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likeavilain · 4 months ago

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Fahrenheit | Nick Folio | One Shot

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Nick Folio X Stripper!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. for a good amount of money you can make any wish come true.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). environment exposed to illegal activities, nudity, explicit sex, oral sex, alcohol consumption.

I really need your reblog! On Tumblr, the content reaches more views and is delivered more through reblog and I really wanted more people to be able to read what I write. I'm counting on you from now on, ok?

Rounds on a Carousel.

Rising and falling to the rhythm of a song that felt like it had just escaped from one of those delicate music boxes, the kind with a beautiful, elegant ballerina at its center. A nostalgic sensation, an almost childlike memory. This wasn’t your life, nothing about it resembled yours, but it was just as exhilarating.

Neon lights painted the club in shades of red and purple, reflecting off every surface like an electric fever pulsing to the beat of the music. The bass made the floor vibrate beneath your high heels, an intense heartbeat dictating the rhythm of the night. The air was a dizzying mix of sweet perfume, expensive alcohol, and the heat of eager bodies pressed against the edge of the stage.

The slow pulse of the music wrapped around your hips as you moved along the pole, becoming one with it. Practiced and deliberate, slow and sensual, every movement was a calculated tease as your body coiled around the steel like the most dangerous kind of serpent. Between glances, you met the famished, mesmerized expressions below the stage. You ran your fingers along the cool metal, feeling the stark contrast against the heat of your skin. Your body already knew what to do. Every muscle, every curve, every drop of sweat beginning to form was a silent invitation. Eyes were locked on you, but you didn’t need them to know you were in control. The air was thick, charged, nearly suffocating—exactly as it should be.

Men were like servants at your feet.

When the night fell and you stepped onto the stage, control over them was handed to you effortlessly. They would do anything you wanted. They didn’t think, only surrendered to the illusion of a woman feeding them just enough to swell their fragile egos, making them believe they were worthy of your attention. Needy men craved exactly that—a mere scrap of confidence—so that, without hesitation, they would throw themselves at anyone daring enough to take advantage.

And once they were entangled, thoroughly deceived, they offered you an ocean of opportunity, perfect for draining them dry before the show was over.

That was the most entertaining part of your job.

With a slow motion, you spun around the pole, hair slipping over your shoulder like a veil of temptation. The lights caught the satiny sheen of your skin as you arched your body, a dangerous game between strength and softness. Your fingers gripped the bar firmly, and with precise momentum, you lifted yourself, legs wrapping around the polished metal. Gravity became an irrelevant detail as you slid down, every inch of skin illuminated under the flashing lights.

Heat coursed through your body as you leaned back, forming a perfect line that highlighted every curve at just the right angle—pure provocation without a single word. The beats of the music merged with the hitched breaths of those watching, captivated by the rhythm of your movements.

Your tongue met the cold steel as you dragged your damp lips across it. Flickering red lights, heat seeping from your pores, your veins burning with the rush, and the smoke drifting through the stage cast a spell over every entranced gaze. With your back against the pole, you slid down slowly, spreading your legs as you reached the floor—a privileged view for the most generous among them tonight.

As you descended, your feet touched the ground with the lightness of someone who knew exactly the power they wielded. Your gaze roamed the crowd, a silent promise to whoever dared to hold it. The atmosphere burned, thick with desire and admiration.

This was what you did. You dominated.

And in that moment, the whole world was yours.

The deep pulse of the music seemed to sync with your steps, like an extension of your own desire to command that stage. The heat of the club pulsed around you, charged with lust, but something was different now. A gaze.

You felt it before you saw it. An invisible weight pressing against your skin, igniting a burning spark that shot down your spine. When your eyes drifted over the crowd, he was there.

Seated in the shadows, surrounded by smoke and darkness, yet still completely exposed. He didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. His gaze was unwavering, so intense it seemed to devour you right then and there. Like a man crawling through a desert, starved and parched, aching for the unattainable. He wanted to drink you in with his eyes.

Your chest rose and fell in a different rhythm now, deeper. A crackling energy licked at your skin as your dance shifted subtly.

No longer for the crowd. Not for the applause. For him.

Your fingers traced over your own skin, slipping between the lace barely covering your chest as you turned around the pole, as if marking the path he longed to touch. Your movements slowed, deliberate, more enticing. Your leg extended with practiced grace, the curve of your hips accentuating every detail he absorbed as if he were a condemned man facing his final temptation.

And he remained there, motionless, mesmerized, as if the rest of the club had disappeared. As if nothing but you existed.

When you arched your body against the pole, tilting your head back, you knew you had him exactly where you wanted. His gaze burned your skin like an unspoken promise, a raw desire vibrating between the two of you, like a stretched wire on the verge of snapping.

You smiled. Slow. Provocative. Like a queen granting a mere mortal a glimpse of paradise.

He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched. And in that moment, he knew. He was already yours.

The water slid down your throat, cooling the heat still burning beneath your skin, but the sensation didn’t last. The bar was empty now, the low music vibrating against the walls like a distant echo of the spectacle that had unfolded hours before. The customers were gone, the staff too, and you were about to leave as well—until a deep voice, right behind you, made you freeze.

"I want to pay for your time."

The glass halted midway to your lips. Your heart pounded, a mix of surprise and indignation burning your face before you even turned around.

"I'm not a prostitute!" you shot back, your cheeks burning, fingers tightening around the glass.

He smiled. Slow. Confident. The kind of smile that made your skin prickle before you even understood why.

"I know," he murmured, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "But I want to pay for your time. I want you to dance for me. Just for me."

You hesitated, still feeling the blood thudding in your throat. He didn’t look drunk, nor desperate. Just determined.

"I only have tonight in the city," he continued, leaning over the counter, close enough that his woody scent mixed with the smell of alcohol and the leather of his jacket. "I’m leaving with my band tomorrow. Don’t deny the request of a man you might never see again."

You wetted your lips without realizing, nibbling on the corner of your lower lip. Your eyes scanned him, the relaxed way he waited, as if he already knew you’d say yes. And maybe he did.

"My time is expensive," you said, crossing your arms, trying not to show how much his gaze disarmed you.

"Good," he tilted his head, a burning glint in his eyes. "I don’t mind giving you everything I have."

The silence stretched between you, heavy, charged. An invisible current connected you, an unspoken challenge in the air.

Then, without another word, you turned on your heels and walked toward the stage. The echo of your heels against the floor reverberated through the empty bar, each step a promise. You climbed the steps slowly, the tips of your fingers grazing the cold pole, and let out a controlled breath.

The music started again. And this time, the dance was only for him.

The bass throbbed through the floor, the air, your blood. His. The pole was your anchor, but with each note, each spin, you detached a little more from reality, diving into the dance like someone surrendering to a forbidden ritual.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. He was there, transfixed, hypnotized, as you painted an unspoken invitation with your body.

Your skin glowed under the red light, a damp sheen that made him swallow hard. The movements started slow, precise, a play of shadows and curves that ignited desire with the patience of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Every sway of your hips, every glide along the pole, every arch of your spine made it clear: this wasn’t just a dance. It was a spell. And he was falling.

You stepped down from the pole without haste, bare feet on the stage, your body undulating to the rhythm of the music. His eyes followed you, but at some point, he was no longer just a spectator. You pulled him into the performance without him even realizing it. Your scent was intoxicating. A mix of sweat, perfume, and desire pulsing through your skin. He felt it when you drew closer, when your breath brushed against his, when the tips of your fingers ran lightly along your own thigh, as if tracing the path he wanted to take.

Your eyes were flaming abysses. Red. Blood-filled pupils reflecting the fever of that moment.

Slow, feline, your body danced in the space between the two of you, unhurried. You made him feel your presence before even touching him, your warm breath caressing his skin, the burning promise in the way you moved around him, as if marking the territory that already belonged to you.

The first touch was subtle but electric. His fingers trailed down your nape, tracing the path of a desire on the verge of exploding. And he didn’t resist. His face drew closer, lips grazing the exposed skin of your shoulder in a slow, hot, torturous drag. The tip of his tongue traced an invisible path along the curve of your neck, descending as if savoring you before committing the ultimate crime. He slid his lips over your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, your stomach, while your hands tangled in his hair—pulling, guiding, demanding more.

Lost in a battle for control that didn’t exist, seeking escape in the dark desire of a night that might become just another memory by morning. You didn’t care about any rules at work when you let him go all the way. Free of your shorts, he pushed your thin panties aside and lost himself even further at the sight that had tormented him all night.

Leaning back, you watched as he descended, his mouth capturing your swollen lips with absolute hunger. A low sigh escaped your lips. His tongue moved back and forth with a slowness that felt more like torture, then captured your clit and circled it counterclockwise, never breaking eye contact—his gaze possessed by something wicked.

Gasping, your back arched involuntarily when he pushed two fingers inside you. He alternated between deep thrusts and slow, teasing sucks, his tongue painting strokes of electric pleasure that surged through your entire body. Your skin tingled, as if hundreds of needles were taking turns deciding which would torment you first.

Heat. Sweat trickled down your neck, bearing witness to your feverish state, made evident only by the loud moans that drowned out the music in the background. He punished you with quick thrusts and slow sucks, leaving your mind hazy with so much skill that you questioned where the hell a man like him had even come from.

You inhaled sharply, your chest rising and falling like you were fighting against a tide dragging you under.

He locked his fingers around the top of your slit and sucked your clit as soon as he felt your body tense. He didn’t want you to come yet, and you obeyed like a good girl.

When he climbed back up, his breath ragged, eyes locked onto yours, there was a moment of silence. A single instant where only the sound of desire filled the space.

Then, your lips met.

The kiss wasn’t delicate. It wasn’t soft. It was fire. Sparks igniting the air the second your mouths clashed, teeth scraping, tongues warring in a game where both of you wanted to lose. You drowned in the heat, in your own taste, in the way his hands gripped your waist and dragged you closer into his lap, aligning you perfectly before slamming his cock inside you in one swift motion—like there wasn’t enough space in the world to keep you apart.

A cry tore from your lips when his thickness stretched your pussy, but even the burn of it was intoxicating, and with every thrust, you felt arousal drip between your thighs.

He groaned into your mouth, hands firm as they explored your curves, capturing your breasts, gripping your thighs, claiming every inch of you and silently begging for more.

You opened your eyes for a fleeting moment and saw only red on the ceiling of the club. Only fever.

Only a stage that no longer belonged to you. Nor to him. But to both of you.

Each bounce stole the air from his lungs, and you made sure to arch your ass higher, dropping onto him harder, faster, as his hands refused to leave your body even for a second. He played with the piercing on your nipple, smirking at the contrast of cold metal against sensitive, rigid flesh, spurring your hips to grind against him even more.

Slowly, you both rose from the floor, his solid body pressing against your back as your face rested against the metal pole. Bracing yourself, you felt his chin on your shoulder, his fingers gripping your thigh as he positioned you—his cock pushing inside again, still slick, yet struggling against your tightness.

Your legs trembled, your moans turning hoarse. The pressure of your walls squeezing around him made him sink his teeth into your shoulder. It was painful, dirty, forbidden—anyone could walk in at any second—but the thought only fueled you, making you clench even harder.

You wanted all of him. You wanted to provoke him, to make it hurt even more.

With another deliberate squeeze around him, you heard his moan deepen, his fingers tangling in your hair as he yanked your head back. When your gaze met his burning irises, he silenced you with his lips, a furious kiss dripping with intensity as he pounded into you harder.

Your body burned so much your legs could barely hold you up, both of you panting as your bodies moved in sync, slick with sweat. For a brief second, sliding over his cock reminded you of the way you gripped the pole every night—how intimately you knew it, how it was a part of you. Just like he was now.

He plunged into you without shame or hesitation, devouring you with the hunger of someone who had been waiting far too long for their favorite meal. He dedicated himself to everything at once, and you had never felt so desired, so touched, so thoroughly satisfied in your entire life.

The light filtered through the thin curtains, tinting the room with a soft golden hue. The air still carried a trace of perfume and sweat—a silent reminder of the night before.

You woke slowly, stretching lazily on the unmade bed. A yawn slipped from your lips as your fingers ran through your hair, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. Sitting up, your feet touched the cold floor, and you walked to the bathroom to begin your morning ritual.

The shower water cascaded over your skin, washing away the warmth of sleep—and perhaps something more. Perhaps fragments of the night, blurred in your mind like echoes of a fever dream. You dressed without hurry, brewed a strong cup of coffee, and leaned against the small kitchen counter, trying to stitch together the loose threads of memory.

The scent of coffee pulled you further into wakefulness. The hot liquid slid down your throat, and it was only then—when your eyes drifted over the room—that you noticed.

An envelope.

It was there, next to your bag, on the nightstand.

Your stomach sank.

Slowly, you approached, fingers hesitant as you picked it up. The moment you opened it, the air seemed to vanish from your lungs.

Fourteen thousand dollars.

The crisp stack of bills felt heavier than it should.

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the money, feeling your heart hammer violently in your chest.

It really happened.

⭑ @bloody-spades ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby

#bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic

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