomni. She only smiled if something truly made her happy, otherwise her affect was neutral at all times. Her mother had scolded her so often for that. What was so amusing to Jax?

“You could say that’s one reason. Event planning always seemed like an exercise in drudgery. But I also wanted to explore where I would be living for the rest of my days. And what a charming little island it is!”

Pomni nodded. “Even in spite of your dyspepsia?”

Jax looked puzzled for a moment, before his smile lengthened again.

“My dyspep- Ah, yes! Of course. Apologies for leaving you so suddenly yesterday. I have a delicate constitution.”

Pomni squinted. It seemed as though he had forgotten about his ailments, even if they had him rushing to the water closet only yesterday. Which meant either these digestive issues happened so frequently that Mr. Krolik genuinely forgot about having them yesterday… or he wasn’t telling the truth. Perhaps he had become crawsick. Kinger did have a rather extensive wine collection.

Jax continued speaking. “I must say, it does rain quite often in New Hirnantia. Back when I was just a lad and my family still resided in Ediacara, we were lucky to get rain more than twice in one month. Yet here-”

“Mr. Krolik, is this conversation necessary?” Pomni interrupted.

Jax stopped walking. “…I suppose not. But, if we are to be wed, we should at least tolerate one another’s company. It would be a miserable existence if we spent our days bickering, would it not? I would call that a waste of a life.”

Pomni hummed. “Very well, but may we discuss something other than the weather? That topic is rather banal.”

The pair reached the heavy oak door to the sanctuary, Jax rapping on it smartly. After a moment, the hasp could be heard being undone and the door opened with an achy iron creak.

Sister Ragatha’s oddly grim expression brightened upon seeing a familiar face.

“Well good afternoon, Pomni! And who might you be sir?”

Jax extended a hand. “Good afternoon, sister. Jax Krolik. Miss Shutnyk’s fiancé.”

Pomni blinked for a few moments too long.

Ragatha looked at his gloved hand for a moment, uncertain of what to do, before she took it in both of her hands and squeezed it.

“Allfather bless you, Mr. Krolik. I am Sister Ragatha, acting priestess for this branch of The Gray Church. Please come in, both of you.”

She motioned the pair inside, Pomni removing her shoes at the door. Jax unzipped his wide boots and stepped out barefoot onto the carpet, sighing with relief. He hung his umbrella out the door and shook the rainwater off of it before closing it and hanging it on one of the hooks.

“What brings you to this house of worship in such unpleasant weather? Ah- pardon me,” Ragatha removed the hood of her habit, letting her bright red curls cascade onto her shoulders. She shook her head and sighed. “I’ve been meaning to get my hair trimmed.”

“I was wondering, ma’am, if you’ve seen my sister-in-law today. She looks much like me, but with orange fur rather than purple.” Jax explained.

Ragatha thought for a moment. “Hm… I don’t believe I have. The only people I’ve seen today are the two of you, apart from confessors. And naturally, I don’t know their identities.”

Jax’s face fell. “Ah, I see. No matter, thank you for your time, ma’am.”

“If you’re worried for her, I could help organize a search party. This is a rather small island, I’m sure we could have the whole community combed over in just a few hours.” Ragatha suggested, but Jax was already pulling his boots back on.

“That’s unnecessary, sister. I’m sure we merely missed one another. Have a truly sanctimonious day.” Jax pulled the church door open and marched off into the rain, which had hastened considerably.

“Mr. Krolik..!” Pomni called after him. She watched him splash down the road until he disappeared over the crest of the hill leading towards her parents’ and Mr. Rooker’s estate. She made a noise of annoyance and returned to the chapel.

“Sanctimonious..?” Ragatha said to herself. “I can’t tell if he was being rude or simply used the wrong word.”

“More than likely the latter. A poet, he is not.” Pomni replied, looking at the dripping umbrella Jax left on the hook.

“Hm, well, hopefully he won’t catch his death of cold. You’re welcome to stay here until the rain subsides, of course.” Ragatha said.

“Thank you, I may take you up on that offer.” Pomni hadn’t taken her eyes off of the umbrella. She sighed. He kept her dry long enough to get to a place of refuge. She had to return it. “No, I shouldn’t. He’ll be missing that umbrella.”

Ragatha smiled proudly. “Well, that’s a very charitable thing to do, Pomni. I’m sure The Hereafter just became a bit easier for you to see.”

“Hmph,” was Pomni’s reply. She stepped out onto the stoop, opening the umbrella in a shower of droplets. She held it over herself and tucked her book under her arm, and walked cautiously to the steps.

“Oh, Pomni! One moment before you leave!” Ragatha came to the doorway, a smile alighting her face. “Your mother plans on having your wedding here, at this very church. So I’ll be the officiater!”

Pomni smiled in return. It took some

effort, but she maintained eye contact. “Well, if it must happen, I’d be delighted to have you wed me, Ragatha. Have a wonderful day.”

“You as well, little sister. Stay dry.” Ragatha beamed and shut the door to the church. Pomni itched at her arm. While she abhorred this whole situation, she did feel a small bit better that one of her best friends would be officiating and not a stranger.

As she walked down the rainswept path, questions buzzed in her mind like irritating little fruit flies. Kali told her she was going to The Gray Church, yet Ragatha said she had only spoken to anonymous confessors today. So she must have been confessing. But what about? Something to do with Jax? Had she lied about thinking Pomni could run her father’s business? That would certainly be a dagger in her back… And why had Jax gone to find her? There was mention of a question, yes, but her fiancé had already told many half-truths… none of it added up. She supposed she’d have to ponder this more carefully once she wasn’t in the driving rain.

The pink Shutnyk Estate came into view, but Pomni walked right past it towards Mr. Rooker’s manor. Hopefully the rain would let up at least a little by the time she headed back home. Her book would be wet pulp if she walked uncovered in this deluge. She turned into Kinger’s raggy garden, and stopped when she saw a figure sat against the front door, elbows on their knees.

“Mr. Krolik?”

Sure enough, it was Jax, purple fur dripping wet, leaning against the Rooker estate’s locked door in water-darkened clothes. He looked over at Pomni, smirking.

“We meet again. Maybe it was preordained.”

Jax walked through this without any kind of protection? What a foolish thing to do. Still, her chest did ache with a mote of pity for the rabbit. No one deserved to be soaked to the bone and trapped outdoors, even if they were at fault. Thank goodness it was warm out or he may be risking his life out here…

“Why aren’t you indoors?!” Pomni demanded.

“Well, it would appear Mr. Rooker left for the day, and neglected to tell me.” Jax replied.

“And he didn’t give you an extra key?!” Pomni asked, having to raise her voice over the rain.

“No, he did not.”

Pomni scoffed and walked up onto the wet stoop. She took out her ring of keys, finding the extra one Kinger lent her ages ago to feed his insect collection, and unlocked the door. Jax climbed to his feet, water drooling off of his sleeves and pooling under his boots.

“There. I apologize on Mr. Rooker’s behalf. The old duffer’s memory isn’t exactly reliable. Be careful not to get water on any of his documents, or you’ll be out in the cold. Here’s your umbrella. Good afternoon.”

“You’re certain you want to go out in that?” Jax nodded towards the now torrential rain.

“I don’t have much say in the matter, do I?” Pomni retorted.

“You could always wait out the downpour.” Jax said.

“That is not ideal.” Pomni stated firmly.

“Sometimes the ideal choice isn’t possible. Look at us.” Jax said with a grin.

“Oh for the love of The Allfather… Very well. Only because I fear for my book.”

She stepped inside Kinger’s estate, removing her sunhat and placing it onto one of the stacks of paper. Jax stepped inside, removed his soaked-through boots and jacket.

“Excuse me. Please don’t disrobe in front of me.” Pomni requested sharply.

Jax didn’t reply, opening the door and wringing his sopping wet waistcoat out. There was a clink as a small glass tincture bottle fell out onto the stoop.

“Oh, thank goodness that didn’t break…” Jax picked it up hurriedly.

“What is that?” Pomni inquired.

“That is what’s going to keep me from falling ill. An Ediacaran holistic. Good for most minor ailments such as dyspepsia and immune health.”

He removed the dropper from the bottle, sticking out his tongue and squeezing two drops of reddish brown liquid onto it.

“I see,” Pomni said. “And it works?”

“Most certainly. I always carry a bottle on my person. Would you like to try some? The flavor is quite unpleasant.”

Pomni held a hand out in opposition. “I’m quite alright, thank you. I’d rather use real medicine…”

“Suit yourself, dear. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get into something more presentable.”

“Very well… You may do so.”

Jax nodded and began removing his shirt.

“In your bedchamber.” Pomni ordered.

“Ahhh, you must be more specific next time, dear.” Jax replied with a grin. He went upstairs to the second floor. Pomni shook her head in disbelief, going into the kitchen to put on the teakettle.

From outside, a shapeman in red watched through the window. He held a red umbrella above his head, made up almost entirely of teeth. Despite the downpour, both he and his umbrella were dust-dry. He checked to see if it was still raining. Water hit his glove and beaded off. He folded his umbrella, twirling it in his hand, and walked into the woods.