#the way she flinches when someone raises their voice just a hair too loud

[strnza]

i’m  not  saying  that  it  takes  eliza  a  long  time  to  move  on  from  the  physical  repercussions  of  the  mental,  physical  and  emotional  abuse  /  neglect  that  she  endured,  but  …  that’s  kinda  exactly  what  i’m  saying.

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - four

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

warnings: gun violence; blood;

word count: 7.1k

You woke up confused staring at the oddly familiar ceiling, filled with posters ripped from the old magazines you’d gotten at a second-hand store. When you were sixteen is sounded like a great edgy idea. 

You were home.

What the—? How? 

Sitting up, the room felt stifling, the air thick with the stale smell of old wood and the faintest hint of your father’s cigarette smoke, a scent you had hoped never to encounter again. The heavy feeling in your chest wasn’t just the dread of being back; it was the memories flooding back, threatening to drown you.

The sound of a muffled argument seeped through the thin walls, pulling you back to the present. Your heart pounded in your ears as you recognized the angry, slurred voice of your father.

He was shouting at someone, probably your brother, just like he used to. The familiar clinking of bottles and the crash of something being thrown sent a shiver down your spine.

No. This wasn't real. This couldn’t be real.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the rough crappy carpet under your feet. You stood up shakily. The hallway stretched out before you, longer than it should have been, and the flickering light cast eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper.

As you approached the living room, the noise grew louder, more distinct. Your father’s voice, filled with venom and rage, scared the living hell out of you.

You reached the doorway and peered in, your breath catching in your throat. There he was, towering over your JJ, his face twisted in anger. Your little brother was cowering, trying to make himself as small as possible, his eyes filled with fear. The scene was a haunting echo of so many nights you’d tried to forget.

“No,” you whispered, fear bubbling up inside you. “This isn’t happening.”

But it was.

Your father, with his disheveled hair and red-rimmed eyes, swung the bottle in his hand dangerously close to JJ’s head. Each wave of the bottle sent droplets of amber liquid flying, dotting the floor like gruesome confetti. JJ flinched with every movement, tears streaming down his cheeks, and the sight made your heart ache.

“Get out of my sight, you worthless—” your father roared, his voice a terrifying growl.

“No!” you screamed, stepping into the room before you even realized you were moving. “Stop it!”

Your father turned, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as they focused on you. For a moment, he only stared, probably to drunk to realize it was his own daughter.

Then, recognition set in, and his scowl deepened.

“You,” he spat, disgusted by your sight, “You think you can just walk back in here and tell me what to do?”

You couldn’t back down, not now. Not ever again.

“Leave him alone,” you said, your voice trembling, “He’s a child!”

Your father took a menacing step toward you, the bottle still clutched in his hand. “You’ve got some nerve, coming back here and talking to me like that. Looking exactly like her!”

Every instinct screamed at you to run, but you stood there. “I’m not afraid of you Luke,” you lied through your teeth.

His eyes flared with rage, and he raised the bottle, ready to hit you. You tensed up, waiting for the blow.

“Dad, please!” JJ’s voice broke through the tension, “Don’t hurt her.”

JJ’s plea just hung there, like this thin, fragile thread barely holding things together. For a second, your dad froze, his hand twitching, eyes darting between you and your brother.

And then, with this pissed-off roar, he chucked the bottle at the wall. It exploded into a million pieces, glass flying everywhere. The sound echoed through the house, loud and final, like it was the last brutal note in this nightmare that felt way too real.

“You’re a coward, you know that? Hitting your own children. You’re trash.” you spat out, the words flying from your mouth before you could stop them.

His face twisted, “What did you say to me?” He lunged at you, his hands going straight for your throat.

Panic hit hard as his grip tightened around your throat, stealing your breath. You clawed at his hands, desperate to break free, but he was way too strong, too determined.

Dark spots started creeping into your vision. You gasped, fighting for air, but he only squeezed harder. The room blurred and started spinning, and just when you thought you were about to pass out, his face began to change, shifting right in front of you. You blinked, trying to clear your head, and when you opened your eyes again, it wasn’t your dad choking you anymore.

It was Rafe.

Rafe's face, with a sickening grin, loomed over you. His eyes, filled with a cold, calculating malice, bore into yours. “You thought I’d be any different?” he sneered. “You signed your death sentence, pogue.”

The fear was paralyzing, like ice-cold dread flooding through your veins.Your heart hammered against your chest, but you couldn’t scream, couldn’t shout for help. His grip was solid, unbreakable, like he had no intention of letting go.

You struggled with everything you had, but it was like fighting through quicksand. Every move felt slow, heavy, like you were trapped in molasses.

As the edges of your vision began to fade, a new sound cut through the suffocating haze – JJ’s voice, calling your name. “Sis! Please, wake up! Wake up!”

With a final, desperate burst of energy, you tore yourself away from Rafe, his grip suddenly gone. You were falling, tumbling through darkness, and then–

You jolted awake, gasping for breath, your body drenched in sweat. The familiar ceiling of the motel room came into focus. The terror of the nightmare clung to you, and it made it hard to breathe.

Your hands went to your throat, feeling for bruises that weren’t there. It was just a dream, you told yourself, trying to calm your racing heart. Just a nightmare.

As your breath began to steady, you turned your head, feeling the sheets rustle against your skin.

The dim light of the room cast long shadows, and your heart sank when you saw Rafe lying next to you, his chest rising and falling in a deep, peaceful slumber. He was naked, his body partially covered by the sheets, a reminder of what you’d done hours ago.

A wave of nausea hit you, your stomach twisting with disgust — at him, at yourself. The nightmare still clung to you, the image of his hands around your throat fresh and terrifying, making it hard to process how he could sleep so soundly. You slipped out of bed as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake him, and hurriedly grabbed your clothes, dressing in silence.

Standing in the cramped bathroom, you splashed cold water on your face, hoping it would wash away the nightmare. The coolness gave you a quick moment of clarity, but the dread still clung to you, heavy and unshakable. You stared at yourself in the mirror — pale, tired, and haunted.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. You needed to leave, clear your head, figure out what the hell to do next. Quietly, you slipped out of the bathroom, grabbed your keys from the nightstand, and took one last glance at Rafe. He was still asleep, completely clueless about the fear swirling inside you.

The motel hallway was dark and dead silent, except for the low hum of the vending machine down the hall. You made your way to the exit, and the cool night air hit your skin like a slap of reality. It was like stepping out of one world and into another — the difference so harsh, it almost felt unreal.

You walked a few more steps, but suddenly everything started spinning. Your vision blurred, and you felt lightheaded, your legs giving out as you slumped against the wall, struggling to breathe.

The panic attack hit you full force, your chest tightening, and your mind racing. You couldn't let Rafe see you like this. You couldn't let anyone see you like this. You sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to focus on something, anything, to calm yourself down. You started counting your breaths, focusing on each inhale and exhale, trying to slow your racing heart. You thought of JJ, of how much he needed you to be strong.

You couldn't fall apart now.

You kept counting, kept breathing, the cool air helping to clear your head. Slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease. The world started to come back into focus, the shadows in the hallway retreating.

You wiped away the tears that had slipped down your cheeks and stood up, feeling a little more in control.

Sleeping around—no, not just sleeping, practically baring your soul to one of the people that had destroyed your life? That had taunted and beaten your brother? Your friends? That killed a cop and got away with it? The thoughts circled in your mind. You were a dirty traitor.

The cold didn't couldn’t wash away the shame eating you alive. How did it come to this? How did you go from hating Rafe to being tangled up with him like this? 

You thought of JJ, of your friends, the people who had been there for you through everything. They’d never understand.

Hell, you didn’t even understand it yourself. You stopped and leaned against a lamppost, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You had to sort through this mess, had to figure out what was real and what was just the lingering effects of captivity and longing. Maybe you were holding on to the only person who managed to pull you out of Ward’s grasp, fooling yourself into finding some good in someone who had caused so much pain. 

An hour later, you made your way back to the motel, the guilt and self-doubt threatening to consume you entirely. You couldn't ignore the feeling that you'd betrayed everything you stood for by letting Rafe into your life, even if it was just for a moment of weakness.

As you got closer to the entrance, you spotted him at the front desk. He looked a mess — worried, disheveled, like he’d just woken up and thrown on some shorts in a rush. His face was tight with tension as he talked to the front desk guy, hands moving wildly, gesturing around like he was freaking out. 

Your pulse pounded as you walked in, not sure of what to say, what to do, how to approach him. The nightmare was still fresh.

Rafe's voice cut through the air, his tone urgent, "How the fuck did you not see her leave? Did someone take her?”

The front desk guy shook his head, his expression apologetic.

"Sir, I haven't seen anyone come through here."

With a deep breath, you stepped forward, revealing yourself, "I'm here," you said quietly, voice rough from not speaking since you woke up.

Rafe's head snapped up, his blue eyes widening in relief as he caught sight of you. "Thank God," he breathed, his shoulders visibly relaxing, “Fucking hell, Maybank.”

His arms were around you in an instant, his warmth enveloping you. You should feel repulsed.

His hands rested gently on your back; fingers splayed wide. For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace for the last time, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly. And then, you pushed him away, your movements sharp. His hands fell away from you. The hurt in his eyes cut through you like a punch, but you couldn’t bring yourself to think much of it. It was you or him.

You took a step back, putting some distance between you and Rafe, needing the space to breathe, to think, to figure out what came next.

Your gaze flickered to the floor, unable to meet his eyes, unable to face the consequences of your stupid actions, "Just needed some air," you muttered, “Sorry for not leaving a note.”

Rafe's expression shifted from relief to concern as he watched you, his brows furrowing.

"You okay?"

You still couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, "I'm fine," you replied, your voice lacking conviction even to your own ears. "Just felt a little nauseous.”

His hand reached out tentatively as if he wanted to comfort you, but he hesitated, letting it fall back to his side. “I just woke up and you were gone, and I...I panicked."

You hated the fact you could pinpoint the sincerity in his voice so easily. It nearly killed you. 

“We should go back.”

"Will you... will you be okay?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

You nodded, trying to muster up a reassuring smile, but it felt hollow and insincere. "I'll be fine," you lied, the words tasted bitter on your tongue, “Just need some rest.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, let’s go back.”

As you stepped inside the room, he watched you carefully, as if he was afraid you would’ve disappeared again at any given moment. He tried to reach out and grab your arm, but you moved too quickly, and he was left grasping air.

You offered him a weak smile, ignoring the look on his face.

"I'm sorry for leaving like that," you said, your voice tinged with genuine regret. "I’m fine.”

You didn’t think he believed you. He was watching you so closely. He took in how disheveled you looked. The mess of your hair, and barely laced-up shoes so you could get out the door faster. He was smart enough to read your bullshit, but he only took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Is this about last night?”

Your body froze instantly. What were you supposed to tell him? Lie? Tell him the truth and make him hate himself even more? Keep your pain down to hold his?

“It was a mistake.”

You went straight to the chase.

He stalked closer to you, and you took a step back reflexively, “A mistake?” he echoed between labored breaths, “A mistake?”

“Yeah," you stammered, trying to articulate your thoughts, "It's not right. We, we're just lonely."

You despised yourself for even hinting at it, but the tumultuous month spent with him had been bewildering, to say the least. You questioned whether you were truly good for each other. You couldn't be.

"I thought..." he began, his voice trailing off. The vulnerability in his voice pierced your skin, a consequence of your actions. But you needed to put yourself first.

“I’m sorry.”

Rafe's face contorted, his features tightening into a mask of disbelief. And you couldn’t blame him for whatever he was about to unleash on you. You probably deserved it.

“So, what? You're just gonna walk away?" He tried to bark, but his voice quivered from grief, “Stop looking at me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He scoffed, lips twisting into a sneer, as he started to pace around the room, his movements restless and agitated. “That’s funny.”

Rafe could act cold and stoic all he wanted; you could hear the hurt in his voice and sense the sadness in the words. He sounded broken.

"You're angry,” Your mouth ran dry, your heart lurching into your throat. "I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he seethed, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, “Angry? You think you mean enough to me to make me angry?”

His words struck you like a physical blow, a slap to the face. You recoiled instinctively, even though you knew he didn't mean it.

"I don't know what I mean to you," you admitted quietly as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I just know that I can't keep doing this."

Rafe's laughter was bitter and mocking, "Can't keep doing this?" he repeated, his voice laced with derision. "And what, exactly, is 'this'? Fucking? You can’t even say it.”

“You’re being an asshole.”

"An asshole?" he spat, "Is that what you think of me?"

You held his gaze, refusing to back down despite the hurting coursing through your veins. "You're acting like one.”

“Maybank,” His voice was still harsh as he lowered his head to try and meet your eyes. He was close enough that you were able to smell him, "You don't know anything about me, remember? Maybe the fucking really did confuse you.”

“Stop it,” Your voice broke a little, fighting the waterworks that were threatening to run down your cheeks, “Stop making it sound like it meant nothing to you.”

His eyes shut tightly, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s wrong! Rafe—don’t you see it? I can’t do this, not with you of all fucking people, okay?”

He looked down at the carpet, a look of shame falling over his features as he ran a hand over his face, “You knew who I was since the beginning.”

You felt so much frustration rising within you, "Yeah, and every time I look at you now, I see everything that's wrong with me."

“And whose fault is that? Hmm? You said you didn’t want to stop. You wanted it, you wanted me.”

You staggered back, feeling as if the ground beneath your feet was unsteady.

"I wanted it," Rafe repeated, fingers digging into his chest, "I wanted you."

You wanted to reach out to him, hug him as you had just hours ago, but you knew you couldn’t.

“We can’t.”

His eyes were slightly dewy, a somewhat defeated look to his gaze as he walked towards the door.

“Well, congrats Maybank. You won.”

The sound of the door slamming echoed through the room, the finality of it hitting you like a punch to the gut. You stood there, motionless, as the silence enveloped you. Why did it feel like this was going to crush you?

You sank to the floor, your back against the wall, and the tears came in a torrent, for the second time that morning. Sobs wracked your body, each one more painful than the last, as the reality of your situation became clear as day. You had pushed him away, and hurt him, but what other choice did you have? 

The quiet without him was almost eerie. You weren't used to being alone anymore. You couldn't deny that you had felt something for Rafe, something more than just anger and resentment.

But it was twisted, born out of shared trauma and desperation, wasn’t it? It had to be. It was the only explanation that made sense.

Wiping your tear-streaked face with trembling hands, you tried to gather yourself. You still needed to get home. In five days. How the fuck were you going to live in the same room with Rafe for five days after what went down?

You sat on the motel room floor for what felt like hours, the silence driving you up the walls. Eventually, exhaustion won out, and you crawled into bed, your mind too restless to allow for more than fitful dozing.

It was around 4 a.m. when the door to the motel room creaked open, startling you awake. You sat up, your heart pounding, straining to see in the dark. The figure that stumbled through the door was unmistakable: Rafe. His movements were unsteady, his clothes disheveled, and the sharp scent of alcohol hit you even from across the room.

“Rafe?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned heavily against the doorframe, his eyes unfocused. He looked lost.

The anger that had driven him was gone, replaced by a hollow, almost haunted look. You had done that to him.

You got out of bed, approaching him cautiously, “What are you doing?”

He finally looked at you, his eyes bloodshot, “I... I couldn’t stay away,” he slurred, his words thick with the effects of too much alcohol. “I tried, but...”

You sighed, “Rafe, you’re drunk. You need to sit down.”

He let you guide him to the bed, his body heavy and uncooperative. Once he was seated, you grabbed a bottle of water from the small table and handed it to him.

“Drink this,” you instructed.

He took a sip, his hands shaking slightly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, staring down at the floor. “For everything.”

It was the first time he ever apologized to you.

You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was okay, but another part of you was still reeling from earlier.

“You need to sleep this off."

He nodded but didn’t move.

Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “I don’t want to be like him,” he confessed, “I can't."

If you allowed him to keep sputtering out his drunken thoughts you would’ve ended up crying your eyes out again, so instead you squeezed his hand, “Let’s just sleep, okay?”

He nodded again, his eyes drifting shut as the exhaustion and alcohol finally took their toll. You helped him lie down, covering him with the sheets. As you laid back down, you watched Rafe’s breathing even out, his face softening in sleep. 

That night? It never happened. It felt like everything was happening all over again.

Rafe didn’t spare you a glance from the moment he woke up, choosing to care for his hangover by himself. You and he moved around each other like ghosts, the motel room becoming a prison. You barely slept, the nightmares coming back, leaving you exhausted and on edge.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw your father, Rafe, or the hauntings of your past, blending into a tiring cycle of fear. You knew he’d been having nightmares as well, but you pretended to be asleep every time he woke up, chest heaving. He never asked for you help.

He seemed so caught in his torment. You could see it in the way he clenched his jaw, the way his hands would flex into fists and then relax as if he was battling some inner demon. He avoided you, constantly, and when he did speak, his words were clipped and distant.

Your shared meals were silent, the clinking of cutlery the only sound breaking the oppressive quiet. Even the TV stayed off.

On the fifth night, you lay awake in the dark, listening to the rhythm of Rafe's breathing from the other bed. It was uneven, indicating he was also awake. Maybe you should've kept quiet, but his druken monologue was still very much killing you inside.

“You’re not gonna end up like him.”

Rafe's breathing hitched, and you could almost feel his eyes on you through the darkness.

"I mean it," you continued, turning slightly to face his silhouette. "You're not your father."

He didn't respond immediately, but you sensed a subtle change in his posture. Finally, he sighed, "How can you be so sure?" he murmured.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Because I've seen you. I've seen the parts of you that fight against becoming him. The parts that want to be better. And that matters."

He let out a bitter laugh. "I'm not sure it’s enough.”

“It is.”

“It’s not, Maybank. I’ve done enough damage for a lifetime. It’s the reason why you’re sleeping on the other side of the bed instead of right next to me.”

You wanted to reach out, to reassure him that he wasn’t alone, but you knew it wasn’t that simple. 

“I’m still here,” you said softly, “I’m not leaving.”

“You already did.”

Ouch.

Before you could utter a single word, he turned his back to you.

“We’re leaving tomorrow. Sleep.”

“Rafe—”

“Goodnight.”

It took you hours to fall asleep. You lay in bed the events of the past weeks replaying in your mind. You thought of Rafe, of the hurt in his eyes, the way he had looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. That didn't matter anymore to him.

The next morning, you didn’t bother much with packing, only shoving the pieces of clothing you’d collected in a backpack. It felt torturous, to be so close to Rafe yet so far away. He didn’t speak a word as he packed his things, his movements stiff and mechanical. You wanted to break the silence, but every time you opened your mouth, the words seemed to stick in your throat.

The taxi drive to the port was just as unbearable. You stared out the window, watching the landscape blur past, your mind racing with thoughts of what could have been, what should have been. 

Once you arrived, you and Rafe stepped out, the silence between you as impenetrable as ever. It was over. He took the lead, heading towards the ticket booth with his shoulders hunched, and you followed.

You were still scared shitless of those men. They were only helping you because at some point Rafe had helped them smuggle drugs into the States, and that did not leave you the least bit reassured over their intentions. 

Finding a spot on the deck, you both settled into a tense silence, the hum of the boat’s engine and the cries of seagulls filling the void between you. The beauty of the scene did little to ease the anxiety tightening in your chest.

He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his face still void of any emotion.

You watched him for a moment, torn between wanting to reach out to him and the fear that doing so would only make things worse.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you cleared your throat.

“Rafe,” you began hesitantly, “I—”

Before you could finish, he turned to you, his expression weary. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said, his voice flat. “Not now.”

Not ever, that's what he meant.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

“Just stay low, stay quiet. My dad got eyes everywhere.”

From the corner of your eye you spotted one of the men. Tall, burly, with a scar running down his cheek. He simply nodded towards the cargo boat and for a minute you’re taken back to your first day stuck with the Cameron’s, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Rafe walked in front of you again, entering the ship, rounding his way through the halls behind the sketchy guy, only stopping when he knocked on a door, after a moment, it swung open to reveal a bald shot man, eyes way too big for his face, which flicked over you and Rafe, a predatory smile curling his lips.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “You’re late.”

“Had some complications,” Rafe replied curtly, his posture tense.

You didn't like it one bit.

“Complications, huh? Well, come on in”

You followed Rafe inside, heart racing. The interior of the room was pretty dark, the air thick with the smell of smoke and something you couldn’t quite identify. Nor did you want to. 

“Rafe,” the older man announced, his voice cold and commanding. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about our arrangement.”

“Never,” Rafe replied, his tone clipped. “I brought the money.”

He handed over a thick envelope, and the man behind the desk took it, flipping through the bills with a practiced eye. After a moment, he nodded, satisfied.

“Good,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Now, let’s discuss the other part of our deal.”

Rafe stiffened. “I told you, I’m out. I’m not running anything for you anymore.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, his smile turning dangerous. “I don’t think you understand. You don’t get to just walk away.”

You felt a chill run down your spine. This wasn't the plan. Right? The man behind the desk stood up, his gaze shifting to you.

“And who’s this?” he asked, his tone menacing.

“No one,” Rafe said quickly. “She has nothing to do with this.”

The man chuckled, a low, sinister sound. “Oh, I think she has everything to do with this.”

He took a step towards you, and instinctively, you backed away, Rafe moving to place himself between you and the older man, “Leave her out of this.”

“You see, your daddy dearest called in last night. Told me about a loose piece he had to get rid off…a pretty one. Guess this is her?”

"That's none of your business," Rafe growled, his voice filled with a warning, body still shielding yours.

The older man laughed, the sound grating against your nerves.

"Oh, but it is my business, Rafe. You see, your daddy and I, we go way back. And when he asks for a favor, I don't say no."

You knew this had to be a trap.

"Rafe, we need to go," you whispered urgently, tugging on his arm.

He didn't move, his eyes locked on the man before him. "We're leaving."

The man smirked, his gaze shifting between you and Rafe. "You think you can just walk out of here? You're in deep, Cameron. And now, so is she."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. "We're not doing this.”

The older man took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. 

"You have two choices, Rafe. You either do as I say, or she pays the price like Ward asked.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear coursing through your veins. You couldn't let Rafe get pulled back into this world, but you couldn't think about what might happen to both of you if you stayed.

"Rafe, please," you pleaded, your voice trembling at that point.

Rafe’s gaze flicked to you as if he was memorizing your features, from your eyes down to your lips. Oh hell no. You could see the gears turning inside his brain and it made you sick to your stomach when he took a deep breath, his eyes hardening with resolve.

“Run.”

Before you could protest, Rafe launched himself at the older man, tackling him to the ground. The suddenness of the movement caught everyone off guard, but you knew you had to act quickly.

Heart pounding, you turned and bolted out of the room, dropping your backpack in the process, your footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridor.

Behind you, you could hear the sounds of struggle—grunts, crashes, and the thud of bodies hitting the floor. You didn’t dare look back, knowing that every second counted. Rafe had told you to run.

The ship's layout was confusing, with identical-looking hallways and doors leading to who-knew-where. You sprinted through the maze of metal and dim lights, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The distant sound of shouting and commotion indicated that the fight wasn't over. You turned a corner and collided with one of the burly men from earlier.

He grabbed your arm like you were some kind of animal, “Where do you think you’re going?” he snarled.

You stomped on his foot and jabbed your elbow into his ribs, wrenching your arm free as he grunted in pain. Without wasting a second, you continued running, your legs burning.

You burst onto the deck, the cold, salty air hitting you like a slap. The early morning light was just beginning to brighten the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck. You looked around frantically, searching for any means of escape. Your eyes landed on a lifeboat secured to the side of the ship. Without hesitation, you made your way towards it, fumbling with the ropes that held it in place. Your fingers were shaking, but you managed to free the boat. As you were about to lower it into the water, a rough hand grabbed your shoulder and spun you around. It was the man with the scar, his face twisted in anger.

“Going somewhere?” he sneered.

You tried to fight him off, but he was too strong.

Just when you thought all hope was lost, a loud bang echoed across the deck. The man with the scar froze, his grip loosening. You took the opportunity to break free, scrambling away from him.

Rafe stood at the entrance to the deck, a gun in his hand and determination in his eyes. The man with the scar raised his hands slowly, backing away.

“You okay?” Rafe asked.

“I think so.”

“Come here.”

Without thinking, you ran to him, your heart pounding with relief. He was okay. You were okay.

His arms wrapped around your lower back tightly, and gently pulled you back, his eyes searching your face to make sure you were okay, but before you could assure him you were fine, he kissed you.

It felt so…real, it nearly brought you to your knees. As cheesy as it sounded, it felt like time stood still for you, the rest of the world ceasing to exist. 

Until reality broke you again.

Rafe's body tensed suddenly. You heard a muffled sound, like a distant pop, but it took a moment for your mind to register what had happened. His grip on you loosened, and he staggered, his breath hitching in pain. No, no, no, no.

"Rafe?” You caught him as he fell to his knees, eyes darting around, searching for the source of the shot. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head as you watched a showdown between the so-called human traffickers and the fucking police. This had to be a fucking nightmare, no way, were you getting caught in a crossfire. 

Rafe clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers, staining his white shirt. His face was scarily pale, and he struggled to stay upright.

"You need to...get out of here," he managed to say, his voice strained, “Right now.”

“I’m not leaving you, you fuckin—Shit, Rafe. Fuck!” You looked around frantically, your heart pounding in your chest. "Can you walk?" you asked, trying to keep the panic from your voice, you didn't want to scare him.

“Does it look like I can walk, pretty Maybank?”

A sob broke through you, “Don’t try to be fucking funny, you got shot!”

“Baby, you—“ he coughed, blood seeping through his teeth, "You gotta go home.”

"Stop talking!" you repeated, your voice trembling with desperation.

You looked around again, trying to find a way out, a way to save him, anything. But the chaos around you was too much. The police and the traffickers were in a fierce shootout, bullets whizzing through the air, ricocheting off metal, and splintering wood. There was nowhere to run.

Rafe's hand tightened weakly around yours.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice just a whisper. "You have to...Go gome."

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head. "I can't leave you here."

You knew you had to move, had to find help, but leaving him there felt like tearing your heart out. As you turned to peek around one final time, you heard a shout from behind you.

"Freeze!" a police officer yelled, his gun trained on you.

You stopped, your hands raised, your mind racing. "Please, help him," you begged, pointing to Rafe. "He's been shot."

The officer's eyes flicked to Rafe, then back to you. "We need to secure the area first," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

"Please," you repeated, your voice breaking. "He's dying."

The officer hesitated, then spoke into his radio. "Officer down, need medical assistance immediately."

Another officer approached, his gun drawn, and you saw his gaze soften as he took in Rafe's condition. "We'll get him help," he assured you, "but we need to get you out of here safely."

“I’m not leaving without him,” You made the mistake to glance back one last time, your heart breaking as you saw Rafe's eyes close, his body slumping against the ground, “No, no, no! Keep your eyes open, I swear to god—” Your hands trembled as you tried to staunch the flow of blood with your already stained clothing, "Stay with me," you pleaded, your voice cracking. 

His eyes fluttered open briefly, a weak smile touching his lips, "Go."

Before you could tell him off, you felt hands grip your shoulders, pulling you back. "We need to get you to safety," one of the officers said firmly, trying to drag you away from Rafe.

"No! Let me go! I can't leave him!" you screamed, fighting against their hold.

"Ma'am, we need to get you out of the line of fire," the officer insisted, his grip tightening as he pulled you to your feet.

Through your tears, you saw more officers surrounding Rafe, their voices urgent as they called for medical assistance. You watched helplessly as they began to administer first aid, their movements efficient and hurried.

As the officers dragged you away against your will, your eyes never left Rafe. "Please, don't let him die," you sobbed, your voice breaking with despair.

"We're doing everything we can," one of the officers reassured you, guiding you towards the edge of the deck where a police boat was waiting.

You stumbled, your legs weak with fear and exhaustion, but the officers held you steady. As you were helped onto the police boat, you turned back one last time, your heart breaking at the sight of Rafe lying on the deck, surrounded by officers and paramedics. You clutched the railing, your knuckles white, as the boat pulled away from the ship, the distance between you and Rafe growing with each passing second.

The journey back to shore was nothing but a blur of sirens, flashing lights, and the distant sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air. The police officers tried to reassure you, but you wouldn't rest until you saw him again. Alive.

When the boat finally docked, paramedics rushed forward, checking you for injuries, while police officers asked you questions about what had happened. You answered them mechanically, your mind still focused on Rafe, praying that he would survive. Hours seemed to pass in a haze of questions, medical checks, and statements. You told them everything. Finally, you were allowed to sit down and a police officer approached you.

"Rafe Cameron is being taken to the hospital," he said gently. "He's in critical condition, but the paramedics are doing everything they can."

You nodded numbly, "Can I see him?"

“’No visitors will be allowed, kid. We checked your backgrounds. If he survives, he’ll be taken into custody, his father is Ward Cameron, the feds are going to need him.”

You nearly threw up at how easily he said, “if he survives”. There couldn’t be no fucking ifs, he wasn’t dying. Not like this. Not after everything. 

Your knees buckled, and you had to sit down again. The officer helped you to a bench, his face sympathetic, “I understand this is hard, but we need to follow protocol. He’s a key witness and suspect in multiple ongoing investigations.”

You nodded. The world felt distant, and surreal. “Can I at least know which hospital?”

The officer hesitated for a moment, then relented. “St. Michael’s. But you won’t be allowed to call until we clear things with the authorities.”

“Call? I want to visit.”

He sighed, taking a seat next to you, “Kid. I’m really sorry, but you won’t be here. You’re a kidnapping victim and there’s a direct order to take you back home, you’ve been reported missing for over a month now.”

Your mind reeled, struggling to process the officer's words.

Missing? For over a month? It felt like a lifetime and no time at all had passed since you'd been caught up in this nightmare.

"I can't leave him. Not like this."

The officer's expression softened. "I understand, but this is out of my hands. We need to get you back to your family. They'll be worried sick."

What family?

You wanted to shout in his face. JJ was still missing for all you knew and Luke hadn't stepped foot home in months. You felt so helpless.

“I can't just leave him."

"We're going to get you home safely. You'll be able to follow up on Rafe's condition, but right now, you need to come with us."

The officer stood up, motioning for you to follow. Reluctantly, you got to your feet, without another option, every step feeling like a betrayal to Rafe.

As you were led out of the station and into a waiting car, you could only imagine him lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life, by himself. You couldn't bear the thought of him waking up alone, without knowing that you were there for him.

If he ever woke up.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Cherry Lips.

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

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

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

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

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

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

Six years.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your ex’s tattoo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But now? Now it’s just you and Nat. And maybe that’s exactly what you need.

"Fuck him," you say, standing taller and adjusting your shirt as you finish the last swipe of mascara. "Tonight isn’t about him. It’s about me. And damn it, I’m going to have a good time."

Nat grins, stepping back and giving you an approving once-over. "That’s the spirit. Let’s make tonight one to remember."

And as you grab your jacket and head for the door, you know one thing for sure: whatever happens tonight, you’re walking in there on your own terms. <><><><><><><> Crowded.

That was probably the only word that could remotely describe the scene in front of you. A shoulder-to-shoulder sea of leather, fishnet, black band tees, combat boots, and patches sewn onto worn-out denim jackets. The crowd seemed endless, bodies moving in rhythm with the heavy bass thumping through the massive speakers. It was as if the entire city had poured into this venue, all drawn to the electric energy of the night. The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat, alcohol, and the faint burn of cigarette smoke from someone sneaking a smoke break in the corner.

The venue itself was a cavernous, industrial space—an old warehouse repurposed into a music hall. Exposed beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and metal railings lined the second-floor balcony where people leaned over, drinks in hand, watching the stage below. The walls were painted in dark, muted colors, and the dim lighting only served to heighten the sense of anticipation. Neon signs flickered above the bar, casting a ghostly glow across the crowd, while the stage at the far end of the room was bathed in deep reds and purples, waiting for the main act to start.

Nat held your hand tightly as she wove her way through the throng of people, her grip a lifeline in the chaos. You followed closely behind her, trying to keep pace, though your eyes kept darting over the crowd, searching, whether you wanted them to or not. It was ridiculous, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were scanning for that familiar flash of blue hair—her hair.

You hated that you were doing it. Hated that even here, in the middle of what was supposed to be your night, you were still thinking about them. About him and her. And of course, Nat knew. She always knew. She didn’t even have to say anything; she just gave your hand an extra squeeze, her silent way of telling you she understood.

She always understands, you think. Nat knows you better than you know yourself most days.

Finally reaching the bar, Nat let go of your hand and flagged down the bartender. The music was loud- Someone’s voice already blaring through the speakers as the opening band wrapped up their final song—but even over the noise, you could hear Nat’s shout. "Two shots of tequila!" she ordered, not bothering to ask if you wanted one. She knew you did.

You leaned against the bar, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that had been gnawing at you since you walked in. It was stupid to let him—and her—invade your mind like this. It wasn’t like you were heartbroken anymore. The relationship had been dead for months, and you knew it. But here, tonight, knowing they were somewhere in the crowd at the same concert you’d been looking forward to for weeks? It felt like a sick cosmic joke.

The thought made your stomach twist. You wanted to have fun tonight, to let loose and forget about him. About them. But all you could think about was the fact that they might be here, just a few feet away, holding hands like you used to, maybe even in the same spot you and he had planned to stand.

"Here," Nat’s voice cut through your thoughts as she handed you a shot. "To assholes who don’t deserve your energy," she said, raising her glass.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. "To assholes," you repeated, clinking your glass against hers before throwing the shot back. The tequila burned its way down your throat, but it was exactly what you needed. A little fire to match the one brewing in your chest.

The music shifted as the opening band finished their set, and the energy in the room changed. The lights dimmed, and the crowd began to buzz with anticipation. You turned toward the stage, watching as the roadies scurried around, setting up for Remy LeBeau. You could feel the excitement building, the air practically vibrating with it.

And then, the lights flashed once, twice, and a single spotlight hit the stage. The crowd erupted in cheers and screams as Remy himself stepped out, swaggering to the microphone with a confidence that could only belong to a rockstar. His presence was magnetic—dark hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly cool, a leather jacket slung over his shoulders, and his voice... oh, his voice.

Deep. Gritty. Raw.

It thundered through the venue, shaking the very walls as he belted out the opening lines of his first song. The crowd surged forward, bodies pressed even closer together, arms raised, hands reaching for the stage. The bass pounded in your chest, the drums a steady heartbeat that seemed to sync with the pulse of the crowd. You could feel the music in your bones, vibrating through your skin, drowning out every other thought.

Nat handed you another drink, this time a beer, and you took it gratefully, letting the cold liquid wash away the heat from the shot. You both stood there at the bar, watching the stage, the music wrapping around you like a cocoon. For a moment, you forgot about him. You forgot about her. It was just you, Nat, and the music.

"God, he’s so fucking good live," Nat shouted over the noise, her eyes wide with excitement as she sipped her drink.

You nodded in agreement, feeling the corners of your lips tug upward. Yeah, he was good. Really good. And for the first time tonight, you felt yourself relax, even if only a little.

But still, there was that nagging thought in the back of your mind. You glanced around the venue again, scanning the crowd. It wasn’t that you were upset about the breakup itself. You’d moved past that. What pissed you off was that he had the nerve to bring her here. To the concert you were supposed to go to. It felt like a deliberate move, like he wanted you to see them together, to rub it in your face.

Nat caught you looking around and rolled her eyes. "Stop it," she said, nudging you with her elbow. "They don’t matter. You matter. And tonight is about having fun, okay?"

You took a deep breath and nodded. She was right. She was always right.

"Okay," you said, offering her a small smile. "I’m done. I swear."

"Good," she replied with a grin, taking another swig of her drink. "Because tonight, we’re here to get drunk, scream along to some killer music, and remind you exactly who the fuck you are."

As Remy’s voice echoed through the venue, the music engulfing both of you, you decided that maybe—just maybe—you could let yourself enjoy this. You were here for you. For Nat. For the music. Not for him. Not for her. It was halfway through the fourth song, the chorus echoing through the packed venue, when you saw it. That unmistakable flash of blue hair cutting through the crowd like a knife. Your heart, which had been pounding with the rhythm of the music, suddenly felt like it had missed a beat.

And there he was—right behind her, laughing, his flushed cheeks glowing under the stage lights. His arm was casually draped around her shoulder, the same way it used to rest around yours, and the sight of it sent a wave of nausea rolling through your stomach. The tequila and beer you’d been enjoying just minutes earlier suddenly felt too heavy, like a stone sinking in your gut.

You and Nat had been singing along, swaying to the music, your voices blending with the hundreds of others around you. It had been a good moment. No, it had been a great moment. You were finally letting go, letting the music take you somewhere far away from him, from them. But now, that bubble had popped, and the reality of seeing them together, in your space, shattered the fragile sense of peace you’d been clinging to.

They were making their way toward you, pushing through the mass of bodies with casual arrogance. You could see the flicker of recognition in his eyes when he saw you—his steps faltering just for a moment before he leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She paused too, her gaze finally landing on you, and for a brief second, you could see the hesitation in her face. But then they kept moving, like they had every right to be in your orbit.

You raised your drink to your lips, taking a large, deliberate sip, trying to calm the surge of anger rising in your chest. It hadn’t even been a full day. Not even twenty-four hours since he’d sat across from you in that dingy café and called it quits. And now here he was, parading her around like some kind of victory lap.

The audacity, the fucking audacity of it all, made your blood boil. You weren’t heartbroken—no, that wasn’t it. You’d been ready for the end. What you weren’t ready for was this. Him, swinging her around like a prize, like he hadn’t just destroyed six years of history and walked away like it was nothing.

Nat saw it too—the way your grip tightened on your glass, the way your jaw clenched as they got closer. She didn’t say anything, but you caught the look she shot you out of the corner of your eye. She knew that glint in your eyes, knew what it meant. It was the same look you got right before you were about to do something reckless. Or, more accurately, something that was probably going to get you both kicked out of the venue.

"You okay?" Nat asked, her voice low, but she didn’t need to. She already knew the answer.

Before you could respond, they were standing right in front of you. Him and her. The blue-haired girl who had been a shadow in the background of your life for months, and now was front and center, arm-in-arm with your ex.

"Hey," he said, because of course he would. His voice was casual, like he wasn’t standing there with the woman he’d emotionally cheated on you with, like he hadn’t just blown up your entire relationship less than a day ago. "Didn’t think I’d see you here."

You stared at him, your lips pressing into a thin, dangerous line. Didn’t think I’d see you here? The nerve of him acting like this was some kind of chance meeting, like he hadn’t known exactly where you’d be tonight. The tickets had been your idea in the first place. He knew. He fucking knew.

Nat shifted beside you, her hand subtly brushing against your arm like a warning, but you were already too far gone. That anger, that bitterness, it was bubbling up faster than you could control it, and there was no way in hell you were going to let this slide.

"Really?" you replied, your voice sweet with an edge of venom. "Didn’t think you’d see me here? At the concert I bought tickets for? The one we were supposed to go to together?"

He had the decency to at least look uncomfortable. She, on the other hand, just stood there, her blue hair framing her face, her expression unreadable. You weren’t even mad at her, not really. This was his mess.

"Look, I didn’t want it to be weird—" he started, but you were already done.

Without saying a word, you lifted your drink, the cold condensation dripping down your fingers, and poured it over his head. The liquid splashed over his blond hair, soaking into his shirt, and for a split second, the entire world seemed to go silent. His mouth dropped open in shock, and the people around you gasped, some even laughing as they realized what had just happened.

Nat’s eyes went wide, but you could see the admiration behind her surprise. She knew this was coming, and honestly? So did you.

"Oops," you said, your voice dripping with mock innocence. "Guess I didn’t see you there."

You didn’t wait for him to respond. You grabbed Nat’s hand and spun on your heel, pulling her away from the bar, away from them, and into the thick of the crowd. Your heart was pounding, adrenaline rushing through your veins as the two of you practically sprinted toward the back of the venue, weaving your way through the sea of people.

By the time you stopped, both of you were breathless, and Nat was laughing so hard she had to lean against a nearby wall to catch her breath. "Holy shit," she gasped between giggles, wiping a tear from her eye. "That was... that was fucking epic."

You couldn’t help but laugh too, the tension in your chest finally releasing as you leaned against her, the two of you a giggling mess. It felt good. It felt really good. For the first time all night, you felt like you had control over something. You weren’t just reacting. You were choosing how this night was going to go. And if that meant getting a little messy, so be it.

As your laughter finally started to die down, you glanced back toward the stage, still riding the high of the moment. And that’s when you saw him—Remy. He was looking straight at you from the stage, his dark eyes locked onto yours. A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face, like he’d seen the whole thing, like he knew exactly what had just happened.

For a second, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you—his grin, your flushed cheeks, and the thrum of the music vibrating in the air around you. There was something in his gaze, something that made your pulse quicken again, but not in anger this time. No, this was different.

Nat nudged you with her elbow, a knowing smirk on her face. "Looks like someone’s got an admirer," she teased.

You rolled your eyes, but the grin on your own face was impossible to hide. Maybe this night wasn’t so bad after all. The concert had ended, but the adrenaline from the night still buzzed through your veins like an electric current. You and Nat were stumbling out of the packed venue, laughing uncontrollably, replaying the entire night’s events in your heads. The music still echoed in your ears, and your bodies still thrummed with the energy of the crowd, the lights, and that moment when you’d dumped your drink over your ex’s head. It had been perfect—like something out of a movie—and you couldn’t stop laughing at the sheer audacity of it all.

"Did you see his face?" Nat cackled, leaning against you as you both pushed through the departing crowd. "Like, I don’t think he’s ever been so shocked in his life. You actually—" she paused, wiping a tear from her eye, "—you fucking drowned him!"

You were still giggling, the satisfaction blooming in your chest. "I mean, he deserved it. Who brings the girl they cheated with to the same concert as their ex? I did him a favor, honestly." Nat was about to respond when you both noticed the man pushing his way through the sea of people toward you. He was hard to miss: a burly, balding guy in a black shirt, wearing a lanyard and an earpiece, the telltale signs of venue security. The sight of him was enough to send a jolt of panic through your body, and you instinctively grabbed Nat’s arm.

You exchanged a look—both of you wide-eyed with matching oh shit expressions. There was no way this wasn’t about what had just happened at the bar. Shit, shit, shit.

"Uh, what do we do?" you whispered under your breath, trying to calculate your chances of slipping away unnoticed. But it was too late. The security guard had already spotted you.

He stopped in front of you, his eyes narrowing as he sized you up, clearly annoyed but not quite angry. He exhaled sharply and jerked his head toward the back of the venue. "Come with me," he said, his voice gruff, leaving no room for argument.

You and Nat exchanged another glance, this time your heart sinking. Oh, great. Here we go. You opened your mouth to protest, trying to play it cool. "Uh, yeah, I don’t really go anywhere with strange men. Learned that one a long time ago."

The security guard rolled his eyes so hard you worried they might get stuck. "Mr. LeBeau wants to see you," he said, his voice low but firm, like he had better things to do than argue with you.

That stopped you cold. "What?" you said, blinking, any thoughts of running or playing dumb immediately evaporating. Your brain tried to catch up with the words, but they didn’t make sense. "Mr. LeBeau" as in... Remy LeBeau? The Remy LeBeau who had been up on stage not twenty minutes ago, singing his heart out, making the entire venue lose their minds?

Nat’s eyes widened as she grabbed your arm. "Wait, wait, wait," she said, clearly as stunned as you were. "Like, Remy Remy? The guy we just watched? Wants to see... us?"

The security guard gave a curt nod, clearly unimpressed by your confusion. "Yeah. He saw what you did at the bar." He smirked a little, like he couldn’t help but be amused by the whole situation. "Said it was the highlight of his night."

Your heart was pounding now, but for an entirely different reason. You could still picture Remy’s face from earlier, that moment after you’d drenched your ex. He’d been singing, but he’d seen you—grinning down from the stage with a mischievous glint in his eyes, like he was in on the joke. And now he wanted to see you. You.

Nat was already tugging at your arm. "Holy shit, we have to go," she whispered, her voice barely containing her excitement. "Are you kidding me? The man himself wants to meet you!"

Your mind was spinning, a dizzy mix of excitement and disbelief swirling in your chest. You couldn’t help but feel like this was some kind of fever dream. A few hours ago, you’d been sitting in a café getting dumped by your ex, and now... now you were about to meet a rockstar. The rockstar.

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. "Okay," you said, your voice shaky but determined. There was no way you were going to pass this up. Not after everything that had happened tonight. "Okay, let’s go."

The security guard turned on his heel and led the way, weaving through the last remnants of the crowd as you and Nat followed closely behind. You could feel your heart racing, your palms slightly sweaty as you tried to process what was about to happen.

"Remy LeBeau," Nat whispered, half to herself, half to you, as you walked. "Dude, what the hell is even happening right now?"

"I have no idea," you muttered, glancing down at your outfit, suddenly feeling both excited and self-conscious. The adrenaline from earlier was still humming through your veins, but now it had turned into something else. Nerves. Anticipation.

The security guard stopped at a door near the back of the venue, nodding to another guard who waved you through without hesitation. You stepped inside, and the noise of the venue faded behind you, replaced by the quieter, more intimate hum of the backstage area. The walls were lined with posters and equipment cases, and there was a faint smell of cigarette smoke and sweat lingering in the air.

And then, there he was.

Remy LeBeau.

He stood near the back of the room, leaning casually against a table as if he hadn’t just performed in front of hundreds of people. His dark hair was still damp with sweat, and he had a half-smile on his lips, that same mischievous look in his eyes that you’d noticed from the stage. He was just as magnetic up close as he had been from afar, his presence filling the room without even trying.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice smooth and rich with a hint of amusement. "Th’ girl who made my night." His eyes flicked over to Nat, acknowledging her but clearly focused on you. "An’ her partner in crime, I assume?"

You couldn’t help but smile, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling up inside of you. "Uh, yeah, that was... me," you said, trying to play it cool but knowing full well you were probably failing miserably.

Remy chuckled, the sound low and warm, and pushed off the table, walking toward you with an easy confidence. "I got’ta say," he continued, "I’ve seen a’lo’ of crazy shit in my time, but tha’..." He shook his head, grinning. "Tha’ was somethin’ special."

Nat nudged you, her eyes wide with excitement, and you could feel your face flush with a mix of pride and embarrassment. "Thanks," you said, your voice a little breathless. "It felt pretty damn good."

Remy raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "Y’re a firecracker, aren’ y’?" He glanced between you and Nat, then back at you. "I like tha’."

For a moment, you just stood there, not entirely sure what to say. This was surreal. You were standing in front of Remy LeBeau, who had not only witnessed your dramatic confrontation with your ex but had actually enjoyed it. And now he was talking to you like you were the most interesting person in the room.

Nat, as usual, broke the silence first. "So, uh, what now?" she asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Remy tilted his head, still watching you with that same mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, I wa’ thinkin’," he said slowly, "y’ two seem like the kin’a girls who know how t’ have a good time. And I’m not quite ready for the night t’ end." He flashed a grin. "What do y’ say we grab a drink? My treat."

Your heart skipped a beat. This night just kept getting more and more unbelievable. You glanced at Nat, who was practically vibrating with excitement, and then back at Remy.

"Yeah," you said, a smile spreading across your face. "We’d love that." The night had a dreamlike quality to it, a hazy mix of laughter, music still buzzing in your ears, and the steady pulse of alcohol warming your veins. You and Nat found yourselves sitting with the band long after most of the crowd had cleared out, the afterglow of the concert still lingering in the air. Empty bottles were strewn across the table, and the conversation was flowing easily, Nat animatedly explaining something to the drummer and bassist, her hands gesturing wildly, drawing out laughter from everyone around her.

But even amidst the easy banter, the shared stories, and the laughter, you could feel it—him. Remy’s eyes on you. The weight of his gaze was almost tangible, like a heat that lingered on your skin. You were talking to the guitarist about some band you’d both seen live a few years ago, your conversation relaxed and casual, but every so often, you’d glance up, and there he’d be. Watching you.

Remy LeBeau.

There was something about him that pulled people in, a quiet magnetism that didn’t demand attention so much as command it. He wasn’t the type to shout or make a spectacle of himself, but when his eyes locked on you, it was as if everything else in the room faded away. He didn’t need to do anything more than smirk, that small, knowing curve of his lips, and it was enough to make your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just because he was a rockstar—though that certainly didn’t hurt. No, it was something deeper. Something in the way he carried himself, like he knew exactly who he was and didn’t apologize for it.

And now, he was watching you, that same smirk playing on his lips, like he knew something you didn’t. You tried to focus on what the guitarist was saying, but it was impossible to ignore the heat creeping up your neck, the flutter in your stomach every time you caught Remy’s gaze.

It wasn’t long before Remy made his way over to you, slipping into the seat beside you with a kind of effortless grace. The guitarist gave him a nod and, sensing the shift in energy, excused himself to grab another drink, leaving you alone with Remy.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room was still buzzing with energy, Nat’s laughter ringing out from across the table as she leaned into the drummer, her legs now casually draped over his thighs, his thumbs tracing lazy circles along her calves. You smiled at the sight of her, happy that she was enjoying herself. But when you turned back to Remy, your breath caught in your throat. He was closer now, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering hints of sweat from the concert.

He wasn’t looking at anyone else. Just you.

"Y’ having a good nigh’?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, like velvet brushed against your skin.

You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden rush of nerves. "Yeah. Better than I expected, honestly."

"Tha’ so?" He smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. "Didn’ think y’d end up backstage with a bunch of rockstars, huh?"

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "No, definitely didn’t see that coming. I thought I’d spend the night drowning in cheap drinks and bad memories. Maybe even getting arrested for assault after the bar incident," You glanced briefly at Nat, still lost in her own world, then back at him. "But this... this is way better."

Remy’s eyes softened for a moment, his smirk giving way to something a little more genuine. "Good. Y’ deserve better th’ bad memories and shit ex-boyfrien’s."

There was something about the way he said it that made your heart skip a beat. You weren’t sure if it was the tequila or the way his voice wrapped around the words like a promise, but suddenly, the room felt smaller, the space between you and him charged with an undercurrent of something unspoken.

You took a sip of your drink, trying to calm the rush of emotions swirling inside you. "So, you always invite girls backstage who pour drinks on their exes?" you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Remy chuckled, leaning back slightly, but his eyes never left yours. "No’ always. But y’... well, y’ caught my attention."

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a spark of boldness rise within you. "Oh yeah? What was it? The drink? The fishnets?"

He grinned, his eyes darkening slightly as he tilted his head. "Maybe it was the way y’ didn’ let him get th’ last word. Or maybe it’s th’ way you carry y’self, like y’ve got fire in y’." His voice lowered, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "I like that."

The air between you shifted, the playful banter giving way to something heavier, more charged. You could feel the tension, thick and palpable, hanging between you like a thread waiting to snap.

You glanced down at your drink, suddenly aware of how close he was, how his leg was brushing against yours under the table. The room was still full of people, but it felt like the two of you were in a bubble, separate from everything else. Your pulse quickened, and when you looked back up at him, you could tell from the look in his eyes that he felt it too.

There was a moment of silence, the kind that stretches out endlessly, where you’re not sure what’s going to happen but you know something is. You could feel the question lingering in the air—unspoken, but loud enough to drown out everything else.

And then, as if the decision had already been made, Remy leaned in just slightly, his voice low and rough. "Y’ wanna get out of here?"

It wasn’t a question so much as an invitation, one that hung between you like a challenge. Your heart was pounding now, your palms slightly sweaty as you held his gaze. You knew what he was asking, knew exactly where this was going. And despite the chaos of the night, despite the whirlwind of emotions that had started with seeing your ex, there was no hesitation in your mind.

You wanted this.

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. I do."

Remy’s smirk deepened, and without another word, he stood up, offering you his hand. You glanced over at Nat, who was still wrapped up with the drummer, her legs now fully draped across his lap, lost in her own world. She caught your eye for a brief moment and gave you a knowing grin, mouthing, Go.

You took Remy’s hand, letting him guide you through the backstage corridors, the noise of the room fading behind you as you walked. The air felt cooler as you moved away from the crowd, but the heat between the two of you only intensified with each step.

By the time you reached the door to his dressing room, your heart was racing so fast it felt like it might burst out of your chest. Every step you took down the corridor had been charged with anticipation, your pulse quickening with each second, each unspoken word between you and Remy. You could still feel the lingering heat of the room you'd just left, still hear the faint hum of voices and music filtering through the walls, but it all felt so distant now—like the world outside had shrunk, leaving just the two of you in this bubble of heightened energy and unspoken desire.

Remy opened the door with an easy grace, his hand lingering on the handle as he gestured for you to step inside. The room was dimly lit, just the soft glow of a lamp in the corner casting warm, golden light over the space. There was no harshness, no coldness—it felt intimate, like a place where secrets could be shared and moments could stretch into forever. The air in the room was cooler than the heat of the venue, but it was thick with something else, something palpable between you, something that had been building all night.

As you stepped inside, you could feel the weight of the moment settling over you, a bittersweet mix of nerves and excitement surging through your veins. The door clicked shut behind you, and the faint sounds of the distant music were muted, leaving only a soft hum in the background. It felt like a cocoon, a space where the outside world no longer existed, where the chaos and noise of the night couldn’t reach you.

You turned to face him, and that fragile tension—so carefully held in check since the moment you had caught him watching you from the stage—finally snapped. The charged atmosphere between you suddenly ignited, and in the span of a breath, Remy closed the distance between you. His movements were deliberate but urgent, a man who had been waiting for this as much as you had. His hands, strong and sure, slid around your waist, pulling you close, the warmth of his body pressing against yours.

Then, his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft at first, testing, as if both of you were feeling out the boundaries of this moment. But it didn’t stay soft for long. The urgency that had been simmering beneath the surface began to rise, like a flame fanned by a gust of wind. His lips pressed harder against yours, and your hands instinctively reached for him, fingers tangling in his dark hair as you pulled him closer, needing him closer. His breath hitched as your fingers slid through the strands, and you could feel the way his body responded to your touch, the way his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him.

And just like that, everything else fell away.

The music, the crowd, the chaos of the night—it all melted into the background, like a distant memory that no longer mattered. All that existed was the heat between your bodies, the taste of him on your lips, the way his hands roamed over your back, exploring, wanting. Each kiss, each touch, sent sparks of electricity shooting through you, lighting up every nerve, every inch of your skin. It was overwhelming in the best way possible, like the night had been building to this moment all along.

You weren’t thinking about your ex anymore. He had been nothing more than a brief, bitter distraction, a fleeting shadow that had been erased by the intensity of what was happening now. You weren’t thinking about the way his arm had been slung around her shoulders, or the way they had laughed as if you didn’t exist. That whole mess, that entire chapter of your life, felt miles away—insignificant in the face of what you were feeling now.

All you could focus on was Remy—the way his hands moved over your skin, the way his breath came in short, shallow bursts between kisses. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it against his chest, but you didn’t care. You had never felt so alive, so seen, as you did in that moment, with him.

There was something intoxicating about the way he touched you, like he was both savoring every second and barely able to contain himself. His fingers slid under the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his skin against yours sending another jolt through your body. Your breath caught in your throat, and when his lips found yours again, it was like the world tilted on its axis, spinning faster, pulling you deeper into the gravity of this moment.

Time seemed to stretch, to bend around you, making every second feel heavy with possibility. You could feel the weight of his desire in the way he kissed you, in the way his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, closer—like he couldn’t get enough. And the truth was, you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want this moment to end.

Your back hit the wall gently, and before you knew it, his body was pressed against yours, his hands framing your face as he kissed you with a hunger that matched your own. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his chest rose and fell in time with your own ragged breaths. It was all-consuming, the kind of connection that made everything else fade into oblivion.

For the first time in a long time, you felt free—untethered from the weight of your past, from the pain of your ex, from the expectations you had placed on yourself. With Remy, it was different. It was easy. It was exactly what you hadn’t realized you needed.

And as his hands slid lower, his lips brushing against your ear, whispering something low and full of promise, you let go completely, surrendering to the moment, to him. “Fuck,” Remy muttered, his voice thick with lust, dripping with raw desire. His accent was heavier now, his words rolling off his tongue like a prayer, one meant only for you. “Y’re so fucking beautiful.”

The room around you seemed to fade, the dim lighting casting long shadows along the walls, isolating the two of you in this moment. His words sent a shiver down your spine, your pulse quickening as heat pooled low in your stomach. Your breaths were shallow, your heart pounding in your chest, but before you could even muster a response, Remy’s hands were on your thighs.

Strong, calloused hands slid up your legs, pushing them apart with deliberate ease, his touch firm but gentle, like he was savoring every second. Time seemed to slow as he sank to his knees before you, his body lowering gracefully, and the sight of him—Remy LeBeau, on his knees for you—made your heart stutter in your chest. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of hunger, lips parted slightly, and you sucked in a breath. There was something primal in his gaze, something that made you feel like you were the only thing in the world he wanted at this moment.

You gasped as his fingers found the edge of your shorts, teasing the fabric aside as he slipped beneath the hem, his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, your body responding instantly to his proximity, to the heat of his breath against your skin.

"Remy," you breathed, your voice barely audible, strained and shaky, trembling with need. Your eyes locked onto his, and the way he looked up at you—kneeling before you like a worshipper at an altar—made your knees weak.

He grinned, that familiar, wicked curve of his lips that drove you wild, and without breaking eye contact, his fingers dipped further, tracing soft circles along your inner thigh, inching closer to where you needed him most. Your breath hitched in your throat, anticipation running hot through your veins, every nerve ending in your body attuned to his touch.

With one swift motion, his fingers slid beneath your shorts and into your underwear, finding the wetness between your legs, and you gasped at the sensation. His touch was confident, practiced, knowing. He pressed his fingers against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you cry out. Your hips jerked involuntarily toward him, your body desperate for more, for everything he was giving you.

"So wet," he murmured, his voice a low growl, the words vibrating against your skin. The sound of it sent another wave of heat coursing through you. His head tilted slightly as he watched your reaction, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “So ready for me.”

You couldn’t even find the words to respond, your mind lost in the haze of pleasure as his fingers continued their slow, deliberate rhythm. His thumb circled your clit in torturously slow strokes, each movement sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. You could feel the tension building inside you, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers gripping tightly, nails digging into his skin as you tried to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensations.

Your body was trembling, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. You were right on the edge, teetering there, your thighs trembling against his hands, your entire body aching with the need to come. You could feel it building, that sweet, aching pressure deep in your core, and you moaned, your voice a broken plea.

But just when you were about to tip over into bliss, Remy’s fingers withdrew, leaving you gasping, your body trembling, your mind reeling from the sudden loss of contact. You opened your eyes, half-lidded and dazed, your body still throbbing with need, and you stared down at him, your chest heaving.

"Please," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desperation, your hands tightening on his shoulders. "Don’t stop." You could barely form the words, your body crying out for more, for him.

Remy’s lips curled into a wicked smile, his eyes dark with amusement and promise as he slowly stood, his body towering over you now, casting a long shadow in the dim light. His fingers, still slick with you, brushed against your lip for the briefest moment before he wiped them on his jeans, never once breaking eye contact. There was something predatory in the way he looked at you, something that made your pulse quicken all over again, your body aching for him to finish what he’d started.

“Oh, I’m far from done with you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with sinful promise, each word sending shivers down your spine. He reached down, his hand brushing your cheek for a moment, the touch strangely tender considering the hunger in his eyes. Then his fingers slid down your jaw, tracing the line of your neck, lingering there as if feeling your pulse race beneath his fingertips.

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his hand moved lower, over your collarbone, down the curve of your chest, before settling at the hem of your shirt. He tugged at it gently, his eyes flicking to yours, silently asking for permission. Your breath caught in your throat, but you nodded, your body already aching for more of him, already craving the feel of his skin against yours.

In one fluid motion, he lifted your shirt over your head, casting it aside without a second thought. You were bare before him now, and the way his eyes roamed over your body, dark and intense, made your skin flush with heat. He stepped closer, so close that you could feel his breath, warm and heavy against your skin.

His hands, large and sure, moved to your waist, pulling you toward him, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was deep and demanding. His mouth was hot against yours, his tongue sliding between your lips, and you moaned into the kiss, your hands gripping his arms, feeling the muscles flex beneath your fingers as he held you close.

The kiss deepened, turning more urgent, more desperate, as your bodies pressed together, the heat between you growing unbearable. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel how hard he was through his jeans, his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh. The friction sent another wave of desire crashing through you, and you arched into him, your body begging for more.

Remy broke the kiss, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "I’m gonn’ make y’ scream my name tonight." His voice was a low growl, full of promise, and the sound of it made your core tighten with anticipation.

You were already lost to him, already craving everything he had promised. Your body trembled with the need to feel him inside you, to have him everywhere all at once. You could barely think, barely breathe, as he guided you backward toward the couch, his hands never leaving your body, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, over your chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

When your legs hit the edge of the couch, you sank down onto it, your body trembling with anticipation. Remy stood over you for a moment, his eyes raking over your body with a look that was nothing short of ravenous. He made quick work of his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside, and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him—his chest broad, his muscles taut, every inch of him exuding raw, masculine power.

He lowered himself onto the couch, his body pressing against yours, his lips finding your skin once more. The weight of him, the feel of his bare skin against yours, sent another wave of desire crashing through you. His hands roamed freely now, exploring every inch of you, and you arched into his touch, your body aching for more, for everything he had to give. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every dip, with a possessive intensity that made your heart race and your breath catch in your throat. There was something about the way Remy touched you—like he was memorizing you, staking his claim with every brush of his fingers. His palms slid up your sides, tracing the lines of your body, before cupping your breasts. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, slow at first, teasing, until they hardened into tight peaks beneath his touch. The sensation pulled a low moan from your lips, your back arching involuntarily as you pressed yourself against him, craving more.

His mouth was on yours again, hungry and insistent, his tongue moving against yours in a dance that was equal parts dominance and submission. It was a battle for control, one you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to win. The heat between you was palpable, thick in the air, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. Every kiss, every touch, was like gasoline poured on an already roaring fire, and you were both more than willing to let it burn.

"Y; taste so good," Remy murmured against your lips, his voice rough and gravelly, thick with desire. His breath was hot as it ghosted over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

His words made your pulse quicken, a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your stomach. Before you could respond, his hand began its descent, sliding down your body with deliberate slowness. His fingers skimmed over your stomach, teasing the waistband of your shorts, and then dipping beneath it, his touch featherlight but full of promise. The anticipation made your thighs clench, your body aching for him to touch you where you needed him most.

When his fingers finally slipped beneath your panties, finding your slick folds, you gasped, your hips instinctively lifting toward him. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core as his fingers began to move, stroking you with expert precision. He found your clit almost immediately, circling it with his thumb in slow, deliberate movements that made your breath hitch and your body tremble.

"Remy," you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, your voice trembling as he touched you. His fingers pressed deeper, probing, seeking out the most sensitive spots, and your body responded instantly, arching into his hand, desperate for more.

He watched you as he worked, his eyes dark and filled with lust, taking in every reaction, every gasp, every moan. There was something almost predatory in the way he looked at you, like he was savoring the sight of you unraveling beneath him. His thumb moved faster now, circling your clit with a pressure that was both perfect and overwhelming, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher.

"Please…" you whimpered, your voice breaking as you felt yourself getting closer, your entire body taut with anticipation, teetering on the edge of release.

But just as you were about to tip over, Remy pulled back, his fingers slipping away, leaving you gasping, your body aching with need. Your eyes flew open, wide and desperate, and you looked up at him, your chest heaving, your pulse pounding in your ears.

"Beg f’r it," he commanded, his voice low and rough, filled with a dark, commanding edge that sent a shiver down your spine. His gaze was intense, his lips curled into a wicked smile, and for a moment, your pride flared up, making you hesitate. But the need was too strong, too overwhelming, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out of you.

"Please, Remy," you whispered, your voice trembling, your body trembling. "Please, make me come."

There was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, his smile widening as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin. "Tha’ my girl," he murmured, his voice dripping with approval, and then his mouth was on you.

He slid down your body, positioning himself between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs as he removed your shorts, leaving you fully exposed to him. You barely had time to catch your breath before his mouth descended on your throbbing clit, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves with a speed and precision that made you cry out. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the dark strands as you held on for dear life, your body trembling beneath the onslaught of sensation.

Remy devoured you like a man starved, his tongue working you with an intensity that bordered on desperate. He alternated between long, slow licks and quick, precise flicks of his tongue, driving you absolutely wild with need. Your hips bucked against him, your body moving on its own as you chased the pleasure, the tension inside you building higher and higher with every stroke of his tongue.

"Fuck," you gasped, your voice barely coherent, your body trembling uncontrollably as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. It was too much, too intense, and yet you didn’t want it to stop. You were desperate for release, your thighs shaking, your nerves singing with pleasure as his tongue moved faster, pushing you right to the brink.

"Remy," you whimpered, your voice high and desperate, your grip on his hair tightening as your body tensed. "I’m gonna—"

He didn’t let up. His tongue continued its relentless assault, flicking over your clit with a speed and precision that left you gasping for breath. He was merciless, pushing you closer and closer until finally, with a shuddering gasp, you came. The orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you and pulling you under, your body convulsing as the pleasure ripped through you in uncontrollable, shuddering waves.

You cried out, your vision blurring as the intensity of it overwhelmed you, your entire body trembling beneath his touch. But Remy didn’t stop. His tongue kept moving, softer now but still persistent, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm until you were left gasping, your chest heaving, your heart pounding in your ears.

You were barely aware of your surroundings as you came down from the high, your body still trembling, your thighs slick with sweat and the aftermath of your release. Remy’s hands slid up your legs, soothing now, his touch gentle as he kissed his way up your stomach, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

When he finally reached your mouth, he kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours in a lazy, unhurried way that sent a new wave of heat through your body. You could taste yourself on his lips, a reminder of what had just happened, and it made your already racing heart pound even harder.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, his eyes dark and full of desire as he looked down at you. "I’m not done with y’ yet," he murmured, his voice low and full of promise.

You swallowed hard, your body still humming with the remnants of your orgasm, but the hunger in his eyes sent another jolt of anticipation through you. You knew he meant every word, and as he leaned in to kiss you again, you realized you didn’t want him to stop.

Not tonight. Not ever. He held your gaze, eyes dark and unyielding, the weight of his presence suffocating in the most delicious way. His body was close, too close, the heat rolling off him in waves that made your skin prickle with anticipation. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, gravelly growl that sent shivers racing down your spine.

"Tell me what y’ wan’."

The command hung in the air, thick and heavy, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Your heart thundered in your chest, the words you desperately wanted to say caught in your throat. But his gaze was relentless, pinning you in place, demanding your confession. You swallowed hard, your breath shaky as you finally gave in to the desire burning inside you.

"I want…" you hesitated, the flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck, but the raw need in his eyes pushed you forward. "I want you to spank me," you whispered, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I want you to be my Daddy."

A slow, predatory smile curled at the corner of his lips, sending a thrill of anticipation through you. He moved closer, his body pressing into yours, pinning you against the soft cushions of the couch. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes made the air feel thick and heavy.

"Tha’s my girl," he murmured, his voice rough but filled with unmistakable pride. The praise wrapped around you like a warm blanket, making your skin tingle. "Y’re going to be such a good girl fo’ Daddy, aren’ y’?"

Your throat was tight, but you nodded, barely able to get the words out. "Yes, Daddy." His smile widened, a dark, possessive gleam flashing in his eyes as his hands slid slowly down your body, fingertips grazing your skin with deliberate intent. Each touch sent a ripple of anticipation through you, the tension between you growing thicker by the second. He pulled back just enough to take in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over your body as though you were his to command—and you were.

“Bend over,” he ordered, his voice low, authoritative, and laced with a hunger that made your pulse quicken.

You stood up, the cool air brushing against your skin, making you feel exposed in the most thrilling way. But there was no hesitation in your movements. You held his gaze, a small, teasing smile curling at the corners of your lips as you obeyed, the desire in his eyes only fueling the heat pooling deep in your stomach. The intensity of his stare, the hunger he didn’t bother to hide, made your body hum with anticipation.

"You ready for Daddy?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that made your core tighten with need.

You nodded, your breath coming in short bursts as you braced yourself, your hands gripping the cushions beneath you. The tension coiled in your muscles, every nerve on high alert as you waited for the first strike.

The first slap landed with a sharp crack, the sound echoing through the room. The sting of it spread across your ass, sharp and hot, and you gasped, your body jerking forward from the force. But there was no time to adjust, no time to catch your breath—his hand was already coming down again, harder this time.

The rhythm he set was punishing, each slap harder than the last, the sharp pain blending beautifully into the growing pleasure. Your skin burned where his hand struck, the heat blooming in waves that spread through your entire body. You moaned, your hips lifting instinctively, pushing back toward him, craving more.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, his voice soothing but firm, like he was rewarding your submission even as his hand came down again. "Taking it so well for Daddy."

The praise made your chest tighten with something heady and warm, your core throbbing with need. You could feel the wetness between your thighs growing, the ache there intensifying with each slap. The mix of pain and pleasure, of his control and your willingness to submit, was intoxicating. Your mind was spinning, lost in the haze of sensation as your body trembled beneath him.

You whimpered, your skin tingling with every strike, the heat radiating from your ass as his hand continued its relentless assault. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, punctuated by your gasps and moans. The pain was delicious, sharp and biting, but it only fueled the fire burning inside you.

Remy’s hand finally stilled, resting against your heated skin, his fingers brushing over the marks he’d left. The gentleness of his touch after the punishment made your breath hitch, sending another wave of arousal through you. You could feel your body trembling, teetering on the edge of something raw and powerful.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice low and rough, leaving no room for argument.

Your legs were shaking as you obeyed, turning to face him on the couch. Your heart raced, your body still buzzing from the spanking as you looked up at him. His eyes were dark, filled with an intensity that made your chest tighten. He looked down at you like you were his possession, something precious and fragile but also something he could break if he wanted to.

"Daddy’s proud of y’" he murmured, his voice soft, almost tender. The words sent a ripple of warmth through you, making your skin flush with pride. But then his expression shifted, darkening with a hunger that made your breath catch in your throat. "But Daddy needs to hear y’ beg."

Your breath hitched, your body trembling as you looked up at him, your mind spinning with the mixture of fear and anticipation. The weight of his command hung heavy in the air, and you knew there was no escaping it. You wanted to beg. Needed to.

"Please, Daddy," you whispered, your voice trembling with desperation. "Please, make me come."

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he stepped closer, looming over you. His hand reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek before trailing down to your throat. His grip was firm but gentle as his fingers curled around your neck, his thumb brushing over the rapid pulse at your throat.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice low and filled with approval. The words he spoke made your heart swell, a warmth spreading through your chest that left you feeling both vulnerable and powerful at the same time. You were his, completely in this moment, but knowing that you still held the reins—that he was listening, that he would stop if you asked—made your body tingle with anticipation. His grip tightened ever so slightly, just enough for your breath to hitch, and the sensation sent a jolt of electricity through you. Every nerve in your body was alight, your skin buzzing with the promise of what was to come.

"Just let me know if you need me to stop. You double tap if you need me to stop," he said softly, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through you. The reassurance grounded you, a reminder that despite the intensity, this was still your choice. The control you had over the situation only made your submission all the more intoxicating. You wanted this, craved it, and he knew it.

The sensation of his hand around your throat was overwhelming, the pressure making your pulse race beneath his fingers. It wasn’t just about the physicality of it—it was the power in his touch, the way it made you feel utterly exposed and completely his. Your body responded instantly, a flood of heat pooling between your legs as his thumb brushed over your pulse. The world felt smaller, quieter, like nothing existed outside of this moment, outside of the way his hand made you submit so completely.

His breath was hot against your ear, his voice a low, commanding whisper that made your stomach tighten with desire. "I wan’ta see those pretty eyes on me when you beg, baby."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your body trembling at the raw hunger in his voice. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension thick in the air as you struggled to catch your breath. His grip on your throat tightened just enough to make your vision blur at the edges, and your eyes fluttered open, meeting his.

"Look a’ me," he growled, his voice low and demanding, and the way he said it made your heart lurch in your chest.

Your gaze locked with his, and the intensity in his eyes made the air feel heavy, like it was pressing down on you. His eyes were dark, filled with fierce possession, and the look he gave you made your entire body hum with need. Your breath came in short, shaky bursts, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to hold his gaze. It was almost too much, the way he looked at you—like he owned you, like he wanted to consume you whole.

The pressure of his hand around your throat made your head spin, a dizzying mixture of fear and desire swirling inside you. You gasped, your hands instinctively flying to his wrist, but you didn’t want him to stop. The sensation was overwhelming, the heat between your legs growing unbearable as your body throbbed with anticipation. The world outside felt distant, unimportant, as you focused entirely on the feeling of his hand on your throat, on the way your body responded to his touch.

"Beg," he growled, his voice thick with authority, the single word sending a wave of heat crashing through you. "Beg Daddy to make y’ come."

You whimpered, your voice barely a whisper as you struggled to find the words. The need inside you was overwhelming, consuming, and all you could think about was how much you wanted him, how much you needed him. "Please," you gasped, your voice shaking as his grip tightened just a little more. "Please, Daddy… I need you. Please make me come."

The satisfaction in his eyes was immediate, unmistakable. His thumb brushed over your pulse, feeling the frantic beating of your heart beneath his fingers as he loosened his grip just enough for you to breathe again. His mouth curled into a dark, satisfied smile, his gaze never leaving yours as he watched the way you trembled beneath him.

"Oh you beautiful girl," he murmured, his voice dripping with pride and approval. The praise sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, your body reacting to his words as much as his touch. His hand moved from your throat, trailing down your body, his fingers brushing over every inch of bare skin with deliberate slowness, like he was savoring the way you shivered beneath him.

He sank to his knees between your legs, and the anticipation made your breath catch in your throat. You barely had time to process the shift before his mouth was on you, his tongue flicking over your clit with a precision that made your body jerk in response. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers curling into the dark strands as you held on, desperate for more.

The way his tongue moved—deliberate, intense, relentless—was driving you wild. Each flick, each stroke, sent you spiraling higher, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggled to hold yourself together. Your body was trembling, your thighs shaking as he worked you with expert precision, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as you squirmed beneath him.

"Remy," you whimpered, your voice high and desperate as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. "I’m gonna—"

But he didn’t stop. His mouth continued its assault, his tongue flicking over your clit with unrelenting speed, pushing you closer and closer to the edge until, with a final flick of his tongue, you came undone. The orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you with a force that left you gasping for air, your body convulsing as the pleasure tore through you.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice soothing, grounding you as you came down from the high. "Take it, baby. Take everything Daddy gives you."

Each word was like a balm, softening the sharp edges of your pleasure, grounding you as the intensity began to fade. But your body was still trembling, still humming with the aftershocks of the orgasm, and you could feel the heat between your legs still pulsing with need.

Your heart was still racing, your body trembling from the echo of the last orgasm, but the hunger in his eyes told you this wasn’t over. Far from it. The kiss he gave you was searing, possessive, but it was also a promise—one that left you breathless and aching for more. His hands still roamed your body, slow and deliberate, as if he was mapping out every sensitive spot, every place that made you tremble. You could feel the intensity radiating off him, the way his touch lingered with purpose, pushing you closer to an edge you weren’t sure you were ready to face—but you wanted to, needed to.

He drew back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with something almost predatory. His thumb brushed over your swollen lips, his gaze flicking between your eyes as if searching for a sign. A brief flicker of hesitation crossed his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same, unwavering confidence. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he was going to take it.

"Y’ can take more," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "I know y’ can. Y’re such a good girl, and I’m not done with y’ yet."

Your breath hitched at his words, the heat in your stomach flaring to life again as your body responded to his command. You nodded, but it wasn’t enough. His grip on your chin tightened, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice firm but laced with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. "Tell me y’ can take it for Daddy."

"I can," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. "I can take it for you, Daddy."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, and his grip loosened, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip once more before sliding down your throat, lingering there for a moment as if to remind you of the control he held over your body. The pressure was light, but it was enough to make your pulse quicken, enough to remind you how easy it would be for him to take you further than you’d ever gone before.

"Good girl," he murmured, the words sending a ripple of heat through your body. "Now get on your knees."

His command was simple, but the weight of it was overwhelming. Your legs were still shaky, your body trembling from the intensity of what had just happened, but you obeyed, sliding off the couch and sinking to your knees in front of him. The feeling of the cool floor beneath you contrasted sharply with the heat radiating off your skin, grounding you even as your mind spun with anticipation.

Remy towered over you, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with dark desire, and the way he watched you—like a predator watching its prey—made your heart race even faster. You felt small beneath him, vulnerable, but it only fueled the aching need inside you. You wanted to please him, to give him everything he asked for.

"D’y know what I want, baby?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you.

Your mouth felt dry, your voice barely a whisper as you answered. "No, Daddy. Tell me."

He chuckled softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "I wan’t see how far I can push y’," he said, his tone dark and full of promise. "I want to see y’ break for me, but y’re going to ask for it. Y’re going to beg me to take y’ there."

The words hit you like a wave, the meaning behind them settling deep in your core. He wasn’t just going to push you—he was going to make you want it, make you beg for it. The thought made your stomach twist with anticipation, the ache between your legs growing unbearable as you knelt before him, waiting for his next move.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, his grip firm but not painful, as he tilted your head up to meet his gaze. "Open y’ mouth," he ordered, his voice soft, but the command in it was unmistakable.

You obeyed without hesitation, parting your lips as you looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The vulnerability of the position you were in, the way he was looking down at you as though he owned you, made your entire body burn with need. You wanted him to take you further, wanted him to push your limits in ways you’d never imagined.

He slid two fingers into your mouth, pressing them down on your tongue as he watched you intently. The taste of his skin was intoxicating, and you closed your lips around his fingers, sucking gently as you gazed up at him with wide, pleading eyes. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he watched you.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice thick with approval. "Such a good girl for Daddy."

Your body responded instantly to the praise, a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you as you sucked harder on his fingers, your tongue swirling around them. His eyes darkened, and you could see the satisfaction in his gaze, the way he was reveling in the control he had over you.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, leaving you gasping for breath as your lips parted with a soft, wet sound. His thumb brushed over your chin, wiping away the moisture before he tilted your head back further, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Y’re going to beg for this," he said, his voice low and commanding. "’nd y’re not going to stop until I’m ready to give it to y’."

The heat between your legs was unbearable now, your body trembling with need as his words sank in. You wanted to beg, wanted to give him everything he asked for, but your voice felt trapped in your throat, the intensity of the moment making it hard to breathe.

"Please, Daddy," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked up at him with wide, desperate eyes. "Please… I need you."

His smile widened, dark and predatory, as he stepped closer, looming over you. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating in the best possible way, and the way he looked down at you made your heart race even faster.

"I know y’ do," he murmured, his voice soft but laced with authority. "But y’’re going to have to work for it, baby. Show me how much y’ want it."

With that, he unzipped his pants, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you just enough time to process what was about to happen. Your heart pounded in your chest, your body trembling with anticipation as he freed himself, his cock hard and thick, the sight of it making your mouth water.

He stroked himself once, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched the way your breath quickened, the way your body responded to the sight of him. Then, without warning, he gripped the back of your neck again, guiding you toward him.

"Open," he commanded, his voice a low growl.

Your lips parted instantly, your body moving on instinct as he guided his cock into your mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, the weight of him heavy on your tongue, and you moaned around him, your body trembling with need as you took him deeper.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with approval as he watched you. "Take it all for Daddy."

You did your best to obey, your throat constricting as he pushed deeper, the sensation making your eyes water. But you didn’t stop—you didn’t want to stop. You wanted to please him, to show him how much you could take.

His grip on your neck tightened as he began to move, thrusting slowly into your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of the moment, the way he was using you, made your body burn with need, the ache between your legs growing unbearable.

"Look at y’," he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Such a good little slut for Daddy."

The words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your body responding instantly to the degradation. You could feel your pussy throbbing, the need for release consuming you as he continued to thrust into your mouth, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

You moaned around him, your hands gripping his thighs as you tried to take him deeper, the pleasure and pain blending together in a way that made your head spin. You could feel your body trembling, your vision blurring with the intensity of it all, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

"Beg for it," he growled again, his voice a low, commanding rumble. "Beg Daddy to let you come."

You pulled back just enough to speak, your voice shaking as you looked up at him with wide, desperate eyes. "Please, Daddy," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper. "Please let me come. I need it."

His eyes darkened, his expression filled with satisfaction as he watched you. "Y’ll come when I say y’ can," he growled, his voice thick with authority. "And not a second before."

The words sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you, your body trembling with the need to obey. You didn’t know how much more you could take, but you trusted him to push you to your limit—to give you exactly what you needed, even if you didn’t know what that was yet.

"Now," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low growl as his grip tightened on your neck. "Let’s see how far I can take y’." Remy’s presence loomed over you, dark and intoxicating, his eyes gleaming with something primal, something that made your heart race and your body ache with need. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of the control he held over you. The way he looked at you, like he was savoring every second of your submission, sent shivers down your spine.

"Ah, cher," he murmured, his deep Cajun drawl thick and dripping with honey, "you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. You think you’re ready for more, but you gon’ have to beg me real sweet. I wanna hear how much you need it."

His accent wrapped around you like a sultry summer night, the smooth cadence of his voice making the air around you feel heavy and thick. The sound of his words sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, your body reacting instantly to the way his voice dripped with authority, with promise.

"Please," you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked up at him, eyes wide and desperate. "Please, Remy, I need more."

He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through your entire body. His thumb traced a slow line down the side of your neck, lingering over your pulse point, feeling the frantic beat of your heart beneath his fingers.

"More?" he repeated, his accent lingering on the word, making it sound almost like a tease. His eyes were dark, filled with a hunger that made your stomach flip. "I don’t know if you can handle more, cher. But you gon’ prove it to me, non?"

You nodded quickly, eager, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts as you fought to hold his gaze. Your body was trembling, every nerve alight with anticipation, with the need to be pushed further, to see just how far he could take you.

Remy tilted his head, his smirk widening as he studied you, his thumb pressing a little harder against your throat, just enough to make your breath catch. "Y’ gon’ beg me. Beg me proper. Tell Daddy exactly what y’ need."

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the heat between your legs growing unbearable as his words coiled around you like a snake. The way his accent made every word sound like a command, left you desperate, aching for whatever he was willing to give.

"Please, Daddy," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please push me. I need it. I need you."

His eyes darkened at your words, satisfaction flashing across his face as he released your throat and let his hand trail down your body. His fingers were slow, deliberate, as they traced the curve of your hips, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Bon," he murmured, his voice low and full of approval. "That’s my good girl. Y’ wanna be pushed till y’ can’t take no more, hmm? Y’ wanna see how far Daddy can take y’?"

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as his hand moved lower, teasingly slow, inching toward the heat between your legs. The anticipation was unbearable, your body trembling as you waited for his touch, for him to take control again.

"You gon’ ask for everythin’, cher. Every. Damn. Thing," he growled, his voice thick with his Cajun drawl, each word dripping with dominance. "An’ you ain’t stoppin’ till Daddy says so."

His fingers finally brushed over your clit, and you gasped, your body jolting at the sudden contact. But it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough. You needed more, craved more, and you knew that he was going to make you beg for it.

"Remy," you whimpered, your voice high and needy, your body shaking as his fingers continued their slow, torturous movements. "Please… more."

His lips curled into a wicked grin, his accent thick as honey as he leaned in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You want more? You gon’ have to work for it. Show me how bad you need it."

He began to circle your clit with maddening slowness, the pressure just enough to drive you wild but not enough to give you relief. The frustration built inside you, your hips instinctively bucking up toward his hand, but he held you firmly in place, his grip on your waist unyielding.

"No, no, cher," he drawled, his voice a low purr. "You don’t get to move till I say so. You gon’ take what I give you, and you gon’ be a good girl while you do it."

The dominance in his voice, the way he controlled every movement, every sensation, made your head spin. You could feel the heat building inside you, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter, but he wasn’t letting you have anything more than a taste. Your body was desperate for release, but you knew he wasn’t going to give it to you without making you beg for it.

"Please," you gasped, your voice breaking as you struggled to keep still beneath him. "Please, Remy, I’ll be good. I’ll do anything—just, please, I need more."

He chuckled again, a dark, rumbling sound that made your skin tingle. "That’s better. But I don’t think y’ beggin’ hard enough, non? I wanna hear y’ cry for me. I wanna hear that desperation."

His fingers pressed harder against your clit, the pressure sending a wave of pleasure through you that made your legs tremble, but still, it wasn’t enough. You needed more, needed him to take you over the edge, to push you further than you’d ever been before.

Your breath hitched, your hands flying to his wrist, but he didn’t let up, didn’t give you an inch of control. You were his, completely, and the knowledge of that made you tremble with need.

"Please, Daddy," you whimpered, your voice trembling as you looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Please make me come. I need it. I need you."

Remy’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched you squirm beneath him. "Ah, there she is," he murmured, his voice thick with approval.

Without warning, he slid two fingers inside you, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he began to thrust with a relentless, punishing rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure building so quickly that it left you gasping for air, your body arching up against him as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

But even as your body trembled, even as the pleasure threatened to consume you, he didn’t let you have it. He kept you right on the edge, his movements precise, controlled, designed to keep you teetering on the brink without ever falling over.

"Y’ feel that?" he growled, his voice low and rough, his accent thick with desire. "Y’ right there, but you don’t get to come till I say so. Y’ gon’ take everythin’ I give y’, an’ y’ gon’ thank me for it."

Your body was shaking, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you fought to hold on, to stay in control, but it was impossible. The sensation of his fingers inside you, the pressure on your clit, the sound of his voice—it was all too much.

"Please," you cried, your voice breaking as you begged him for release. "Please, Daddy, please let me come. I can’t take it anymore."

Remy’s eyes darkened, his grin widening as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Then come for me, cher," he growled, his accent thick and commanding. "Come for Daddy."

And with that, the coil inside you snapped, the orgasm crashing over you with such force that it left you gasping for air. Your body convulsed, trembling violently as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, leaving you utterly undone beneath him.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the intensity of your release. "Good girl, bébé. Y’ take what Daddy gives you."

Your vision blurred, your entire body trembling as you rode out the orgasm, your mind spinning with the overwhelming intensity of it all. You barely registered Remy’s thumb brushing over your swollen lips, or the way his grip on your waist tightened, steadying you as you came down from the high.

But even as your body began to relax, even as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through you, you knew that Remy wasn’t done. Not yet.

Remy's eyes burned with a heat that almost made you shy away, but the pull between you two was undeniable. His Cajun accent was thick, dripping with lust as he let out a low, rumbling chuckle that sent a shiver straight down your spine. You knew you were walking on the edge now, and he was about to push you over.

"Ah, cher," he drawled, his voice thick like molasses, rich and smooth, "y’ been beggin' so sweet, but now you gon’ really see what it means to be mine." His hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you close until you could feel his breath ghosting over your lips. "Y’ ready for Daddy to fuck you like you need?"

Your answer came in the form of a ragged breath, your body pulsing with anticipation. Every nerve in your body was alive with the need for him, for the way he controlled you, the way he made you feel like no one else ever could. You nodded, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to hear it from you.

"I asked y’ a question, cher," he murmured, his lips brushing just against the corner of your mouth, teasing you with a kiss he hadn’t yet given. "Tell me what you want."

"Please," you gasped, barely able to form the words as your body trembled under his touch. "Please, Daddy… I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me."

Remy’s eyes darkened, his grip on you tightening as a feral smile tugged at his lips. "Bon," he growled. "That’s what I like to hear."

Without another word, his hands were on you, strong and commanding. He grabbed your hips, pulling you against him with a force that left you breathless. Before you could process it, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you toward the dresser with a confidence that only made the ache between your legs worse.

"Y’ feel that, cher?" he whispered, his voice low and rough, his accent wrapping around you like a caress. "You feel how hard I am for y’?" He ground his hips against you, and you could feel the thick length of him pressing against your core. The sensation made you gasp, your body arching into him as your need for him grew unbearable.

"Remy," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, I can’t wait anymore."

He let out a low, rumbling laugh, his grip tightening on your thighs as he pressed your back against the wall. "Oh, cher, you ain’t gotta wait no more. Daddy’s gon’ give you exactly what you been beggin’ for."

His hands were rough but reverent as they trailed up your thighs, spreading you open as he pinned you against the dresser with his body, completely at his mercy.

"You so wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with approval. "Been wantin’ this, haven’t ya? Wantin’ Daddy to take care of y’?"

"Yes," you gasped, your body trembling as his fingers brushed over your slick folds. "Please, I need you."

"Shhh," he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. "I got y’, cher. I’m gon’ take care of y’ real good."

With that, he gripped himself, pressing against your entrance. You could feel the heat, the wetness. The anticipation, the need, was almost too much to bear, and you could feel your body trembling with the sheer intensity of it.

"Look at y’," he murmured, his voice low and full of pride as he lined himself up with you, his cock teasing your soaked entrance. "Y’ ready for Daddy, bébé?"

"Yes," you whimpered, your voice breathless with need. "Please, Remy… I need you inside me."

That was all he needed to hear.

With one powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, the fullness of him stretching you in ways that made your head spin. You cried out, your fingers digging into his back as he began to move, each thrust slow and deliberate, designed to push you to your absolute limit.

"Ah, cher," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Y’feel so fuckin’ good wrapped around me. Y’ were made for this, weren’t ya? Made to take Daddy’s cock."

You could barely form words, the pleasure too intense, too all-consuming as he picked up the pace, his hips slamming against yours with a force that had you gasping for breath.

"Remy," you moaned, your head falling back against the wall as your body arched into him, your legs tightening around his waist. "Oh god…"

"That’s it, bébé," he murmured, his voice low and rough as his hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he thrust into you harder, deeper. "Take it. Take all of me."

The sound of his voice, the way his accent dripped with authority, with ownership, only fueled the fire burning inside you. Your body was trembling, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. The pleasure was overwhelming, every thrust sending shockwaves through your body, bringing you closer to a release that you could feel building inside you like a storm.

"Please," you gasped, your voice trembling as you clung to him. "Please, I’m so close…"

"Not yet, cher," he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as he slowed his pace, teasing you, keeping you right on the edge but not letting you fall. "Y’ don’t come till I say. You gon’ wait for Daddy, you hear me?"

You whimpered, your body trembling with the need for release, but you nodded, knowing that you were his to control, to use as he saw fit.

"Good girl," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "I’m gon’ make y’ scream."

And then he was fucking you in earnest, his pace rough and relentless, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. The sensation was almost too much, the pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain, but it was exactly what you needed. You could feel every inch of him inside you, stretching you, filling you completely, and it was driving you wild.

"Remy," you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body began to shake, the pressure inside you building to a breaking point. "I can’t… I need to come…"

"Y’ gon’ come for me, cher?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous as he pounded into you with a force that had you seeing stars. "Y’ gon’ come on Daddy’s cock?"

"Yes," you gasped, your voice breaking as your body trembled violently, the pleasure too much to hold back any longer. "Please… I’m gonna come…"

"Then come for me, bébé," he growled, his voice thick with command. "Come for Daddy."

With a final, shattering thrust, your body exploded, the orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless, your vision going white as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. You cried out, your body convulsing against him as he held you steady, his hips never stopping as he fucked you through the orgasm, prolonging your pleasure until you were a trembling, gasping mess.

"That’s it, cher," he murmured, his voice full of pride as he watched you fall apart in his arms. "You did so good for Daddy."

Even as the aftershocks of your orgasm rippled through you, Remy didn’t stop. He kept moving, his pace relentless, and you could feel the tension building again inside you, another orgasm already creeping up on you. You didn’t think it was possible to come again so soon, but with Remy, anything was possible.

"One more, bébé," he growled, his voice thick with lust as he thrust into you harder, deeper. "Give me one more."

Your body was trembling, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he drove you toward another release, his cock filling you completely with every powerful thrust. You could feel the pressure building inside you, the pleasure so intense that it left you gasping for air.

"Remy," you whimpered, your voice trembling as your body began to shake again. "I can’t…"

"Yes, y’ can, cher," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "Y’ gon’ give Daddy one more. Come for me again, bébé."

And just like that, the coil inside you snapped for a second time, the orgasm tearing through you with even more intensity than the first. You cried out, your body convulsing violently as the pleasure consumed you, leaving you breathless and shaking in his arms.

Remy let out a low, rumbling growl as he thrust into you one final time, his body tensing as he found his own release, filling you with a warmth that left you trembling. He held you close, his breath hot against your skin as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm, his grip on you tight and possessive.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the sound of your ragged breathing, the both of you still trembling from the intensity of what had just happened. Remy’s hands were gentle now, soothing as they ran over your skin, grounding you as you came down from the high.

"Y’ did so good, cher," he murmured, his voice soft and full of pride as he kissed your temple. "Daddy’s so proud of y’."

You smiled weakly, your body completely spent but utterly satisfied. You were his, completely, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

"Y’ mine now," he whispered, his Cajun drawl thick with satisfaction. "All mine." <><><><> Remy leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, watching with a lazy smirk as you slowly dressed. His jeans were already on, though still unbuttoned, hanging low on his hips. The room was dimly lit, but he could see the faint redness around your neck, the way your makeup had smudged slightly under your eyes. His gaze lingered for a moment on the torn fishnet stockings you were rolling up, defeated, before tossing them into the wastebasket.

"So, is this what you do?" you asked, a teasing edge to your voice as you glanced at him. "Find girls who amuse you and fuck them into submission?" You arched a brow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Remy’s smirk widened as he stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. "Only the ones I like," he replied smoothly, his Cajun accent thick and lazy. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued, "What about y’, cher? Is this how you normally spend your nights? Pour drinks on your ex and fuck like a rockstar?"

You shrugged, pulling on your shirt and noticing a button missing. With a sigh, you muttered, "Haven't fucked like a rockstar in a while." You tugged at the shirt, frowning at the missing button, and whispered to yourself, "Fuck it."

Without a word, Remy reached over to the floor, grabbed his own shirt, and handed it to you. "Here," he said, the smirk never leaving his face. "They're all used to seein’ me shirtless anyway."

You glanced up at him, a little surprised, but took the shirt, slipping it on. His scent lingered on the fabric, and it felt oddly comforting. As you adjusted the shirt, your eyes trailed over the scratches on his back, the marks you’d left in the heat of the moment. "Sorry about those," you said, your voice softening slightly.

Remy shrugged it off, his smile easy. "Don’t worry ‘bout it. Battle scars, cher. Comes with the territory."

There was a beat of silence, the air still thick with the remnants of your shared passion, but something more serious lingered beneath the surface. You glanced at him, chewing on your bottom lip before speaking again. "It’s funny… me and my ex—we were always trying to match each other’s crazy. But we never really did." You paused, pulling his shirt tighter around you, as if it could shield you from the vulnerability of the confession. "We tried, you know? But it was like… we were on different wavelengths. My crazy was too much for him, and his was never enough for me. We just didn’t fit."

Remy’s expression shifted, the playful smirk fading into something deeper, more thoughtful. He leaned back against the dresser, arms still crossed, but his eyes were locked on yours. "Mmm, I get that," he murmured, his voice low and reflective. "Ain’t easy findin’ someone who matches y’r crazy, cher. Most people, they don’t wanna go there. They don’t wanna dive deep into the wild parts of themselves—or y’. They wanna keep it safe, keep it easy."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "Exactly. It’s like… they want the thrill, but not the risk. They want the passion without the storm that comes with it."

Remy let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if he’d heard that story a hundred times before. "Yeah, well," he said, his tone dripping with a mix of amusement and something darker, "I ain’t met anyone yet who could handle my storm. Ain’t found no one who could match me, not all the way."

He paused, his eyes locking onto yours again, and for a moment, the lazy smirk returned to his lips, but there was something different behind it. Something more serious. More real. "That is… until tonight."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you could feel the air between you shift, thickening with something unspoken but undeniable. You didn’t say anything at first, the weight of his gaze holding you in place as the realization of what he was saying sank in.

"Until tonight?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper, not quite sure if you were asking a question or just echoing his words.

Remy’s smirk softened into a smile, his eyes never leaving yours as he closed the distance between you again. His hand found your waist, fingers trailing lightly over your skin as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Yeah, cher," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "Tonight, I think I found someone who can keep up."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the quiet intensity in his voice. There was a challenge hidden in his tone, a promise that this wasn’t over—not by a long shot. You could feel the fire between you two still smoldering, waiting for the next spark to set it ablaze again.

You turned to face him fully, your body brushing against his as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. "You sure about that, Remy?" you asked, your voice soft but steady. "You think I can match your crazy?"

Remy’s eyes darkened, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly as he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I think you might just be the one to burn me alive."

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with a challenge, with desire, with something neither of you could quite name but both of you could feel. You didn’t need to say anything more—there was no need for words now. The look in his eyes, the way his body pressed against yours, told you everything you needed to know.

Whatever this was between you, it wasn’t over. Not even close.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you’d met someone who was ready to dive into the storm with you, no matter how wild it got. Remy shrugged casually, his eyes still glinting with that lazy, mischievous smile as he leaned back against the dresser. "I’m in town for a few more nights," he said, his voice easy, like he hadn’t just turned your world upside down. "Then I gotta head off to Europe for a tour."

Your brow furrowed, unsure where he was going with this. Before you could ask, he glanced at you through half-lidded eyes, a hint of something more serious behind the playful exterior. "Y’ should come with me."

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head as if you hadn’t heard him right. "Wait, what?" you asked, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

Remy chuckled, that low, rich sound that seemed to rumble from somewhere deep within him. "Yeah, cher, I’m serious. I like y’. A lot." He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours as he continued, "And I think it’s somethin’ I wanna explore."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you were frozen, unsure how to respond. Your heart skipped a beat, and a million thoughts raced through your mind all at once. Was he really asking you to come with him? To leave everything behind for a whirlwind adventure across Europe? The idea was insane—completely reckless. You barely knew him beyond the fire and intensity of the past few hours. This was Remy LeBeau, the enigmatic Cajun heartthrob who probably had more women than he could count falling at his feet. And yet, there was something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you now, that made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he meant it.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little guarded. You’d heard stories like this before. Men like Remy didn’t just meet girls at bars and whisk them off on romantic tours across Europe. Was this just another game to him? Another notch on his belt?

As if sensing your hesitation, Remy crossed the room to the dresser, pulling out a pen and a small scrap of paper. He scribbled something quickly before handing both over to you. "Here," he said, his voice softening just slightly. "Give me y’r number, cher. Ain’t no pressure, but I’d like to see y’ again. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. Maybe you’ll think about comin’ along after all."

You took the pen, still processing his offer, your fingers brushing against his as you grabbed the paper. A light, teasing smile tugged at your lips as you met his gaze. "What, you got one of these little scraps of paper for every woman at every port?" you quipped, the words coming out more as a joke than an accusation, though you couldn’t help the tiny hint of curiosity behind it.

For the briefest moment, Remy froze. His usual easy smile faltered, and something unreadable flickered in his eyes. You watched as the playful mask he usually wore slipped ever so slightly, revealing something more vulnerable beneath it. Then, after a beat, he shook his head slowly, his expression serious now.

"Nah, cher," he said quietly, his voice losing some of its casual tone. "I ain’t got a woman in every port. I ain’t like that." He paused, his gaze holding yours, searching your face as if trying to make sure you understood. "Yeah, I fuck ‘em. Sure. But I don’t let it get further than that. I don’t… ask for numbers. I don’t ask them to come with me. Never done that before. Y’re different."

You felt your breath catch in your throat as he spoke, and for the first time since you’d met him, you saw a glimpse of something real—something raw in his eyes. He wasn’t playing a part right now. He wasn’t the charming, reckless, devil-may-care musician. He was just Remy, standing there in front of you, telling you the truth.

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you found yourself studying him carefully, searching for any hint of deception, any sign that this was just another well-rehearsed line. But there wasn’t. His eyes were steady, his expression open in a way you hadn’t seen before. He wasn’t lying. You could tell.

For a few long seconds, you just stood there, staring at him, the pen still in your hand, the paper resting against your palm. The silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

"I don’t know," you finally whispered, your voice hesitant. "I don’t usually do this either…" You trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. What were you even saying? That you didn’t hook up with guys like him? That you didn’t let yourself get swept up in the moment? Because here you were, standing in his shirt, your legs still shaking from everything that had just happened, and your mind was spinning with the possibility of something more.

Remy took another step toward you, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, careful. "Y’ don’t have to decide right now, cher," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "Take your time. But know this… I wasn’t playin’ tonight. I meant every word. Y’ got me thinkin’ ‘bout things I ain’t never thought ‘bout before."

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sincerity in his voice. This was more than just a fling to him, more than just a momentary distraction. He was offering you something real, something uncertain and wild, but real all the same.

You glanced down at the pen in your hand, then back up at him. His eyes were still on you, watching carefully, waiting. Slowly, you uncapped the pen and scribbled your number down on the scrap of paper he’d handed you. "Okay," you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you handed it back to him. "Here’s my number." You took a deep breath, glancing at Remy as you pulled his shirt tighter around you, the scent of him still lingering on the fabric. It was tempting—God, it was tempting—but you knew better. You shook your head softly, feeling the weight of reality settle on your shoulders. "But I can’t do Europe, Remy," you said, your voice steady but quiet. "I can’t just up and travel with you. I have a life outside of all this." You laughed, trying to lighten the heaviness you felt inside. "Knowing my luck, I’d probably end up on TMZ or something."

Remy’s lips curled into a small smile, but there was a softness in his eyes now, something understanding. He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over your arm. "Yeah, I get it, cher," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I know the lifestyle—paparazzi, the chaos—it ain’t for everyone." He paused, watching you carefully. "But that’s kinda why I think it’d work with y’."

You blinked, surprised by his response. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, his expression thoughtful as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "Y’ ain’t lookin’ for fame or attention. Y’ just… get me. Most people wanna be around me for the wrong reasons. But you? You’re different. That’s why I’m askin’." He stepped a little closer, his fingers lingering at your waist. "But if you’re not lookin' for all that, we can keep it casual. Just see where it goes, you know? No pressure."

You swallowed hard, feeling the pull of him, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room. It was insane—completely reckless—but there was something about him that made you want to take that risk. Still, you nodded, keeping yourself grounded. "Yeah… casual," you agreed, offering him a small smile. "We’ll see where it goes."

Remy’s smile widened, that familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "Good," he murmured, leaning down to brush a soft kiss against your forehead. "I’ll call you, cher. Ain’t no rush."

With that, he took a step back, his hands dropping from your waist as he led you out of the room and toward the exit. The night air was cooler than you expected, and the city was still buzzing with life outside the venue. Remy walked you to the street, his hand briefly resting on the small of your back before he gave you one last lingering glance. "Take care, bébé," he said softly, before turning and disappearing back inside.

You stood there for a moment, trying to process everything that had just happened. Your heart was still racing, your mind spinning with the weight of his words and the possibilities they held. But before you could get too lost in thought, Nat appeared, practically jogging up to meet you.

Nat’s eyes widened the moment she saw you wearing Remy’s shirt, and a sly grin spread across her face. "Oh my God, what the hell happened?" she asked, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. "It’s… it’s a long story," you muttered, tugging at the hem of the oversized shirt self-consciously.

Nat raised an eyebrow, her grin only widening as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Uh-huh. And that shirt? Did you steal it right off his back or…?"

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. "He gave it to me, okay? My shirt was missing a button." You paused, glancing away for a moment before deciding to tell her the rest. "Remy asked for my number."

Nat’s eyes practically bugged out of her head. "Wait, what? He asked for your number?"

"Yeah," you said slowly, biting your lip. "And… he asked me to go with him on tour. In Europe."

Nat stared at you in disbelief, her mouth hanging open for a few seconds before she finally found her voice. "Are you fucking kidding me? Remy LeBeau asked you to go on tour with him in Europe?" She shook her head, laughing in astonishment. "What the hell are our lives right now?"

You couldn’t help but laugh too, the absurdity of the situation finally sinking in. Just last night, you were at a bar with your best friend, trying to forget about your ex and blow off some steam. Now, you were standing outside a venue, wearing a rockstar’s shirt, having just turned down an invitation to travel across Europe with him. It was surreal.

"I know, right?" you said, shaking your head as the two of you started walking toward the subway. "I don’t even know what to think anymore."

And with that, you descended into the subway, your mind still swirling with thoughts of Remy, of Europe, of everything that might come next.

[diorctrl]

FAVOURITE SECRET PT 2 nishimura riki x reader

𓂂 ˳ older sister’s best friend riki, fluff warnings: intentional lower case, swearing , angst, hurt comfort

pt 1

there’s a lump in your throat as you stare at your older sister, she stares at you and the boy on the floor in shock, a mixture of confusion, anger and betrayal, written on her face.

she opens her mouth, then closes it. she opens her mouth again, “get.out.” she whispers quietly, her gaze solely focused on the boy on the floor.

riki sits up slowly looking at minji with confusion, “me ?”

her gazed sharpens, “yes, you !” she grabs his arm lifting him up from the floor and pushing the boy out your room. “you know where the door is.”

you stare at your sisters rage in shock, you most definitely knew that she would be mad about you and riki but never like this, you thought that she would just give you guys some type of lecture,“minj-”

“shut up yn.” she turns to you sharply, you flinch when was walks closer to you, “my best friend really?” her voice is filled with anger and sadness.

you sit still not really knowing what to say, it’s not your fault that you like him.

you hang your head low as her stare burns into you, you feel your tears burning at the back of your eyes, you don’t think you’ve ever seen her this angry.

“oh look, she’s gonna cry like she always does .”she narrows her eyes at you “like the baby she is.” she says laughing sarcastically, “I should be the one crying.”

your face scrunches up, “I’m not crying.” you say with a tearful tone, your voice cracking, your throat is burning, it always hurts when you try to stop yourself from crying. “I don’t even understand why you’re so mad.” you say bitterly. “ it’s not that big of a deal.”

minji’s body tenses, she shakes her head at you disgustingly, “obviously you would say that.” she steps back from you slightly. “you don’t get it do you ? why can’t I just have one thing for myself.”

she walks back and forth in front of you. “gosh, you’re so insufferable yn, you just suck everything out of everyone and you don’t even realize.”

a tear drops form you eye, you don’t know where this is all coming from, why is she so mad ? did she always feel that way about you ?

“and I had one thing, one thing! to myself and you take him away from me, you took my escape from me yn.” she says raising her voice slightly. “my escape from you, my escape from having to deal with the favouritism that everyone has with you, because I was his favourite.” she runs her hands through her hair, “and I knew he was acting weird these past couple months.” she whispers to herself.

“minji I don’t understand.” you say quietly. “how do I have favouritism ? you’re the scholar, you’re the one with your tests on fridge, you’re the one with the grades, you’re the one with a feature.” you say harshly, “I’m the disappointment.”

“yeah, you are.” she says just as harshly, “but you’re also the one with loads of friends, the one that gets the jokes, the hugs and the “at least you’re doing your best honey” , you’re the one that everyone is drawn too because of your free attitude, when I have to be the perfect poster child.” she walks closer to you again. “you’re like a black whole yn.”

“I finally had someone who saw me, who saw that I was just more than what people see me , and you sucked him in like you do too everyone else.”

both anger and hurt filled you, why is she being like this? did she always feel these things towards you ?

you impulsively say something.

“you’re acting like he’s your boyfriend or something.”

“he was going to be!” she yells, you jump back at her loud voice bouncing off the walls of your room. “he was going to be.” she repeats but quietly this time. “you don’t understand yn.”

“you will never understand, the feelings that I have towards him.”

her eyes widened in shock at the words that come out of your sister mouth, she loves riki.

you look down at your room floor, taking notice that one of his rings are on your carpet.

you look at your sister, you see tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “I think you should leave.” you whisper. “please get out of my room.”

she wipes her eyes quickly letting out a shaky breath as she walks out of your room not saying a word.

how did things go bad so quickly?

you sit on your bed staring at the ring on your floor then at the rain that hits your window and without thinking you grab of one your sweaters and you put on your running shoes.

you open your window and you climb down the ladder outside your window.

your stomach turn’s slightly as you hit the ground, you make sure that the ring is securely in your pocket, and make a run for it.

your breath slightly going out as you run, the rain hitting your body and the breeze running through you until you make it to your destination.

you take notice of the car in the driveway meaning his parents are home so you make your way to the side of the house where his bed room window is.

you find yourself self climbing the ladder that he leaves out for you when you used to sneak to his house.

you look through his window to see the boy laying in his bed, you softly knock on his window and you see him jump when he notices you rushing towards his window.

he opens his window pulling you in right away.

“holy shit yn, you’re soaking.” he say’s putting his arms around you pulling you further into his room.

“I think you have some clothes here you can go change in my washroom.” he says nonchalantly, like you guys didn’t get caught by your older sister like two hours ago.

after you change (making sure to put his ring in your new pocket) you come back into his main room and sit on his bed. “this is bad riki.”

“what?” he asks as he lays on his back staring up at his ceiling.

“minji riki. minji.” you say frustrated. “she’s mad like really mad.”

“you know minji, she’s like that.” he says without a care in a world, pulling you closer towards him.

“no, this is different, she said-” how do you tell him that his best friend is in-love with him.

“ah, I don’t wanna know what she said.” he says pulling you to lay in his chest. “that’s between you two.”

“but riki-”

he sits up completely, lifting up his comforter, “let’s talk about this later.”

“but riki” you say looking at him slightly concerned about his reaction.

“no, I’m tired and I just wanna lay with the person I love.” he says pulling you under the comforter.

your phone vibrates on his night table and you see a text from minji.

at his house I’m guessing?

and too think I came to your room to talk with you and apologize

you go still completely at the messages, you don’t know what to do.

you turn off your phone when riki puts his face into your neck, “riki ?”

he hums at you in response, “I think it’s best if we end our relationship.” you feel him tense in your hold. “it’s hurting minji.”

he doesn’t take his face form your neck, “minji will be minji yn, she’ll get over this in like a day.” he says tiredly.

you let out a deep sign, “this is different, she told me things really harsh things and some shocking things too…” you trail off wondering if you should tell him. “please don’t make this hard.”

he tightened his hold on you and let’s out a sigh, “let’s just talk about this after we take a nap, yeah ?”

“riki.”

but he doesn’t doesn’t respond and then you hear his light snoring, how does he fall asleep so fast ? and why is he being so nonchalant about this ?

you try your best to stop yourself from falling asleep, knowing when you wake up you’re gonna have to break up with the person that you love, but if you want to fix your relationship with your sister then that’s just not hat you’re gonna have to do.

sleep over takes you and all the stress releases from your body and you let your dreams over fill your mind.

music fills your ears and the sun from your bedroom window practically blinds you wait my bedroom window ?

you feel a weight on your chest and you look down to see riki sleeping, um ?

“riki, wake up.” you tug on the boys hair, the hums sleepily slowly rising form you, “what ?”

“what’s going on ?” he looks at you confused, before putting his head in the crook of your neck, “what are you talking.” he mumbles.

“i’m-”

your door opens, "yn I wanna get snacks wanna com- ?”

you and riki separated form each other quickly, you hitting your head on your head board and him falling off your bed with a big thud.

"ow !" you both say as minji looks at the two of you shock.

"what the fuck ?"

✰ AHAHAHHA

taglist @hikyeom @rizzyl @doublasting @heartsforhyunjin

[elissanatok]

-𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄

part 2

pairing: Aemond targaryen x velaryon! (strong!) reader

summary: Aemond has loved and secretly claimed you for himself since the day you were born. losing his eye changed him, but maybe it did not affect his feelings for you as much as he thought it had

warnings: english is not my first language, angst, fluff, shy reader, unclexniece, possesive aemond, everybody adores reader in this

let me know what you think!! reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback are highly appreciated <33

You didn't know what you had expected when you imagined looking into his face again. a smile maybe? A hint of the boy he used to be? Well - you surely did not get whatever it was you had expected. 

He looked at you with a piercing but very bored look, before he let his eye drift again to your little brother. You nervously looked from your little brother to your older one. Jacerys tried to send you a reassuring look, or maybe it was just one that screamed “I told you so”. 

Before leaving Dragonstone he and your mother told you not to expect any kindness from the rest of your family. You were disappointed that they seemed to be right and that the little hope Daemon gave you when he talked about your friendship as children flew away with the wind. 

You had missed him dearly. Your Aemond. But maybe this was not him. His hair had grown longer, although not as long as yours, and laid pin straight against his back. The black eyepatch he wore made him look almost forbidden. It made him look dangerous. But your Aemond was not a dangerous boy. But then again - this was not him. 

Your Aemond used to read in books, spend his days learning, dreaming and talking about Dragons. Teaching you about them. This Aemond looked like he was ready - had dreamed and talked about feeding you to them. 

The Queen's eyes held a little bit more warmth when she met your gaze. Sometimes she thought you looked more like her daughter than Rhaenryas but then again, your eyes held the same fire as your mothers.

The reason for your visit was a sad one, sure, who would be the heir of driftmark was important, not for you, but for your boys. You would be married off, no matter what Daemon claimed, if an alliance with House Winterfell was needed, Cregan would be the first to take your hand. You liked him. He was a kind man. A strong one too, but your relationship held no meaning, no feelings, no friendship. 

Standing with your shoulders straight and your chin held high, you listened to Vaemond.”Don´t you dare tell me, who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”  You could see the rage forming in his eyes. “Allow it?”, your sick grandfather questioned. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

The first time you flinched, was when he raised his voice, pointing at Lucerys. “That- is no true Velaryon- and certainly no nephew of mine.”

Your mother tried calming the situation, after quickly looking at her only daughter. “Go to your chambers, you have said enough.” 

“Lucerys is my trueborn grandson.”

“You may run your house as you see fit. but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the doom.” 

You really wished for someone to hold your hand. Stand in front of you, protect you from the eyes in the room that bore into your golden skin, but there was just your family and you in your flame red dress. 

“And a thousand trigulatons besides.”. “And Gods be damned, I will not see it ended on the account of this -” 

You and your little brother were similar in some ways, in ways like anxious behavior. In ways like his hands trembling just as much as yours behind his back.  “Say it.”, whispered Daemon, making your knees feel weak for what was about to come. You were no fighter. No ruler. Just a woman. And a brutally soft one too. “Her children are Bastards!!”Vaemond yelled into the room, at the king, making you slightly flinch at the sudden loudness of his voice. 

“And she, and her daughter, are whores.”

Your eyes widened, while people let out gasps. Insulting your mother, married and with children was one thing, insulting you, a girl who had not even earned a kiss to her cheek yet, was something entirely else. You were not even promised yet. 

Unknown to you, Aemonds eye had locked onto your form the moment Vaemond stepped closer to you. His gasp was a short one, a quiet too, but he could not believe someone dared insulting you. Yes, you may have shared the features of your brothers, even though you were much more beautiful to him, but your eyes were the purest purple he had seen in his house. There was no way someone could doubt where you belonged. 

In his opinion, you would always belong right next to him. He wished he could have shielded you from harsh words and glances, but he could not forget who you stood next to, the boy who took his eye and the woman who wanted the throne. 

His fists clenched behind his back, he watched his father stand up, heavy breathing. “I- will have your tongue for that.”

You had heard Daemon lifting his sword, and you had seen it from the corner of your eye, but still you did not stop looking at anything but Haelenas dress. His blood flooded in front of your feet. “He can keep his tongue.” Daemon shot you a look. Looking for tears on your face as usual, but no, you seemed to be somewhere else. 

Aemond looked at his uncle with appreciation. He wished he would be bold enough, could show his care for you openly enough to chop a head off, but he couldn't have done it yet, not in front of everyone else at least.

Part 3

[hazbinshusk]

A kiss influenced by alcohol or a kiss to the back of the hand prompt with blitzø please🫶

prompt #23: a kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances

Your cab pulls in behind Blitzø’s van, and you pay the driver without tearing your eyes away from the house, the pounding music already far too loud for your sleepy brain. You’d woken to your phone pinging with texts half an hour earlier, and had been more than a little surprised to see Loona’s name on the screen.

Her messages hadn’t held a lot of detail, but it’d still been enough to make you drag yourself out of bed and throw a jacket over the t-shirt and shorts you sleep in. You side-eye the broken pot plant on the curb as you pass, recognizing a few hellhound and imp faces as you enter the party. Someone presses a cup into your hand at some point, and you hold onto it purely because you have no idea where to put it down.

“Blitzø?! Blitzø?! Where are you shithead?!”

You stop as you recognize Loona’s irritated shout, spotting her weaving her way through bodies. “Loona!”

She stops, ears flicking upwards as she hears your voice. She sighs in relief, her shoulders relaxing as she turns her eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, thank fuck you’re here.”

“What’s the matter?” you ask, closing the distance between you. “Your texts weren’t exactly—”

“Blitzø is somewhere here and completely trashed,” she explains. “I just need you to drive us home. After I find him and kick his ass.”

“Fair enough.” you raise a brow in concern, scanning your eyes over the crowds of over-indulging bodies. “D’you want some help tracking him down?”

“Ugh,” Loona groans, rubbing and hand between her eyes. “No… for some reason you seem to actually like my… Blitzø, and he’s so fucking far gone right now… if you could just wait by the van and I’ll get him. You really don’t need to see him like this.”

“Oh.” you grimace, halfway between apologetic and exasperated. You point a finger towards the next room. “Too late.”

Loona turns to follow your gaze, and she growls. Blitzø is wrapped in the arms of another imp, sloppily making out with him. Despite yourself, you feel a small pang of jealousy in your chest, and you quickly shove it down. You can already tell just how drunk Blitzø is, and besides, you had no claim to him.

“Oh, piss on a dick!” the hellhound grabs her father by the collar and forces them apart. “What the fuck are you doing, Blitzø?!”

“This guy!” Blitzø slurs in response, bravado tainted by too much booze.

“It looks like you’re in the middle of a goddamn orgy! Stop!”

You clear your throat awkwardly, jerking your thumb back towards the way you came. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be at the van.”

“Sugar…?” Blitzø sounds confused, like he’s only just realized you were there, and you spare Loona a sympathetic glance before making your way back outside. There’s something about the way Blitzø is carrying himself, in Loona’s tone, that makes you think you shouldn’t be in audience to this particular conversation.

You’re not waiting by the van long before Loona appears with Blitzø thrown over one shoulder, and you catch the keys when she tosses them to you. You unlock the door and hold it open for her, and she drops Blitzø unceremoniously on the passenger seat.

“He okay?”

She shrugs a shoulder, the callousness of her words undermined by the concern in her tone. “Is he ever?”

A small frown touches your lips, and a voice calls out to Loona as she moves to hop into the van. You spot Vortex standing in front of the house, and Loona glances back at you.

“Go say goodbye,” you tell her, closing the door behind Blitzø. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

She smile gratefully, tucking his hair behind her shoulder before she turns and heads towards the other hellhound. You watch them for a moment before you hear Blitzø groan through the window, and you roll your eyes, rounding the van to the driver’s side door.

“Heeeeey…” he slurs as you slide into the seat, flinching as the door closes. He’s laying face down on the seat, his eyes half-closed and a crooked smile on his mouth. “Heeey yoooou…”

You raise an eyebrow, amused despite yourself. “Hey, B. You good?”

“Always,” he says, all drunken bravado, propping his chin up on his hand only for it to slip off, his face meeting the torn seat cushion. “Ow.”

You chuckle, smoothing your hand over his horn. “Uh-huh.”

Blitzø pushes himself up on all fours, leaning towards you unsteadily. His tone is flirtatious, and he blinks out of sync. “Gonna tell me what you’re doin’ here?”

“Loona asked me to take you two home,” you explain patiently.

“Suuuuure,” he sing-songs. “Tryin’ to make sure I’m havin’ a good time?”

“I think you were managing to have one without me,” you say dryly, and Blitzø blinks again before he realizes what you’re talking about.

He snorts, bumping his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuckin’ Dennis…” his breath is warm against your arm, and he almost collapses into your lap. You catch him by the shoulder before he can, holding him steady. “The fuck names their kid fuckin’ Dennis?”

“It’s one of the universe’s biggest myster—”

Your comment is interrupted as Blitzø’s lips meet yours, his breath hot as he moans into the kiss. His tongue presses into your mouth and he pushes the hand holding him up away so he can cup your cheek in his hand. He tastes of Beelzejuice and he leans heavily into you, and whether or not he means to, you’re not sure.

You push him away gently despite the excitement roiling through your stomach, and Blitzø lets you, collapsing against your shoulder. “You’re drunk, B.”

“Yeah…” he groans, but there’s a dazed smile on his face. “Worth it, though. Got to do that.”

You flush, hurriedly fumbling to stick the key in the ignition as Loona opens the passenger side door. She rolls her eye as she sees him leaning so heavily on you, but he waves her away childishly, losing his balance and falling onto your lap.

“For fuck’s sake, Blitzø—”

“It’s fine,” you assure her, starting the car. “At least he’s not trying to drive. Ready to go home?”

She nods, leaning back against the seat with a sigh. “Thanks for coming, Y/N.”

You smile, glancing down at the imp in your lap before you pull away from the curb. Blitzø has curled his hand around your thigh, his face buried stubbornly against your lap.

“Any time.”

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

[myosotisa]

there are bones in my closet - s.h.

Steve Harrington x Reader

‖  summary: You can't control what your scars have done to you, but you can control what you're going to do about it and who you're going to trust with them.

‖  tags: hurt/comfort, post season 4 volume 2. contains content referring to anxiety, depression, ptsd, unresolved trauma, and their symptoms. you comforting Steve and Steve comforting you. written all in one sitting and unedited, so sorry if there are mistakes. i'll go back and fix them at some point.

‖  word count: 3.8k

You both had scars; seen and unseen.

Some of his were physical. Puckered pink and tight scar tissue on either side of his torso, a smaller section on one shoulder. A straight, light line of discoloration across his throat. The special glasses he had to wear and the pills he had to take to keep the migraines at bay.

The rest were less obvious. A tensing of his shoulders whenever something flew by him and he wasn’t expecting it, even if it was as small as a bee. White knuckle grips, and sometimes a full body flinch, at the crack of thunder or flash of lightning. An uneasy feeling that led to irritability when he had to go outside while it was foggy. Wide, panicked eyes when he woke up in the middle of the night with a scream in his throat. His protective nature morphed, shifted, grew into something that could sometimes feel stifling. The anxiety that accompanied the fear behind the protection.

When you first got closer to Steve Harrington, it was easy for you to tell he had ghosts following him wherever he went. You knew because you had them too.

A tendency to jump or freeze at a loud noise or when someone raised their voice. Hints of subtle pain hiding behind your eyes around the holidays, your birthday, when people talked about their family and you forced a smile. How you could go from the life of the party, talking and laughing and helping everyone, and start to go quiet so quickly, sometimes entirely without warning. The way it wasn’t unusual for you to disappear for days at a time, no one knowing you were simply buried in your covers and unable to emerge. And sometimes, even when you were right next to him, right next to anyone, you would still feel so far away.

Steve was haunted by things that had long since died and you were too.

The first time you saw the signs in him was early April 1986.

You’d barely known him then. Both of you had known of each other in school but that was pretty much it – orbited different planets in the same solar system. When you met him again, or for the first time really, at the donation drive at the high school, he wasn’t at all what you remembered. King Steve was wearing a little name tag and folding shirts, pants, towels, and anything else set before him and then organizing it into piles just like one of your colleagues had asked him to.

Although pretty busy trying to wrangle a few other volunteers who seemed to have bitten off more than they could chew when it came to washing the bedding on the cots lining the gym, you couldn’t help but catch glimpses of him. How he had a heated but whispered argument with Robin Buckley from a year behind you, and then smiled like a proud father as she made peanut butter sandwiches. Turned into an absolute mother hen when a curly haired brunette walked by him with a limp, leaving his station to usher him over to a set of chairs and gave him what looked like a finger wag before ruffling the boy's curls. He only went back to folding when an older man, who you recognized as one of the people staying here, came and sat down next to the boy, waving Steve off with a shaky hand.

A few other preteens came by and talked to him, the only one you recognized being Nancy Wheeler’s younger brother Mike. He spoke with all of them with what could only be described as fond annoyance – like how you would talk to a younger sibling or a best friend. It intrigued you, for lack of a better word. An earthquake had shattered Hawkins and here was Steve Harrington: folding an endless number of fabrics that just kept growing, greeting anyone who tried to talk to him with a charming smile, and looking out for a select group of what appeared to be his friends.

After a particularly long conversation with two local moms, you noticed it. The smile was more forced, his responses less enthusiastic, shoulders rolling forward and eyes closing with a deep breath when he thought no one was looking at him.

He looked exhausted. The kind of tired sleeping can’t fix.

When another local came and chatted him up, carrying most of the conversation as Steve replied politely, and then clapped him on the back – he choked. A tightening of his chest, his neck, his eyes squeezing shut as he let out a few coughs. The man looked worried, asking him if he was okay, if he had hurt him. Then brown eyes blinked open wide again and flickered around wildly. His shoulders started to fall and rise faster, a flush creeping up his neck.

Your bleeding heart cracked a bit more as you stepped inbetween the man and him.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” you glanced back at the man, who gave a hesitant shrug before making an escape, and you returned to the wild eyes of Steve. “Volunteer coordinator here, do you think you could come help me with something?”

There was water collecting in the corners of his eyes as they glanced from you to the room like he was looking for a way to escape. His voice was slightly hoarse when he tried to respond, “I… I, uh-”

Lightly pressing the tips of your fingers to the clenched fist of his hand, you lowered your voice as quietly as you could. “Just come with me.”

His eyes squeezed shut, a single errant tear sliding down his pink cheek, before he gave a stunted nod.

You could feel eyes on your back as you walked with him off of the floor and into the swinging door of the kitchen.

Struggling with the weight, you pulled open the heavy metal door to the walk in fridge and motioned him inside. He didn’t question it as he stepped in and you followed behind him.

The space was small but not claustrophobic, large wire shelves on either side as the heavy door softly closed behind you. Eyes searching, you landed on a long plank of what looked like frozen pork ribs.

“Hold this please,” was the only thing you said as you thrust it into his hands. His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion but he took the slab, the ice cold object ending up nestled into his chest. Perfect. “Thanks, now just wait here a minute,” you inched past him, both of you having to rotate in order for you to get past without touching each other, “I have to grab one more thing.”

You didn’t. You didn’t need the ribs either. But you opened up the faded white ice chest in the back of the walk in and started digging through it, looking for nothing. Your companion didn’t say a word in the enclosed space, but you could tell the cold was doing its job as his breathing started to slow down. After pretending to dig for another few minutes, you stood up straight again and let the lid fall closed before hopping up to sit on top of it.

Steve was standing there dutifully and holding the frozen meat close to him just as you’d asked. The flush rising up from his chest had been replaced with pink nose and cheeks from the cold, dry air, and his chest rose and fell at a more reasonable rate. The panic in his eyes had abated and the tears blinked away as his head slightly swiveled to look around the metal container you both were in.

“You can put the meat down now if you want.”

He startled a bit, gaze returning to you having not realized you were sitting there watching him. “I’m sorry?”

“I didn’t actually need your help,” you offered plainly, motioning to the pork he was basically hugging. “The cold helps the panic go away.”

His head drops to look over the plastic bundle in his arms. “The…? No, I wasn’t-”

“It’s okay, Steve. You don’t have to explain.”

A few moments passed as Steve’s grip on the meat shifted before he set it back on the shelf you had taken it from. Now free, his arms crossed over his chest and he shifted on his feet slightly. You took your own few moments to slow down, to breathe. To let the cold air recover you as much as it could before you had to go back out there.

Go back to grieving widows and broken families and people suddenly without homes or possessions. People crying, screaming, trying to make sense of something senseless. Some looking out for ways to help, some desperately seeking help no one could reasonably provide. You would keep going until your heart bled dry and then just a little farther, just to go back to your empty apartment and do it again the next day.

But it was what you could do. It was something you could do. A way you could help.

Rescuing Steve Harrington from having a panic attack in a crowded school gym was a way you could help even when you felt like you were falling apart at the seams.

His voice is gentle when he asks, “how did you know…?���

That he was panicking? That the cold would help? That he needed help?

“Guess when you know what it feels like, you know what it looks like.”

He seems to quietly consider your answer as he quietly considers you. Eyes searching, posture guarded, energy unsettled. You want to show a kind smile, open palms, telling him sweet words that will settle him, do the job that you’re supposed to be doing here.

But you’re so exhausted. The kind of tired sleeping can’t fix. And you just need a few more minutes before you put the act back on.

Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to have found it, because his arms fell from his chest, one lowering to rest on his hip as he leaned the opposite shoulder against the shelf beside him.

“Do you, uh, have any other tips and tricks?” He hesitantly asks, his gaze locked on your dirty sneakers.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The first time he saw yours was early June 1986.

The two of you had spent a steadily increasing amount of time together as he continued to volunteer to help at the makeshift shelter and you continued coordinating. When it was possible, the two of you would end up on a station together and you’d get a few more clues into what exactly were the skeletons in Steve’s closet. Hushed conversations about a friend in the hospital, about a friend they’d lost, about one they’d gotten back. Stories like you heard every single time you worked, but these felt different. The more you watched, the more you saw the string that tied all of them together. How it wasn’t just Steve looking out for his people, but them looking out for him and each other too.

A group of people that made no sense to be together but bonded in a way that couldn’t have happened peacefully.

Sometimes he would be talking to one of them – one of the preteens, or Robin, or Nancy Wheeler, or Jonathan Byers, or Joyce Byers, or the newly revived Sheriff Hopper – and would nervously glance your way like they didn’t want you to hear. You pretended not to.

If you could have stopped listening, you would have. But you heard and processed everything around you whether you wanted to or not.

Regardless of some of the strange things that floated into your ears, you never said a word about it. Never talked about the scar on his neck, or the scars on his sides you had gotten peeks at when he reached for something up high. Never asked why sometimes his whole body would start to react as if he was in a life or death situation, never questioned what triggered those moments. Never mentioned that when you weren’t working together, you could feel his eyes on you like a hawk, like you were one of the people he looked out for now too.

Never admitted how terrified that made you.

In return, he never asked why you would suddenly disappear for an hour and re-emerge with frozen fingers. Never pressed when you told him you were fine even though you couldn’t say it convincingly. Never forced you to talk when you fell silent or made you feel like you had to act a certain way or fulfill a certain need for him.

He just needed someone. Someone who knew, but didn’t know. Who saw the weight, saw the string that wound tight to him and his friends, saw when the mask started to crack and needed to be whisked away from prying eyes, and didn’t ask to know anymore than that.

You needed someone too. Someone who knew, but didn’t know. Who could see past the performance, see when the shadows drew in tighter and started to choke you, see that you were trying so fucking hard all the time. You needed someone who would understand that you were going to fight tooth and nail against the idea of needing someone – a trapped animal lashing out at anyone who tried to get close because they didn’t know if they were going to set it free or make the killing blow.

You didn’t know Steve could be that person until he proved it.

The day had started off shit. You’d woken up in a haze and debated if this was one of the days that would make you bury your head in the sand and wait for the storm to pass. Your first mistake was deciding to get up and go back to work anyway.

Your second mistake was putting Butter Handy Andy on dish washing duty.

You’d been talking to Vickie McAdams about the supplies you all had available for making dinner tonight when a huge crash came from inside the kitchen. Completely unprepared for a sudden noise that loud, you couldn’t hold in the yelp, couldn’t mask the way your entire body tensed, couldn’t help the way you immediately stopped in the middle of your sentence. Frozen, heart stuttering an uneven rhythm in your chest, the contents of your stomach kicking up, and people were staring. People were staring. Everyone was looking at you and thinking there was something wrong with you and you’re weak and broken.

Sweet, sweet Vickie, with a concerned furrow to her brow and a calm smile, asked, “Hey, are you okay?”

It took 75% of what you had left to put the act back on.

“Yup, just spooked me a little.” You laughed and then she laughed and then it felt like you had saved it, fooled them, protected yourself. It felt like the eyes were off of you.

Well, all except 2.

Your third mistake was stepping in between two men who had started an argument by the missing persons board.

Already running on fumes, you really should’ve thrown in the towel an hour ago. But giving up wasn’t a skill of yours and all that awaited you at home was silence and skeletons, so you kept the engine running. The disagreement had started quietly but quickly escalated into a screaming match in front of everyone in the room. Having forgotten yourself, gotten lost in the role you were playing as a coordinator and a leader, you’d immediately approached and tried to talk them down. Neither paid any attention to you and more people were starting to gather, either to watch or concerned they needed to do something. A baby nearby started to wail and the murmur of the gathering people grew and all the noise continued to grow into a tidal wave that rushed in your ears.

One of the men raised a fist like he was going to throw a punch. You rocketed forward, putting yourself between them with your hands out to try to stop him. And you did – the forward motion of his fist stopped. But then his other hand fisted in the fabric of your shirt near the collar and he tossed you away like you were nothing. You stumbled and then fell, gasping out in pain and shock as your tailbone made contact with the shiny, wooden floor.

The crowd descended then; pulling the two men apart before either of them could come to harm. People rushed for you, throwing out questions of ‘are you hurt?’, ‘what were you thinking?’, ‘are you okay?’ as hands you didn’t know forced you back to your feet. There were so many eyes and so many questions and so many hands and everyone was so close and everything was so loud and you couldn’t see and you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t move and you couldn’t talk.

You ran.

Pushed your way through the small circle of near strangers that had formed around you and settled into a run toward the swinging kitchen door. Through the door, past where Andy was still dropping pots and pans into soapy water without a care in the world, past the walk in fridge, and out the back doors. The sun was setting but the air was still hot and humid and choking you as you kept fucking running. You didn’t know if anyone followed you, you didn’t even try to look. You just listened to the frantic beat of your heart that told you to keep going or else it would be the end of you.

Your feet carried you to a familiar place that you hadn’t seen in a few years. You ran out of breath and had to stop just as you reached the bleachers along the mile track behind the school. They were coated in shades of orange, making the dusty track beyond them look even older as the sun carried down toward the horizon.

Despite your lungs and legs not being able to run any further, you were still thrumming with adrenaline, muscles tensed, chest tight, heart and mind racing out of control. You couldn’t focus on anything, couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get back in control.

A hand lightly tapped your shoulder and you swung.

Steve Harrington dodged your fist like a man who had taken more than his fair share of punches.

“Woah, hey, just me,” he offered calmly, hands coming up in a surrender gesture. The wire rim glasses were a recent addition, only a month or so old. You’d overheard one of his friends joke that maybe if he had taken one less knock to the noggin he wouldn’t need them. Hurt eyes or not, they flickered over you, caught sight of the heaving of your chest, the blood shot eyes, how you panted out between your teeth and arched your back like a cornered animal.

You certainly sounded a bit like one as you barked, “What the fuck do you want, Steve?”

He instinctively stepped back at the venom in your tone, eyes widening slightly in surprise. His mouth opened, closed, opened, and said nothing. The fear in his eyes quickly abated and then his expression fell. Not into one of pity or worry, like you normally expected. No, Steve looked at you like someone who knew, but didn’t know. Someone who understood. And it broke you.

Denim covered knees hit dust as you fell on them hard enough to hurt. You didn’t feel it, the physical pain, too distracted by the agony of your bleeding heart cracking your chest wide open. A sob tore from your throat as you buried your face into your sweaty hands and shook with the force of your tears. Gasping in a few sharp gulps of air as the cries continued to force themselves out of your mouth.

Firm, warm arms circled your shoulders and forced you off your knees and onto your ass and thigh, legs off to one side as your upper body made contact with a solid chest. His grip around you was tight, almost bone crushing, and despite the way you thought it would trigger you more, it was grounding. Something solid, something real, something physical while everything else felt like sand running right through your fingers. Despite the unexpected comfort offered, your sobs continued.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair, barely audible due to your crying. “You’re safe.”

The word ‘safe’ made your bleeding heart shatter into pieces, another sharp wail leaving you as your nails started to dig into the skin of your face. Almost like he knew, Steve momentarily released one of his arms to force your hands away from your face and press them into his chest, encouraging your fingers to fist in his shirt instead. You obliged subconsciously, hands twisting in his loose t-shirt as you pressed your eyes into his shoulder instead. Satisfied, he returned both arms to his tight circle that held you pressed to him.

You don’t know how long you both sat there on the track behind Hawkins High School. Long enough for the automatic lights to flick on over the field and the sunset to dip into golden reds and purples as night crept closer. Long enough for your ass to fall asleep and for your crying to stop and for your breathing to return to normal and then even longer than that.

He didn’t pull away until you did, and even then it was with reluctance.

Making eye contact for the first time, you didn’t think before the words tumbled out of you. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he replied, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like his shirt wasn’t damp with your tears and he hadn’t followed you out here while you ran like your life depended on it.

Wanting to argue that you had plenty to be sorry for, instead you shifted gears to the part of you that desperately wanted to give some kind of excuse or a reason to what had just occurred. “I swear, I normally don’t-”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted you with a kind smile, one hand giving your knee a soft squeeze before returning to his own lap. “You don’t have to explain.”

The shattered bits of your heart that lay in the wasteland of your chest thumped once, twice.

“Thank you,” it came out of you as barely a whisper.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, eyes warm and gentle. “I’ve got you and you’ve got me.”

Thumped once, twice beneath the fear.

“I’ve got you and you’ve got me.”

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thanks for reading!! if you liked it, please give it a reblog and leave a comment, as they make my day &lt;3

[paper-bag-boy]

guess who had another noncon dream. my imagination kinda ran wild with this. you can imagine these guys as your friend and the bad guy

friend: Nobunaga or Feitan (hxh), Hawks or Aizawa (bnha), Oikawa (haikyuu)

bad guy: Phinks or Chrollo (hxh), dabi or Present Mic (bnha), iwaizumi (haikyuu)

tw: < 1k words, unedited. noncon, dubcon, gun, threats of violence, fuck or die, cunnilingus, oral sex (receiving and giving), piv sex, yandere, manipulation

imagine you and your friend are exploring an abandoned building. you've always wanted to try something like this but was too scared to do it alone.

"i think the staircase might be there," you say, indicating the corridor to your left.

your friend only nods, raising the flashlight higher to follow the spot you pointed at. truthfully, you aren't really friends. more like acquaintances of a mutual friend. but you don't really care cause he's hot and he agreed to join you on your exploration when you brought it up in passing.

the ceiling above you groans and creaks. you flinch, bumping into your friend. "i think there's someone up there."

he shakes his head. "rats."

you hesitate. rats wouldn't make such a loud noise but your friend looks unfazed, waiting for you to follow him up the stairs. the torchlight cuts through the darkness, casting harsh shadows on his jawline, and you steel your resolve. it'd be embarrassing to back out now when you've only just started.

the both of you make your way up the spiral staircase. nothing but dust bunnies and cobwebs greet you when you reach the second floor.

huh. turns out your friend was right. there really is nothing up—

"lookie what we have here."

you jerk as a hand snakes itself around your waist, pulling you against a hard chest before you have the chance to react.

your friend rushes to your aid, his hand clutching a chunk of rebar he must've found on the floor. "let her go."

but a faint click stops him in his tracks, and you stiffen as cold metal presses against your neck. "i wouldn't do that if i were you," he sing-songs.

"you see, it's been while since i had any entertainment here," he begins. the hand not holding the gun begins wandering around your body and you choke back a sob as he gropes your chest. "luckily for me, the both of you just happened to fall into my lap."

you force yourself to speak. "w-what do you want? we don't have much money on us."

"oh i don't want your money." He sends a lecherous glance at your friend.

"then want do you want?" he spits.

"i want to watch you fuck her."

your friend's eyes widen, his face ashen. "no—"

"if i like what i see then you can both go. if not, I'll kill you and I'll be keeping this little mouse"—he squeezes your breast and you have to bite back the whimper that threatens to escape you—"for myself."

"you sick bastard. I'll—"

"just do what he says." you try your best to keep the fear out of your voice. your friend jerks his head towards you, gaze beseeching. but you can't watch him die. "we'll be alrightt."

"see. glad somebody has some sense." He leers at your friend. "now strip."

he hesitates, looking to you for confidence. only for the gun at your throat to lower, now aimed at your gut. "i may not kill her. but I'll make sure she's in a lot of pain before i kill you."

glaring, your friend unbuckles his belt, kicking his pants off.

"all of it," your assailant barks.

he pulls his shirt off, tugging his boxers off until he's left in only his shoes. you avert your eyes, cheeks heating up.

the hand at your waist leaves you and a heavy foot to your back knocks you down. you cry out as you fall to your knees, whimpering when a hand grabs you by the hair and wrenches your head up.

"now suck his cock."

you recoil, but the hand in your hair pushes you forward until you're kneeling before your friend. your eyes dart to his reddened face. "I'm sorry."

"it's not your fault."

you hiss as the hand tugs at your hair. "hurry up!"

glancing down, you notice that your friend is half hard. and very well endowed. steeling your nerves, you inch forward to lick at his precome.

"use your hands."

shaking, you bring your hands up, pumping his length as you give the tip kitten licks. but you must be going to slowly for the man as he pushes you down, until you have his cock in your mouth.

a sharp hiss fills the room as you swallow around his cock. your friend trembles, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"that's it. good girl."

he strokes your head, inching you deeper. you gag on his cock, pulling back. but the hand on your head shoves you further down until you've taken him to the root, and your throat spasms, tightening around him.

"fuck."

you gurgle, unable to suck in a breath as you deepthroat him. just as your vision starts to blur, you're pulled off him. you collapse on the floor, hacking and wheezing.

you almost don't feel as your assailant rips your shirt apart. tearing your shorts and panties off your legs. you barely get the chance to catch your breath when there's a mouth on your cunt.

through tears, you see your friend kneeling between your legs, lapping at your clit while your assailant presses the gun to his head. "more," he hisses. "need her to be dripping before you can fuck her."

moans and squeals escape you as he sucks at your pussy, nose bumping into your clit. a strangled sob leaves your lips as he forces an orgasm out of you, your legs shaking in the aftermath. you barely have the chance to catch your breath when he pushes into you, his thick cock stretching you out.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whines as he rocks into you, but you're far too gone to form a coherent thought, mewling and sobbing around his cock.

you're faintly aware of your assailant stroking himself to completion as he watches your friend jackrabbit into you.

your eyes roll back as he drags another orgasm from you. he curses as your walls flutter and clench around him, gripping your hips tighter. he whimpers into your collarbone, breath hot against your skin. "gonna— ah, gonna cum!"

his nails dig into your skin as you feel him spill ropes of hot cum into you. then your vision fades into darkness.

you've passed out by the time he's pulling out of you, cum dripping out of your pussy. he pants as your assailant hands him back his shirt.

"you were right," he says, tucking the unloaded gun back into the waistband of his pants. "she was perfect."

your friend grins, licking his lips; the taste of you still fresh in his mind. "aren't you glad i talked you into this?"

[peachdues]

Phantasmagoria — extended teaser (NSFW)

(Sanemi’s Tell Me to Stop)

Okay besties, bringing you guys an extended teaser of Phantasmagoria because someone DM’ed me with the correct guess of the focus of his Tell Me to Stop.

Synopsis: Y/N, Sanemi, and Kyojuro were an unstoppable trio in their youth. But right as they prepare to enter college at Ubayashiki University, tragedy strikes and Y/N mistakenly confesses her love for Sanemi at the worst possible time. Now, a year and a half has passed, and Y/N hasn’t spoken to either of her best friends since, but that’s all about to change as their friend groups converge and Y/N explores an experimental new drug called Wisteria.

CW: super NSFW, drug use, alcohol use, slightly toxic FWB, Sanemi cares for her but there’s a lot that happens before this that strains their relationship a ton.

Just letting y’all know, this will have even more smut than Kyojuro’s Tell Me to Stop.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Beneath the throb of multicolored lights, Y/N felt as though she were suffocating.

Y/N pushed and elbowed her way dizzily through the crush of people on the dance floor, lungs constricting to the point of pain as she struggled to take a breath, her limbs trembling.

Her eyes land on a pair of lilac irises watching her from across the club, and vaguely, Y/N noticed how he straightened, his focus lasering in on her as she stumbled towards him.

She couldn’t deny the irony that she was so used to fleeing from him into the sparkling, sweaty array of club-goers only to now find herself desperate to run to him, for safety and comfort, and away from revelers who were suddenly too loud and too close.

He meets her halfway, having moved from his place against the bar counter after noticing her distress, and with more relief than she knows she should feel, Y/N collapses against him, grateful for the steely warmth of his arms as they close protectively around her. In his embrace, she finds that she didn’t even mind the way his lips press against her damp forehead as he asks whether she’s alright.

She wasn’t, and that was his fault to begin with, but he’s there now, holding her like she mattered, and Y/N lets herself melt.

————————————————————————-

An hour later, she was back in her apartment, crouched over her toilet while the cold tile of her bathroom floor bit into her knees as she heaved up her guts. Sanemi was there too, seated behind her on the ground while he holds her hair in his gentle grip, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into her back.

As she leaned back over the toilet bowl, stomach convulsing, Y/N wondered if he could see the black sludge of her love for him mixed in with her bile.

—————————————————————————

(…)

“Y/N, you need to stop,” Sanemi’s voice was gruff as his hand closed over her wrist, restraining her from raising the little violet pill to her lips — her second of the night.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “I didn’t realize you were my father,” she tried to turn away from him, but he caught her shoulder, wrenching her back around and swatting at the hand clutching her key to euphoria.

“Cut the shit, Y/N.” He ignored the way she glared at him, as she watched her pill bounced to the floor and disappeared. “You’re destroying yourself, you know that?”

Y/N’s blood turned to ice in her veins. “It’s none of your business, Shinazugawa,” and he flinched at her use of his surname. “Why do you even care?”

Sanemi almost looks menacing as he stares at her under the flashing strobes of the Kizuki Club. “You’re my friend.”

Y/N laughed without humor. “You think, because we fuck when we’re high or drunk, that makes us friends?”

Y/N laughed again, and Sanemi’s grip around her wrist tightened. “As I recall, Shinazugawa, it was you who ended our friendship, well before we ever started— Y/N grimaced. “Whatever this is that we’re doing.”

“We hook up when we’re under the influence. Nothing more.” She finished, coldly.

A flash of hurt flit across his features, almost obscured by the pulsing lights of the club. “I’ve been sober for the last month, Y/N.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

[alanna-artroid]

Jackbox Headcanons!

I felt like sharing some headcanons today. Just a few ideas I have for some of the hosts. I'll label each appropriately.

Master Mentalist:

He's skilled in various forms of magic. Hypnosis is just his favorite/specialty.

Rarely, if ever, raises his voice. He always speaks in a calm tone. Even if he's angry, which is also a rare occurrence, he'll still never raise his voice at someone. If HE'S mad at you, you've REALLY messed up.

Knows hundreds of ways to help people relax/get a good night's sleep. Good teas, soothing music, relaxed muscles, the works. It's easier to hypnotize people when they're relaxed. Helps get them into a trance.

That being said, he's TERRIBLE at going to sleep himself. He has tired eyes for a reason. It's not that he can't go to sleep, he just refuses to sleep at a decent time. The boy will stay up all night if you let him.

He enjoys hypnotizing the other hosts, just to see how they're affected by hypnosis. (With their permission, of course) Some of them are fighters, taking a considerable amount of time. Others soak it up like a sponge, rapidly falling into a trance.

As his (distant) cousin, he knows Schmitty very well. MM has been busy running his show, but they've kept in touch over the years. When Schmitty recommended him to Jackbox, he was on board with the idea.

Speaking of Schmitty, MM ADORES the Quips. They're just too cute! Likewise, the Quips really like him too. (Then again, the Quips like everybody) They really like playing in his magic hat.

He's easily startled by loud noises. It's one of the few times his voice is raised. He'll let out a loud yelp or squeal when he flinches. He no likey.

Jerri Rig

Is very logical in her approach to things. You HAVE to be when dealing with time-travel tech.

Can make all sorts of gadgets and gizmos out of anything. She DID turn a fridge into a time-travel device.

Secretly gets really excited about things. She tries to hide it as if she doesn't care, but you can see it in her smile.

Slightly cybernetic. The big box on her head DOES come off, but she prefers to keep it attached. Patches up a HORRIBLE head injury she suffered a long time ago. Let's just say there's a reason the box only has one eye.

Has a love-hate relationship with Master Mentalist. She often tries to find scientific explanations for his magic and is frustrated when this doesn't work. He finds it amusing. <3

Plays mini golf in her spare time. That's how she got the idea to use LOW scores for Time Jinx.

Acts sassy but actually really cares about people. She knows all the Time Jinx players personally since they're all time travelers.

Likes to listen to music while she works. Usually, remixes and electronic music.

Dictionary Keeper

Half angel, half devil. Mostly takes after her angelic side but can whip out her devilish features if needed.

Lives in a library in the clouds. More specifically, there's an apartment-esque part of the library she lives in. Her area has all the living essentials. A cute kitchen, a cozy bedroom, even the bathroom is pretty.

The ULTIMATE book nerd. She's read SO many books and is always eager to get more for the library.

Super friendly. She'll happily welcome anyone into the library. When she worked on Pack 6, she quickly befriended the other hosts. Even [REDACTED] was no match for her overwhelming sweetness! (They're dating.)

Finds words in the strangest possible places. In her sock drawer, in her hair, on her balcony, anywhere!

She's learning how to play the piano. This is shown in the credits song, which she performs herself.

Uses Dixie as a nickname, as Dictionary Keeper is a bit of a mouthful.

[versegm]

You didn't think you'd see the gardens of Avalon ever again.

Though, you didn't think you'd see Avalon ever, period, because only the innocent may pass and you have long crossed that bridge. But you were wrong the first time, and it seems like you are wrong once more, waking up in a field of blooming flowers. 

This is a dream, of course. Which doesn't make it any less real, mind you (you have a hard time telling dreams and reality apart these days) but that also means that you can jump on your feet way faster than you would have when awake. Having no joint pain carrying over will do that to a man.

"Alright," you wonder out loud, "where I am?"

Surprisingly, you don't see Merlin's tower. You don't see much of anything at all, really. Flowers, flowers, a little cottage, and oh, wouldn't you guess it! More flowers.

That cottage is intriguing though, so you head that way. The closer you get, the odder it looks. It has been painted with bright colors, mirroring the flower field around it. The painter was obviously very passionate... and very unskilled. Though, to their defense, painting on walls made of literal swords slot into one another cannot be easy.

You knock, twice. At the absence of response, you open the door and walk in. Similarly, the interior was clearly decorated by someone who wanted it to be cute, but had nothing but swords to work with. There's a wardrobe (made of swords,) a kitchen table (also swords,) a bed (with, thank god, a regular mattress) and-

someone rests on that bed. They turn to look at you as you step in. Half-awake, disheveled, it takes you a second to recognize that they have your face.

"Hello!" You greet them with a smile. It's not your first time meeting another one of you. You might as well be polite. "Sorry for barging in, I-"

The figure jumps on all four, bares their teeth, and launches themself at you.

You flinch back, more by reflex than intent, barely dodging the snap of their jaws. You hurriedly step back, heartrate quickening. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You're three steps away from the door. If you throw a gandr at them, it might buy you some time-

The person tries to bite you again, snarling- only to be abruptly stopped mid-jump.

They have a collar. They have a collar, wrapped tight around their neck. They have a collar, and a leash, a thick chain keeping them tied to the bed.

They snarl at you, growl and spit like an animal, not a single word coming out of their mouth. They flail their arms wildly, trying to claw at you with long nails.

They don't reach you. A firm hand closes around your collar, and jerks you away from their reach.

"Ritsuka," speaks a soft voice, "I told you. If you want to bite, bite this."

The person who pulled you away from the mad dog extends an arm forward. Your other self wastes no time; they grab that arm, pulls it forward, and sink their teeth in the flesh. The person doesn't so much as flinch.

Instead, she turns to look at you, and smiles. "Hello to you too, Ritsuka." Says Artoria Avalon. "I'm sorry you had to see this."

You don't know what to say. You don't know how to even begin to process this. 

While you stand dumbstruck, Artoria steps forward. Your other self moves to bite her closer to the elbow. Her pale skin is littered in red teeth mark, you notice. This isn't the first time happened.

"It's okay," she says, calm as ever, as she wraps her other arm around the stranger wearing your face. "It's okay, Ritsuka. It's just me."

Her words must stir something inside of them, because they let go of her arm. There is a small, pitiful whine, and then they start licking at the bite mark.

"It's okay. I know you didn't mean it." She raises a hand to pet their hair. "It doesn't hurt that much anyways. Your jaws aren't that strong, Ritsuka."

You swallow hard. "What... what happened to them?"

Artoria doesn't even turn to look at you. "Wouldn't you know best?"

You do. Of course you do. If you have learned anything from this baseball game, it's this: for every one of your success, there is a version of you who fails. This one- this is the one who chose to forget the horrors they've seen. "This is the one who chose to be an animal."

That gets Artoria to looks at you, glaring with all her might. "Don't speak of them like that. Don't speak of yourself like that." A slight pause. And then, in a calmer tone: "They're human. You're human. They just... forgot about that, for now."

"Do you think they can remember?"

"They recognize me, don't they?" And surely, they must; why else would they press themself against Artoria so? Why else would they try to soothe the bites they gave? "I found them wandering between timelines, hurt and alone. They are no longer hurt. I won't let them be alone. I will help them be human again. They will be okay. I will make sure of it."

"Do you even know what that means, to be human?" She's a fairy, and a sword, and a star so bright you want to hold her in your palms even as she burns your skin away. Doesn't she have enough of a burden to carry? Why saddle herself with you?

"I know you, if nothing else. And what are you, if not a human?"

You are unsure of many things. You don't believe that you are innocent. You don't believe that you are sane. You don't believe that you are a good person at all, really.

But human. That, yes. That, you're certain you are.

"Thank you," you tell her, on the behalf of the you who has yet to remember how to speak. "Sorry for the bites. They must hurt."

"I told you. It's alright. I don't mind." She smiles, at you, at them, at Ritsuka Fujimaru. "I am your sword. I will never let you be alone. I will never let any of you be alone, Ritsuka."

[allyftt]

Coffee au - Cyno x reader

February 14, Valentine's day..

The worst day of the year if you were to say it yourself. It's the day when the coffee shop you worked at was full of couples who just couldn’t respect the fact that there were singles in this world too. You always happened to work on this day somehow. The thought of love disgusted you very much. Love was not something for you and that was something you always told yourself. You didn’t have the time or the energy to find someone to love right now. Life was just simple and boring and you would like to keep it that way.

… Or that's what you thought before a young white-haired guy walked through the door with the most serious expression you had ever seen. Could someone look so serious and intimidating at the same time? His crimson eyes shone as he walked to the front counter. 

You gulped a little and walked to the cash register and welcomed him to the shop.

"Good morning sir. What can I get for you this wonderful and lovely day?" you hated the sound of the cheesy introduction, but it's what your boss told you to say to every customer.

"Good morning. I want a Ben de Tia shot with hazelnut, vanilla, almond, extra whip caramel sauce, mocha sauce, rumba chocolate chip cream, Frappuccino with 5 shots of coffee, and top it off with some fruits and yogurt” he said thoughtfully. 

You froze at your place and stared at him. It was hard to tell if your mind played you some tricks or if your ears were stuffed with wax to the point where you heard something wrong. This had to be the longest and most complicated order you had ever got. Was this stoic guy on some good drugs or what was the issue?

The lack of response and movement from you annoyed him a little bit. He raised an eyebrow at you and crossed his arms. "What’s wrong? Something on my face?" 

You flinched and coughed as an excuse. "No! Your order will be $6,29, sir" you looked down at the cash register and typed in his order with a red blush. How embarrassing...

He took his card out and paid for his order. You took the receipt and walked away to make this strange order. Soon you came to the coffee machine and picked out a cup for him. The order was too complicated to remember, so you picked up his receipt and followed every ingredient. When you were done you gave it to him with a small smile. "Hope it tastes good! Have a nice day and come back soon!" 

He didn't spare you a single glance nor did he answer you. The white-haired guy just turned around and left the shop. What a strange guy...

The rest of your day was spent pretending to be this happy cashier who made people’s orders and cleaned after every table was used. You couldn’t escape this day, it was your destiny to stay with all these couples until late at night.

After closing the cafe, you came home and threw yourself in bed with a satisfied sigh. Finally, the annoying day was over and you could sleep until tomorrow night if you wanted to. Your cat jumped up beside you and purred as it stroke its head against your arm. You opened your eyes and smiled. “Hello little one, missed me so much today?” You raised your hand and scratched it behind its ear in silence. The little smile that was visible on your lips disappeared as you looked at the cat. “Happy Valentine’s day.. I guess” 

You don’t remember when or how you fell asleep, but suddenly you were woken up by your ringing phone. Who dared to call you this early in the morning? 

Turning around to your phone you picked it up and looked at the time. The digital number showed 08:10 am. Your gaze then wandered to the name on the screen and it read Deyha. Why was she calling you this early in the morning? 

You pressed the green button and put the phone to your ear. Before you had the chance to say anything you heard her voice on the other side of the phone. “You will never believe what just happened!”

Your eyes closed automatically and you grimaced at how loud she was. “Please don’t scream in my ear this early in the morning! What happened at eight in the fucking morning so you have to call me and disturb my beauty sleep?” 

“A white-haired guy came in and ordered the most complicated drink ever! When I made it to him he tasted it and made a disgusting grimace! Like can you believe it?

Then he stared at me intensely.. It felt like he wanted to kill me right on the spot! After that, he mumbled something like “It’s not like how that person made it” and then he walked out of the cafe while looking mad! You worked yesterday so he must be talking about you! Do you know this guy?”

You sat up surprised, scaring the cat that slept beside you. It was that guy from yesterday! Why did he come back on a Saturday to get coffee this early? 

“Uh, yeah I worked yesterday and I might know who you’re talking about, but it’s not what you think it is Deyha! I don’t know the guy at all. He came yesterday and ordered the same coffee he did today and then he paid and left” you explained seriously. 

“mh-hm..” was all she said, and you could hear her big grin on her face on the other end. Of course, she thought that you were lying. Deyha and her girlfriend Candace have been trying to get you together with a boy ever since you started studying in the akademiya.

“Well well, looks like my best friend has an admirer. You better not let him down and cover for me these days” she laughed, making you roll your eyes. Deyha always found reasons to make you get out of your room and socialize with people. Another reason to cover for her was to cuddle with Candace, real annoying if you say it yourself. 

After talking back and forth, Deyha excused herself by saying that she had to get back to work. Before you could even complain she hung up and you were left staring at your background on the phone. 

With a sigh, you got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. There was no reason for you to go back to sleep again since Deyha had already woken you up, but what could you do on a Saturday when you were home alone? Maybe you could call your friend over and study for the upcoming exam, or you could get dressed and join Deyha in the cafe. 

Deciding to keep Deyha company you got dressed and made your way to the kitchen where you gave your cat some food and fresh water. You walk to your hall and put on some shoes before going to the cafe. It was a 10-minute walk from your apartment building, making it easy to go home on your breaks. 

 Like you had thought Deyha was happy to see you in the cafe. You sat with her at the front counter and let her work whenever a new customer came by to buy a coffee or sandwiches. “Tell me then, who is this guy?” 

You turned your head towards her surprised, “Deyha I already told you! He’s a customer who came in yesterday and asked for the coffee you made. I made it for him and he left after paying.” 

She looked at you and it was like she looked for signs of you lying, but she gave up with a sigh. “Well, we know that he’s liking the coffee you made. That means another happy customer” she smiled at you before wiping the front counter. You watched her wipe all the dust and coffee crumbs. 

“but there’s something about him..” 

Deyha stopped in her tracks and looked at you with a wide grin. You knew that she was hoping for you to admit having a little crush on him but it never came. “I don’t know how to explain it but it feels like I know him from somewhere. Is he going to our school or is he maybe my neighbor?” 

Deyha put away the towel and put a finger under her chin, looking elsewhere like she was trying hard to think. “You know, I gotta admit that I felt that feeling too. He looked familiar somehow. If you want I can ask Candace. She’s in the school consoler team with Tighnari, maybe she knows who it is?”

You nodded and felt a weird feeling in your stomach. Were you nervous about knowing who he was? It wasn’t anything like you to care so much about a boy who seemed to like your way of making his weird coffee. After that day, you started working more in the cafe just to see if the boy would come back and he did. He was there every morning at the same time. 

The clock hit 7:20 am and the doorbell rang when someone came in. “Good morning!” you smiled at him and pushed his cup forward toward him. He stopped at the front counter and looked at you surprised. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction. “I knew that you would come at this time, so I already made your coffee!” 

He stood there speechless, feeling his heart skip a beat. You had learned his order by heart and had it finished before he came in. Soon he noticed the little drawing on the cup, making him lift his mug to analyze it. “I hope you didn’t mind me drawing on the cup a little.. I was bored while the coffee was boiling so I drew a little jackal head. Hope you like it” you smiled a little nervous. His gaze and facial expression were hard to read but you swear that you saw his gaze soften and a faint smile showing itself on his face. 

“It’s.. very nice of you. I like it..” he said seriously with a little hint of softness in his voice. A soft smile showed on your lips while you typed in the amount that the guy would be paying, He paid with his card like always and couldn’t help but stare at you for a while. You were so beautiful in his eyes and no one had ever been so nice toward him. Well if he thought about it some more it was your job to be nice as a cashier at a cafe, but why did it feel different with you?

“May I ask what your name is?” you suddenly asked without even thinking. He stared at you in silence, making the hair on your neck rise. Shivers ran down your spine and you soon regretted asking him about his name. The silence started becoming very suffocating, so you cleared your throat and handed him the receipt. 

“Nevermind.. I apologize for asking. I hope you have a good da-” 

“My name is Cyno” was all he said before he turned around and walked out of the cafe. His facial expression never changed once and you were left surprised behind the cash register.

You remembered what Deyha told you about asking Candace. She hadn’t called yet so it must mean that Candace couldn’t match the description with someone, but it didn’t matter anymore. Cyno could just be someone you saw in the city sometime or at a party. Though he did not look like someone who would be hanging around at parties… 

You would never admit it yourself but you had grown to like this serious and stoic man walking in and out every morning, ordering the most complicated coffee order you have heard. Somehow after he told his name, your morning greetings have gone from awkward “Hello” or “Good morning” to Cyno coming in and enlightening you with a joke or two while you made his coffee. Some were so bad that you didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry. He also came up with this lame nickname for you and he would always use it if you were alone in the shop. 

“Coffee bean..” you thought to yourself as you made a coffee for another customer. You looked out through the window and saw many students head towards the school as another day of tiring classes slowly approached. Cyno didn’t come to the shop yet which was a bit strange from your side but it was not like you cared or worried about him, right?

You stood by the coffee machine and fixed Cyno's order as usual when the doorbell suddenly rang. A smile formed on your face since you knew who came this early but when your gaze met a pair of unfamiliar eyes, your smile disappeared. 

In front of you stood two men with black masks over their faces. They walked to the cash register and forced you to put money in the bag. You refused the request since the money was important for the shop. It's impossible to tell from where you got the courage to stand up for yourself, but you did. 

It was a bad idea though.. because one of the guys jumped over to your side and bend you over the counter while the other opened the cash register and took money. You struggled to get out of the guy's grip, making him grin. He was so strong for no reason at all.

"Stop struggling or I'll have to use force and hurt you. You don't want your pretty face to be ruined now do you?" he said before shoving your face down. You winced a little in pain as your head hit the hard counter.

"Please don't do this.." you begged repeatedly. Like the universe heard your pleas for help the other guy dragged his companion off you and told him to search the shop for anything of worth. You stood up in shock and watched them look for things that were worth something.

After searching, the thieves found nothing more and decided to run away from there. Tears rolled down your cheeks and you looked down at your shaking hands. You got a headache and lifted your hand to your head only to be met with slight pain and blood on your hand. This wasn't good..

Soon you heard the doorbell again and someone walked in. You didn't bother to see who it was until you heard the person halt and gasp a little. Before you could blink you heard your name being called, making you look up in shock. You recognized the voice immediately and just when you were about to call out for him, he appeared in front of you.

Cyno stared at you with widened eyes as he saw your bruise and teary eyes. Without thinking he walked to the counter and climbed over to your side, holding your body close to his. His arms embraced you perfectly and with the right amount of pressure to make you melt into him and cry into his neck.

He was sure that you could hear his fast heartbeats but he didn't care. All that mattered to him was that you were alright and he was there with you. "You're okay now.." he whispered in your ear, trying to calm you down. All you could do was standing there crying while he held you in his arms. He caressed your hair and continued down to your back in a soothing way. 

Sometimes you felt him plant soft kisses on your head which made you blush but you made sure not to let Cyno see it. Maybe love wasn’t as bad as you thought…

_________________________________________

This was meant to be out on Valentine's day but I couldn't finish it because of school. Hope you enjoy it either way <3 ^^

Like, Reblog and comments are much appriciated!

Also tell me if you would like a part two ^^!

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Another happy , fluffy One-shot from @timethehobo based on This really cute art. Hope you like it and everyone else have fun reading

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Little friend

warning : loneliness , fluff , turtle

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was not that he was lonely, but if someone had asked him, he would have had to think. But deep inside Charlie knew that he was lonely. After his horrible, gruesome never out of his head going events with his crew in the horror house. There was something inside him like a sleeping hole that even his friends could not fill. Because after the events they had all gone separate ways. At least the two couples had moved out of town, leaving Charlie behind. Of course not out of revenge or hate no they left him behind because he was the only one who couldn't seem to let go.

Whether it was the knowledge that he had a familiar environment or people who were somewhat familiar to him, he didn't know for sure. What he did know was that he could no longer ignore the advice of his therapist. And this lauetet a pet to buy. Even if he had strictly refused, she insisted on it because he should form an emotional bond with the animal. Something that would take the loneliness out of his life. And so, with an annoyed expression in his eyes, he found himself behind his glasses on the way to the pet store. When he opened the door, he flinched in surprise as a small bell announced his entrance. ,,Hello, welcome, can I help you in any way?" asked a young woman with long blond hair braided into two pigtails.

Her blue butterfly earrings stood out. His eyes went down to her name tag. Jessica. Shaking his head, he said, ,,No thanks, I'm just looking". ,,All right, if you need anything, just ask," she said cheerfully before getting back to work. Through the shelves at the various food for cats, dogs, fish and birds passing before he arrived in the back area at the animals. As the first to the fish walking observed he found some peace in the animals. The bright colors of the scales reflected beautifully in the light. But something about the animals made him feel uneasy. Something in which he could not build a bond.

The glass between him and the fish was something he did not like. ,,Sorry guys," he mumbled and went from the fish to the birds. But as soon as he arrived, he covered his ears as they began to screech. No too loud I need my sleep he thought and almost hurried on. Skipping the hamsters as he had heard enough scary stories of ominous killing of the little fur balls he arrived at the reptiles. These animals had almost an attractive effect. The spiders with their eight legs how they could strike quickly.

The lizard with its hard scales. The snake with its forked tongue and slender body. ,,A turtle," it came almost disappointed over his lips. The little turtle slowly blinked at him, but it seemed to take notice of him. Looking more closely at the animal, he found it increasingly cute, almost too cute. ,, Hey, little one," he said and carefully put a finger to the glass. To his surprise, the turtle slowly came closer. The animal raised its head and seemed to smile at him. ,,Have you taken a liking to Donatello?" he heard a voice behind him and stood up abruptly. Jessica had come to him and smiled kindly at him while looking at the turtle.

He thought for a moment and looked at Donatello one last time. ,,Yes, I'll take him" he said, feeling almost like a little boy at Christmas when he found presents under the Christmas tree. While Jessica was taking care of the turtle, he went through the aisles looking for a suitable terrarium, food and equipment. Even though it pained him to pay at the checkout, a glance at Donatello made it disappear. Rushing home he almost ripped open the door before he closed it and hastily put down the things before he opened the box with Donatello.

Cautiously lifting the little one and grabbing a lettuce leaf, he looked at his new friend. ,,You're really cute," he said with a chuckle, stroking the animal's head almost gently. The animal closed his eyes before he stretched his head in the direction of the lettuce leaf. An amused laugh came over his lips as he watched the animal. And he realized that the longer he played with his new pet, stroked it and fed it, the less this hole of loneliness hurt and the happier it became. He finally had what he needed again. A friend, even if he was small and slow, the more he loved him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[bakuzen-xiv]

FFXIV Write 2024 (Day 1): Steer

CW: Bad (but well-intentioned) parenting and mentions of violence.

“You useless pig! Are you saying you lost track of our target?”

“Yer the one who passed me the wrong intel, ye ale-sodden git!”

Z’len groaned before putting his fork back on his plate. Fights at the tavern were common, especially in Limsa. But hells, it was only afternoon. Was it too much to hope for a restful meal in-between his jobs?

He tried to ignore the yelling across the tavern and moved to stir his tea, taking a deep breath to distract himself from the anger bubbling up inside of him. His ears were flat against his head, giving away his annoyance despite the effort.

“Of all the places to start a fight…” he growled under his breath, stirring his drink with far more force than necessary. His eyes fell on the traces of blood under his nails, and he realised he forgot to wash his hands before rushing here.

Fuckin’ careless. He should’ve worn gloves when he got caught up in that ambush earlier. At least the blood wasn’t his own, though his client ended up with more scrapes and bruises than he would’ve liked. Couldn’t blame the guy for docking his payment.

“I should’ve known you don’t have any brains inside that head of yours!”

“Why, you…!”

Z’len’s stirring stopped when he heard the grating sound of chairs scraping across the floor, the strangers’ fight escalating in volume as it turned physical. He didn’t bother to look. They were across the tavern, and it was none of his business.

Instead, he glanced at his other side. Orion was sat down in the chair next to him, the young Elezen’s face hidden under messy black-and-white hair as he stared at his lap, small legs dangling and kicking air.

In his hands was a half-eaten muffin. Blueberry, with bits of fruit in it, far too big for his little hands. Yellow Bream always coddled him when Z’len brought him over to her tavern. Said she happened to be baking this morning. As if she had time for that, running the tavern and all.

Undoubtedly, she felt sorry for the kid, knowing Z’len was there to drop him off again. Still, her fussing helped him make sure Orion was growin' alright. And whenever Z'len messed up, she always steered him back onto the right path.

Z’len pushed down the pang of guilt and brushed the kid’s hair behind his pointed ears. It had grown long again. Maybe he’d cut it tonight, once he made it back from his next job…

“Not hungry, Orion?” He tried to sound casual, forcing a smile to reassure his son, or perhaps himself.

They both flinched at the sound of a chair impacting against someone’s head. Z’len cursed under his breath. Just to be safe, he pulled his son closer towards himself in case any furniture got thrown their way.

Orion leaned into the side-hug and finally took another bite of his muffin. “No, it’s good,” he said, his tone bright and chipper. “Have a bite,” he said, raising the snack up to his dad’s face.

Like a dutiful parent, Z’len took a small bite out of it and hummed with feigned approval, his face scrunching up from the cloyingly sweet flavor. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“Do you want the rest?”

The fight across the tavern continued to increase in loudness, voices clamoring for attention as other patrons began heckling the troublemakers. Yellow Bream’s voice rose above them all as the imposing Roegadyn kicked open the kitchen door, hurrying towards the chaos while cursing and waving a hot ladle in her hand.

“All yours, son.”

Orion’s muffin-grasping hands dropped back in his lap. “Damn…”

Both their eyes followed Yellow Bream, watching her shoo the rowdy duo out of her tavern. Before long, one of them was lying in the door opening, a hand covering a ladle mark across his cheek.

“Make sure you eat all the rest, okay?” Z’len said, finishing his tea with a big gulp before getting up from his chair. “She worked hard on it.”

“One last bite,” Orion pleaded, waving the muffin at Z’len.

Z’len shook his head and ruffled his son’s hair. “Can’t eat too much, Orion, I got work to do. Go read a book or somethin'. And be good, okay?”

Orion swallowed another bite of muffin, and any complaints along with it. He watched his dad push through the crowd gathered at the door, clearly in a rush to get somewhere.

"You too, okay?" he wished, too late for his dad to hear.

His dad yelled some word at Yellow Bream that he couldn’t catch, running off before she could respond. She threw her hands up at him in exasperation and turned to give Orion an apologetic smile.

Orion just hoped he would come home safely again.

[qiuthewhumps]

Does your insurance cover this?: [02/07/2024]

Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, [the] ambulance is almost here.”

QUIPHI — 807 words (lesbiabs)

CW: Major Character Death, Suicide

@whumperless-whump-event

Nephele didn’t remember when she started walking away, when she ditched the normal path home to end up before a busy road instead. The chatter around her was loud as people crowded around her, all waiting for the light for the pedestrian to turn green.

Thirty more seconds. She absently noted as she glanced above to the traffic light pointed at the cars. Half a minute. To think. To decide. To do. To— What?

She didn’t know. Where should she go—

The sound of a horn broke her out of her stupor. A car speeded straight at her—when did she walk onto the road? The owner harshly pressed the horn, yelling at her to get back to the sidewalk.

Oh.

She found herself frozen, staring at the car as it approached. Time felt almost slow. She stood there. Why couldn’t she move? She should move. Get out of the way. Live—Then what? Go back to her life? What even was her life? A hell personally made for her? Where she had no choice but to survive? Why should she return to that? Surely, surely, death would be kinder.

Nephele didn’t want to move.

The world rang in her ears as her body ached in pain that burned her. The murmurs of the people around became screams that she could barely hear over the ringing. Her vision was doubled as she was faced with the warm sky. Every breath was harder than the last; her throat burned at every intake. She couldn't move her legs. She raised her right hand—the only thing that she could move with the least amount of pain—to her chest.

“Hey—!”

A gentle, almost quiet beat was felt under her hand. It wasn’t a confident rhythm, slowly quieting down. She was dying.

“Hey… Hey? Can you hear me?” Nephele’s eyes looked over. A lady leaned over her, concern written all over her face framed with black hair. Why was she worried? “Oh—Oh, good. You’re looking at me. I’m Quinn. Can you talk?”

Quinn. That was a nice name. She opened her lips to tell the other to not bother with her– A raw cough came out instead. Her mouth tasted like iron as she struggled to breathe even more. The blood that pooled in her mouth made breathing even more difficult.

“Don’t push yourself—Just focus on breathing for me,” Quinn politely commanded before looking away, calling for someone in the crowd. Nephele stared at her before trying to work the blood out of her mouth, or at least out of her throat. “Just relax, okay? You’re gonna be just fine.” Quinn’s hand lightly caressed Nephele’s hair.

She wondered how Quinn could avoid gagging at the sight of her. She must look like a mangled corpse after being hit by that car. How could a bystander look at her with only concern and care when she was bleeding out over the asphalt road?

Nephele was in a daze before her instincts forced her to flinch away at a firm touch to her lower abdomen. Panic swallowed her as she tried to pull away. Will the gods not let her even have a peaceful death? Have mercy, she almost wanted to beg—

“Hey, hey— Relax,” Quinn’s soft gentle voice cut her thoughts off as she tried to struggle away. Quinn gently stopped her, carefully laying her back on the ground. “We need to staunch the bleeding– Just stay still… You’ll be fine. Keep your eyes open, the ambulance is almost here. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

It almost felt good to be fretted for like this. To feel like she was actually cared for. Even if it was just a bystander. It felt nice to be told that she was going to be okay even as her heart slowly caved into the silence.

Maybe it won’t be too bad to be alive if this person was around… But she made her choice.

Maybe, if she met Quinn earlier, maybe, just maybe, things would have been different. Maybe they would’ve gotten along. Maybe she wouldn’t have been on this busy road. Maybe this wouldn't be how their first meeting would be.

She felt her eyes grow heavy as Quinn once again looked away, seeming to almost yell at someone as she held her. How charming, to care about Nephele. To care about a girl who threw herself into death for a quick way out. How charming.

Nephele coughed as the blood fell back into her throat again. Breathing was too hard. She felt her vision blur out. A worried Quinn immediately called out to her as her eyes threatened to close. An involuntary tired smile curled her bloody lips.

“Th… Thank… You…” Nephele garbled out. For caring. For holding her. For making death feel warm.

In another life, maybe they could have known each other more. Just, maybe.

[ask-agent-rapzutin-vodello]

Insomnia made me hurt my little brother

Timeline: This takes place somewhere before the start of "The lives and Times of Razputin Vodello". Or somewhere between the chapters, but before chapter 12.

Mornings in the Intern Dormitory were usually chaotic, despite attempts by Norma to get things organized. Today was no different. Some of the Interns were rushing to get to the showers before another would use up all the hot water. Others were stuffing their backpacks with the books they would need that day. Others – Sam – were just lounging on the couch, waiting until everyone was ready, so they could go to the cafeteria to have their breakfast.

Norma was working a brush on Razputin’s hair, being one of the few he allowed to touch his precious hairdo. At that moment, a frazzled looking Lizzie slouched out of her room, stretching loudly.

Raz perked up and gave his surrogate sister a cheery wave. “Bom dia, Lizzie.”

Lizzie just huffed and kept on walking.

Raz, who has raised to always return a ‘good morning’ with a clear and loud response, repeated his greeting, a bit louder this time. “Good morning, Lizzie.”

He got a series of grumbles and an apathic wave in return, but was pretty much ignored otherwise.

Raz blinked in confusion, feeling slightly hurt by the curt interaction, something Norma had picked up on...

Norma cleared her throat loudly. “Excuse me, didn’t you hear him?”

Lizzie stopped dead in her tracks, her shoulders tensing up, her hands balling up to fists.

“Aren’t you gonna say something back?” Norma questioned.

Lizzie abruptly spun around with a scowl and snapped at her sister. “No!”  She spat with a raised voice, her nose flaring and pupils narrowed. “You want some chipper little sunflower who greets you like an idiot, find someone else!”

Raz, startled by her unusual hostility, yelped softly and pressed himself against Norma, a fearful expression on his face. The other Interns had stopped in their tracks when Lizzie shouted, and were now looking at the trio, unsure of what they had to do.

Lizzie’s face instantly went from angry to shocked to regretful, and she quickly took a few paces back, holding up her hands, showing her palms in a de-escalating manner. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t …I wasn’t…” She let out a groan and buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

“Could’ve fooled me, the way you were gonna bite my head off.” Norma remarked, as she touched the sides of her face, like she was checking something. “Yep, still there.”

“What the heck, Lizzie?” Gisu called out.

Sam peeked over from her spot on the couch. “Yeah, that seemed uncalled for.”

Lizzie groaned again. “Sorry, I just …” She rubbed her eyes again. “I hardly slept tonight. I think I only got an hour or two at most…”

��Was something bothering you?” Adam asked carefully.

Lizzie sighed. “Nah, just …couldn’t fall asleep for some reason.” She looked over to Raz, who flinched and shrunk slightly into himself, increasing her guilt even more. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but seemed to decide against it and just turned to the door leading out of the dorms. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee …or several.”, and promptly strode out of the room.

Raz took a step, like he wanted to run after her, but got yanked back by Norma.

“Better leave her, Pooter.”

“But…”

“Razputin, speaking from experience: when she’s like this, you better give some space to thaw out – no pun intended.” Norma stated. When his worried expression didn’t fade, she knelt down, gently placing her hand on the side of his head. “Hey, you know she didn’t mean it, right?” She asked, gently caressing his cheek. “She wasn’t angry at you or anything.”

“Then why did she yell like that?” Raz asked, nervously playing with his spiked bracelet – a gift from Lizzie.

Adam walked up to them. “Ah, don’t think too much of it.” He stated, giving Raz a sympathetic smirk. “Sometimes people just let their mouth run before their brain can decide whether it was the right thing to say.”

“Even more so if they haven’t slept too well.” Morris added.

Raz looked down to his feet for a few moments before he peeked up again. “Will she be alright?”

“She’ll be fine.” Norma reassured, pinching his cheek. “You’ll see, by noon she’ll be her old self again – as little of an improvement that’ll be.” She smiled as Raz giggled softly at her little joke.

The rest of the morning passed without much further incidents, besides Lizzie being grumpy and silent for most of it. She hadn’t said a word to Raz yet and Raz himself had felt a bit apprehensive about approaching her, not wanting to set her off again – despite Norma reassuring that she probably wouldn’t do that.

But soon enough, it was time for PE – Psychic Exercise – with Coach Oleander, with the training of today being –

“Fighting against overwhelming odds.”, Coach Oleander proclaimed loudly. “Just try to hold out as long as possible, privates!” He chuckled as he watched – with rather smug gleefulness – as the three remaining Interns – those being Norma, Lizzie and Razputin - were fighting against the seemingly endless hordes of Censors that kept pouring on the arena-styled Mental World they were in. The remaining Inters were sitting next to the coach, having been overwhelmed by the Censors earlier.

“Kick their asses, Raz!” Gisu yelled out, while the other Interns cheered as well. She yelped when a Censor took a shot at her, dodging it just in time. “Oh, very funny, Censor.”

Meanwhile, Raz and the two sisters were not having a laugh. The young Psychic let out a grunt as he managed to put up his shield, blocking two Censor Blasts from hitting him. “I don’t see the point of this exercise!”

Norma ducked to dodge a blast. “I think the purpose is testing our endurance.”

Lizzie let out a load groan. “You know what I think of the purpose? It’s Fu-!“ She yelped as a blast hit her in the side, making her nearly lose her balance, but she managed to keep from falling. “It’s-!”

Another blast hit her in her back, knocking her on her knees. She let out a growl, her eyes briefly flashing icy blue. She balled up her fists and scrambled up. “Okay, I got one word for you Censors.”

“ENOUGH!” She violently threw her arms around his in a wide arch, letting out a scream. A cold wave violently whirled around the arena, gust of icy wind and snow blocking most of the view. A few moments later, the storm died down. All of the Censors were frozen solid. Lizzie let out a huff and smirked proudly. “And that …is how you overcome overwhelming odds.”

She heard Gisu cough from the sideline. “Give us some warning next time, Liz.”

She heard Sam pipe up. “Uh, is he gonna be alright?”

Lizzie turned her attention to the others, and let out a chuckle. Coach Oleander was frozen solid, like the Censors. The Interns had managed to bring up their shield before the Cold Wave hit them, unlike the coach.

“Meh, I’m sure he’ll thaw out so-“

“RAZ!” It was Norma who had yelled out their surrogate brother’s name, and the fright and panic in her voice made Lizzie’s heart twist. She snapped toward Norma and Raz, and she gasped when she saw the latter laying motionless on the ground. Immediately, Lizzie and the other Interns ran up to them.

“What’s wrong!” Gisu asked, fear in her eyes as they gazed at the youngest Intern. “Did he trip and trigger his basophobia? Is he having an attack?”

Norma shook the boy a few times. “I don’t know, I think he got hit by Lizzie’s wave and now he’s not responding!”

Lizzie wanted to reach out to Raz, but Norma quickly slapped her hand away, throwing an extremely angry look towards her. “You did this!” Before Lizzie could say anything to her sister, the latter turned to the others, already searching in her pockets for her smelling salts. “Gisu, see if you can thaw out the coach. I’m going back and see what’s wrong with Raz.”

Gisu nodded and quickly ran over to Oleander, taking out her smelling salts as well. Lizzie didn’t even have time to say anything before Norma brought the salts to Raz’s nose, taking a whiff herself a moment later. They both poofed away, leaving Lizzie stunned and shocked at what happened.

“I …I didn’t mean to do this.” She said quietly to herself. She felt someone shake her shoulder, making her turn around. Adam was standing in front of her, giving her a sympathetic look, but not saying a word. Lizzie, understanding the words unspoken, nodded and took out her own batch of smelling salts. A poof later, she found herself standing back in Coach’s classroom, and she just managed to see Norma ran out the door, Razputin in her arms. The coach was still standing in the middle of the room, a thin layer of ice around him, eyes darting around.

Lizzie felt her knees give out, and she dropped to the floor. Her voice was nothing but a whisper filled with regret. “What did I do?”

About an hour after that botched debacle, Lizzie found herself walking towards the Infirmary, Norma in tow. The latter had returned to the Dorms, informed that she had taken Raz to Hollis and that she was now taking care of him.

Lizzie had immediately started to apologize, but Norma had just counted saying she shouldn’t have snapped like that as well. Lizzie found the whole situation rather ironic, considering what had happened that very morning. An hour later they got a telepathic message from Hollis, saying they could come over now – only them, as not to crowd the young boy.

Lizzie hadn’t said a word the entire way, just looking at the floor as they walked.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Norma remarked, a soft smile on her face. “It’s our Raz, he’s tough.”

Lizzie just hummed in response.

Norma opened her mouth to say something, but then they saw Hollis coming towards them.

The Cryokinetic Specialist found her voice again, and ran up to the Second Head. “Agent Forsythe, how is Raz?”

A hint of a smile tugged on Hollis’ lips. “Young Vodello is going to be fine, Intern Natividad.” She reassured them. “But I am going to send him home for a day or two, so he can recuperate a bit.”

“What happened exactly?” Norma asked. “After Lizzie’s Storm hit him, he just …collapsed.”

“What Razputin experienced was a case of Thermo-Psychic feedback.”

Those were big words that flew right over Lizzie’s head. “Thermo-what?”

“It’s similar to Psycho-Kinetic feedback. We’ve discussed this in class a while ago, Lizzie.” Hollis rolled her eyes, shaking her dismissively. “But to recap: you know after exiting a Mental World, you sometimes still can feel any sort of injuries or damage you acquired there?”

Lizzie nodded. She once had a Bulb bomb from a Bad Idea explode in her face, and her ears were still ringing hours after returning to the physical world.

“Same concept.”  Hollis continued. “When your ice storm – amplified by your emotions – hit him, Razputin’s experience was so severe that it made his body react in the real world. In other words, his mind thought he was going into hypothermic shock, so his body reacted accordingly.”

“But …he’s alright now?” Norma asked.

“That’s the thing with this type of Psychic feedback -thermic or otherwise. It can fade as fast as it can happen.” Hollis smiled softly. “Razputin was back on his feet now long after Norma brought him to me, but I still wanted to run some tests, to be sure.” She sighed. “But since it seems he won’t have any sort of major lingering effect, besides some fatigue, I have send him to his parents for a few days.”

“Milla isn’t going to kill me, isn’t she?” Lizzie asked, a hint of fear in her voice. She had faced the anger of the Brazilian Mental Minx once after accidentally hurting Raz, she wasn’t too keen on a repeat.

Hollis let out a long sigh. “She wasn’t too thrilled to hear that her son got injured during what should have been a rather harmless exercise.” She let out a scoff. “I told Oleander that it was a bit too ambitious to try out on you this soon.” She rolled her eyes with a shake of her head. “But after Razputin told me what transpired this morning, she was more than happy to accept that this was nothing more than an unfortunate accident. She did imply she wanted to speak to you about the importance of a good night’s sleep, though. Speaking of which …”

Hollis reached into her pockets and handed a small pill bottle over to Lizzie. “Melatonin gummies, to help you fall asleep a bit better. Take one – only one! - before going to bed tonight, and, to be sure it works, no sugar or caffeine after 7PM. You should have a full night’s sleep.”

 Lizzie nodded, bouncing the pill bottle in her hand a few times before stowing it away. “Can we see Raz?”

Hollis nodded and moved to the side, gesturing that the Natividad sisters could move on. Lizzie already had taken a few steps down the hall, when she noticed that Norma wasn’t following her. She turned around and saw her sister standing by Hollis. “You not coming”

Norma shook her head. “Later. I figured that you wanted to speak to Raz first.”

Lizzie wasn’t dumb, despite how she acted. She could hear the warning/suggestion in her sister’s voice. She nodded, spun around and made her way towards the infirmary. She quickly reached the room where Raz was resting and fist her hand to knock. She let it hover over the wooden frame a few moments before she knocked three times.

“Entre!” Hearing Raz’s voice sounding so strong brought a sense of relief to Lizzie. She opened the door and peeked inside. Raz was sitting on the bed, True Psychic Tales Magazine in hand, and not slightly surprised at seeing his surrogate older sister.

“Hey Pooter, how you feeling?” She asked as she walked in.

A big mischievous grin spread on Razputin’s lips. “I’m keeping it chill. Takes more than a cold snap like that to put a cool dude like myself on ice.”

Relief washed over Lizzie when she heard that pathetic attempt at jokes, and a big smile spread on her face. “Man, making ice puns already? Yeah, you’re gonna be alright.” She walked over to Raz, grabbing a chair on the go and took a seat next to his bed. She reached over and caressed his cheek. “You gave us quite the scare, Poots.”

Raz shot her an apologetic look. “I’m sor-”

Lizzie planted a finger on his lips. “Nuh-uh, you don’t get to say that. Not when it was my fault.”

“But- “

“No buts.” Lizzie took his hands and squeezed them. “It was me who did that to you, so …I’m sorry, Raz. I really am. And not just for what happened during PE, but for also for snapping at you this morning. What I said ….” She chewed on her lip as she thought of the right words to say. “I didn’t mean a thing I said, okay? I just …”

“-haven’t slept well this night, I know.” Raz said, completing the sentence.

“Sure, but it’s not an excuse for acting like that.” Lizzie commented. “Or for giving you the cold shoulder most of the morning – no pun intended.”

“I know, but it’s a reason.” Raz explained, a soft smile on his face. “I know you didn’t mean it like that this morning. You were just …cranky.”

“Sure, but I still acted like a jerk, and during practice I got so angry and I just …” Lizzie took a deep breath, before presenting Raz with a small smile. “Can you forgive me?”

Raz practically lunged at his sister, wrapping his arms around her. “I already did.”

Lizzie tightened the hug, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best little brother a girl can wish for, maninho.”

Raz giggled, a soft blush spreading on his cheek. “And you’re a pretty good big sister.”

“Oh, just ‘pretty good’?” Lizzie asked with a chuckle, breaking away from the hug.

“Well, you did put me in the Infirmary, so …” He yelped as Lizzie grabbed him in a headlock and started to ruffle up his hair. He laughed loudly, trying to wriggle away from the assault on his precious hair, but Lizzie wasn’t giving in.

“Yeah, not so tough now, aren’t you, Poots?” Lizzie laughed, digging her fingers in Razputin’s side, tickling him right where he was most sensitive.

Raz managed to free an arm and telekinetically flung a pillow in Lizzie’s face, which made her loose her grip, which Raz used to escape. He quickly jumped over the bed, managing to dodge Lizzie’s flailing arms.

A wicked grin spread over Lizzie’s face, and she cracked her knuckles, throwing Raz a daring look. “Oh, now you’re gonna get it, Pooter.”

Raz returned the grin, daring Lizzie to come closer. “Bring it!”

Outside the door, Norma smiled as she heard the commotion inside the room. She was happy those two had managed to patch things up. She leaned against the wall and folded her arms, listening to brother and sister playing around. She would wait a few moments, and then she would join in.

Couldn’t have Lizzie have all the fun, now could she?