#it could just be that something else is really off and pulling everything out of alignment

[mapis-putellas]

𝑳𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 2203

Warnings: none

Summary: when Alexia is sick and more stubborn than ever, yo do everything possible to make her feel better. [Based on this request, though I did change it up a little to make it fit alexia better. I hope that’s okay.]

[prompts]

It was rather late when you wonder into the living room from your shared bedroom, spotting Alexia sat on the couch clad in one of your shirts and a pair of baggy sweatpants just where you'd left her a few hours ago. In her hands was a small notepad and pen, and her eyes were fixated on the TV in front of her where one of her last Barça matches was playing.

It was against Sociedad, and they'd won, of course, but win or lose Alexia always had to watch the match back. There was always something she was under the impression she could fix. Always something she or someone else could do better.

Analysing, is what she likes to call it. Obsessing is what it actually was.

Normally, you were content to leave her be. However, today, you weren't so keen to let her do so. She'd woken up somewhat under the weather this morning. Nothing too terrible. Just the sniffles and maybe a light fever if her flushed skin was anything to go by, but despite that all you wanted her to do was relax. Maybe take some medicine or eat some soup. But getting Alexia getting her to admit she was sick was like trying to find something to watch on Netflix; almost impossible and always ends in a fight.

And so you had simply watched. You'd watched as she'd stifle somewhat heavy sneezes into the back of her wrist. You'd watched as she'd swallow heavily before wincing and reaching for the warm tea you'd purposely left out for her. And you'd even watched as she laid her head back against the couch before rubbing at her temples. All you had wanted to do was to pull her into your arms and convince her to let you look after her. But you hadn't, despite how much it had pained you to do so.

With a quiet exhale, you make your way properly into the room and sit down on the opposite side of the couch. Due to the fact that she was still so enthralled with the TV, you're able to give her a quick once over without her noticing. She appears okay, you think to yourself as you watch her scribble something on her notepad. A little sleepy maybe, but that was to be expected after a long day at training. But despite your longing for that to be the truth, you knew for a fact that it wasn't.

Alexia was amazing at hiding the fact she was sick. The last time it had happened was almost six months ago, and you'd been none the wiser until Mapi had snitched on her one night after training.

Alexia had cursed at her. Mapi made a sarky comment in response and whilst the two of them had chased each other around the house yelling obscenities at each other, you'd been left to sit on the couch trying to figure out just how you'd been so oblivious. There were no signs. No symptoms. She went to work, slept and ate fine and was still her usual stubborn self at home with you. In the end, it taken Ingrid comforting you to realise you weren't at all oblivious and Alexia was simply just really good at pretending to be okay.

It tells you now that despite the nonchalance she was currently displaying on the outside, beneath the surface was an completely different story that for some reason she doesn't want you to see.

It wasn't that she doesn't trust you because you knew for a fact she does. You'd been through way too much together for that not to be the case honestly. It was just how Alexia was, So, so stubborn.

The room goes quiet a few moments later, and you flicker your gaze away from Alexia and over to the tv to see that it was now off. In the reflection of the screen you could see Alexia setting her notepad onto the table along with the remote and pen. You look back at her just in time to see her stifle a quiet sneeze into her the back of her wrist.

"Bless you." You murmur, speaking for the first time in what feels like forever. Alexia does no more than nod with a smile that looks more like a grimace, settling back against the couch with a quiet sigh.

You do no more than watch her for a second before turning around in your seat and holding out your arms. Alexia raises an eyebrow, and you were quick to shrug as you spread your legs, one on the ground and one laid flush against the back of the couch.

Right now, you had no ulterior motives, you just simply wanted to hold her. Seeing the fact that you were being genuine, Alexia crawls over to you and all but collapses against your chest. She curls up on her side, letting out a congested sigh as she secures her arms around your waist with her cheek flush against your sternum.

You wrap your arms tightly around her shoulders, your hand cupping the back of her head as you press a kiss to the top of it and let out a quiet sigh. No words were spoken. They didn't need to be. You both knew for a fact she wasn't feeling all too great but neither one of you were willing to admit it for completely different reasons.

Right now, however, you weren't too concerned. She was allowing you to hold her, to comfort her, and that was way more than she'd done the last time and for that you were incredibly grateful. As you lay there in a comfortable silence, you feel Alexia slowly but surely growing more limp against you. Her breathing slows; her arms loosen, and when you look down, you see that her eyes were now closed.

Not quite knowing if she was completely out for the count just yet, you make sure to keep as still as possible as you trail your hand up and down the length of her back. Her head shifts slightly, now buried into your neck, and you feel more than hear the slightly raspy breaths that hit your skin. It takes a further ten minutes before you were sure she was actually asleep, allowing you to reach for one of the many blankets you kept on the back of your couch before laying it over the both of you.

You tuck it beneath her body, making sure it covered all of her so that only her head was peeking out. Alexia doesn't make a peep as you scoot a little further down the couch so that you were properly laying down, and you sigh a little in relief as you allow your own eyes to close . If she didn't want to admit she was sick, or take any medicine or eat any soup, you were at least grateful she was allowing herself to get some much needed rest.

*

You wake up the next day feeling uncomfortably hot, your skin damp with sweat and your cheeks deeply flushed. There was a heavy weight on top of you, and as you force your eyes open and glance down, you see that it was Alexia and that she hadn't moved a single inch throughout the entirety of the night.

With a quiet groan, you yank off the blanket in hopes it would help cool you down a little. It doesn't, and it makes you realist that it wasn't the blanket that was making you hot, but a very fever induced Alexia.

You take a few seconds to contemplate your next actions before slowly and reluctantly slipping out from beneath her. You land on your knees, soothing Alexia's furrowed brow with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"It's okay. I'll be back." You whisper hoarsely, blinking the sleep out of your eyes as you rise to your feet and head through to the kitchen to grab the things you would need to help Alexia feel at least a little better.

You grab a cloth, soaking it with cool water before squeezing out the remanence and placing it onto the counter. You then grab some cold medicine along with some Tylenol, taking a mental note of the dosage Alexia was allowed to have as you carry everything back through to the living room.

Alexia was thankfully still asleep, although now she was laid on her back. Her breathing was so hoarse it almost sounded like snoring, and you can't help but smile slightly as you perch on the end of the couch and place the cool cloth on her forehead. Her brows furrow as her head turns a little to the left, and you place a gentle hand on her chest, rubbing it in gentle circles in hopes it would help sooth her.

It appears to do so, but her eyes do flicker open, her gaze hazy due to her fever.

"Hey, you," You murmur, stilling your hand before bringing it up and gently cupping her cheek. "You're pretty sick."

Alexia simply blinks as she brings a clumsy hand up to try and push off the washcloth on her forehead. You shake your head as you take her hand in your own, giving it a gentle squeeze and guiding it back down to her side.

"No, baby. Keep that on. You have a fever."

Alexia blinks again, her face scrunching up in mild discomfort as she lets out a single, hoarse sounding cough. You wince a little at the sound as you reach for the cold medicine, pouring the allotted dose onto the small plastic cup before holding it to her lips.

"No." She grunts, clumsily trying to bat your hand away. Her efforts prove futile as you move the cup before it could be hit, earning yourself a rather grumpy pout.

"I know," you sooth, reaching up to adjust the wash cloth slightly. "But it'll help you feel better, baby. You know this."

Alexia sniffles before once again shaking her head. She eyes the cup in your hand with a dirty glare, almost as though it was offending her by simply existing. You can't help but laugh a little despite the concern you were feeling.

"Alexia..." you trail off.

"No." She murmurs.

"Baby, come on," You shift a little closer, leaning down to press a kiss to her flushed cheek. The heat the greats you makes you all the more determined to get some medicine into her. "For me, please?" You weren't against begging if that's what was necessary.

Alexia hesitates before letting out a quiet whine. It was evident she didn't quite know what to do. She didn't want to take the medicine, but she didn't want to upset you by not talking it either. She stares at you with a pleading look on her face, her bottom lip quivering just slightly.

"I know," you whisper in understanding. "How about we come to a compromise?"

Alexia's gaze flickers over to the cold medicine you hands before looking back at you, almost as though she was saying anything but that.

"You don't have to take the cold medicine right now, but only if you take some Tylenol to help get rid of that fever." You say, and though Alexia hesitates again, this time she nods her head making you let out an almost silent sigh of relief.

Progress.

"Good girl," You praise genuinely, switching the cold medicine with the Tylenol pills, holding a single one to her lips. Alexia's lips part, and you set the pill on her tongue before helping her swallow it down with some water. "Good job. One more, baby." You assure, repeating the process once more before capping the bottle of water and taking her hand in your own.

Alexia squeezes weakly as she sniffles again, heavy lids threatening to close as she stares up at you with a pleading look on her face.

"What do you need baby?" You ask, trailing the pad of your thumb over the back of her hand.

Alexia wets her dry lips with her tongue as she reaches to loosely grab your shirt. "Cuddle." Is all she says, and though you internally wince about being once again trapped beneath your own personal furnace, you don't hesitate to nod your head as you slip back beneath her in the same position you'd been in before.

Alexia coughs hoarsely as she clings to your shirt, her cheek flush against your chest as her eyes once again slip closed. You use one hand to hold the still cool washcloth to her forehead as the other slips beneath her shirt to trail gentle circles on the too warm skin of her bare back.

"Thank you for letting me look after you." You whisper into her hair as you press your lips against the top of her head in a lingering kiss. Alexia says nothing, but she does crane her head up to press a kiss to your neck although it was more so just a brush of lips against the skin.

"Go to sleep baby. I've got you."

**

Tags:

@simp4panos @goldenempyrean @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @xxnaiaxx @marysfics @liloandstitchstan

[puppyplayhouse]

Step brother Hyunjin things

Warnings: puppy reader, degradation, blackmail, choking at some point, dub con, kissing.

Lil headcanon of mean step bro Hyunjin (who maybe is possessive) being a dick (it's so delicious tho)

Has known you since you were both little because your parents were family friends before their respective divorces, so he knows every button to push.

Constantly using Dad against you. It's a core part of his blackmail, really. Every time you're a little less than compliant, he pulls up one of the thousands of pictures he's taken of you during your times together and asks what you think Dad would have to say about it.

Calls you puppy when people are around just to get you flustered. He's amazing at playing it off so that nobody questions it because well, he's just a good brother and you've always been SO close.

Any time he sees you alone on the couch, he's tugging his pants down and tapping his cock against your cheek. Of course, you protest. You tell him that you don't know when your parents are getting back. He doesn't care, though. He tells you that you should shut up and get to work if you don't want them to find out.

He's not always mean, though. You'd even say he's somewhat nice when you've had a really hard day and you come to him reluctantly, kneeling in front of him because you just can't be in control right now, and he's the only person who can take that from you.

He rewards you so well for that. For any willing submission you offer him, he returns it by making you cum over and over again on his fingers before he fucks you nice and slow, rolling his hips lazily into yours to drag out the low, whimpered moans that you let slip. He's only gentle with you when you earn it.

He loves to make you cum. He loves it even more when your pretty mouth is objecting to it and telling him he shouldn't be doing it, but your hips are bucking against him and your nails are digging into his arm in a pathetic attempt to ground yourself.

And he takes pictures every time. Sometimes, he'll force you to pose and use his fancy camera. Those are the more tasteful shots of you in pretty lingerie with wide doe eyes. Other times he's using his phone to capture the tears that spill down your cheeks as you gag around the length of his cock. He loves both equally.

He always has to degrade you. He'll pin you down completely still the movement of his hips as he makes you beg, always something along the lines of "C'mon, puppy. You were all talk before begging me to stop and now you're panting like a bitch in heat. Tell me you want it. That's it, more. I know you can do better than that. Tell me you're my worthless slut."

He knows you like it because your pussy is always dripping and practically pulses around him.

He would never admit it, but after a while you become the only person he fucks. Sure, he could have his pick, but he knows nobody else would look as cute as you do when you're staring up at him wide, panicked eyes, and tear stained cheeks.

He fucking loves seeing you cry. He loves watching you bite your pillow when he finds you laid on your bed and forces your pants down without a word, easily sliding his cock inside of you because you're always soaked at this point.

At some point he starts making you tell him that you love him. He has a firm grip of your throat and you're overstimulated to the point of becoming delirious as he uses one of your toys on you, thrusting it in an out of your aching cunt. "Tell me, and I'll stop, yeah? All you have to do is tell me how much you love me."

And you do. You say it like a prayer. You say it over and over again even after he's stopped, and he's got your cheeks cradled in his hands, cooing at you because you took everything he gave you without a complaint this time.

He was recording it, of course.

Recording you is his second favourite form of torture. He has so many videos of you sat pretty between his legs, your hands in fist infront of you like little paws as your tongue sticks out of your mouth, drool dripping down onto his lap to create a messy wet patch on the fabric of his pants. Those are his favourite to get himself off to.

Sweet brother Hyunjin is always nice enough to let you know when he's getting himself off to you. Which is every time. He sends you videos and pictures of his gorgeous cock fucking up into his hand and it's the only time he seems out of control, desperate for it to be you that he was burying his cock into instead.

Very rarely does he lay back and let you do the work. He likes taking charge and making a mess of you, but very rarely when you're being a good dog and sitting patiently, waiting almost excitedly for his next round of abuse, he lets you do the work. He'll pat his lap and wait for you to climb on top of him, watching in amusement as you fumble with his zipper and shove his pants down, messily grinding yourself against his bulge until he quietly tells you that if you don't move on, he'll leave.

You always perk up at that, taking it less as a threat and more as permission to sink yourself down on his cock. This is when he praises you.

He tells you how pretty you look and that you take his cock so fucking well, looking up at you with something akin to adoration sparkling in his eyes. He might even kiss you. His kisses are the ultimately reward, always slow and sensual. You become ravenous when he kisses you.

Maybe he'll even tell you he loves you. That you're his favourite puppy. He knows he loves you, and he has accepted that. But maybe he'll let you know when your grinding down onto his cock like the well trained mutt he has made you into.

He doesn't make it too sweet though. More like, "that's it. Take my cock, baby. Fuck, I love you. My desperate little slut. All fucking mine, yeah?"

[suhkusa]

Osamu feels the text before he actually gets the chance to read it.

“What the fuck—” there’s a sudden hand on his shoulder.

“‘Samu, what the fuck did you do?”

Osamu is taken aback, but retorts. If anyone asks, Atsumu started it. 

“What the fuck do you mean?” One of Osamu’s hands grabs his brother's wrist, trying to pull his grip off.

Atsumu’s eyes are glaring into his own, “You know what you did,”

“If this is about Y/N, you had your chance and you fucked it up,”

Atsumu is pushing his twin into a nearby wall when he says, “That tweet was a lie, I was planning on fixing things with her. Why did you get in the way?”

“I got in the way? It wasn’t just the tweet, Atsumu. You know damn well. You started this with your stupid— truce,” Osamu’s pushing back. But his brother has always been the more athletic one.

“What truce?” a voice cuts through, and it’s yours.

The two of them freeze, still in their awkward position.

You’re stepping closer before you’re nudging Atsumu off Osamu. Osamu looked at his twin, and his facial expression definitely changed.

Atsumu really hasn’t seen you in a while, huh?

“What truce?” you repeat, but you sound more desperate, more demanding.

“It- It’s-” Atsumu begins to try to explain it, but it’s like the words don’t want to come out.

“Seriously? Am I just like a game to the two of you?” your voice is getting loud, but it’s straining. Like you’re hurt?

“I’m tired of this whiplash that both of you give me. You want me and then you don’t. You’re my friend and then you’re not. Can the two of you make up your mind?”

Osamu’s heart is shattering in his own chest. He never realized the weight of his actions until now. And as he glances at Atsumu beside him, he can tell he’s going through the same epiphany.

“I’ve tried, I really tried. You guys distanced yourselves from me after high school and for what? Some quick fucks and attention from girls?”

“You don’t know shit, Y/N,” Atsumu is the first one out of the two to finally speak. 

“What? What could I possibly not know?”

“That we both fucking like you!”

Osamu feels his own eyes widen along with yours. The shocked reaction doesn’t stop his brother.

“We’ve both liked you for god who knows how long, and we forced ourselves to try and stop,” he looks to Osamu, “but we both know how that went,”

“Stop criticizing me— and ‘Samu, for that matter, when you don’t know how it feels to give up someone you love for someone else that you love,” 

Osamu is still silent. He feels like he should say something, but he doesn’t. He can’t. His twin brother has said enough.

And in the end, Osamu still never got to confess.

Everything is silent. Atsumu is angry, you’re sad. Osamu doesn’t know what he is. Maybe conflicted?

It feels like everything just got way more complicated than it needed to be. Atsumu’s face drops before he runs a hand over his face and through his hair. He sighs before walking off. Osamu doesn’t know where Atsumu’s going. He doesn’t really care either.

His eyes then meet yours. Yours are glossed over. Like you want to cry, but you hold it back. He wants to reach out to you. 

But Osamu Miya is a coward. And he doesn’t say a word as you stalk off in the opposite direction.

BOTH AIN’T SH!T — EPIPHANY

PREV | MASTERLIST

ATSUMU | OSAMU

NOTES.

surprise!!! you get to choose your twin lol

congrats on finishing main story!

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[valsdelulucorner]

Tears too holy for thou

Lucifer ---> Mammon - Leviathan - Satan - Asmodeus - Beelzebub - Belphegor

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was so frustrated, why was he always getting blamed for everything that happened in this damn house! First Levi looses one of his mangas and snitches on lucifer when it was under his sheets the entire time, then someone eats the lunch he had made for you and himself, now hes being accused of stealing money from someone when he was just trying to get something from the other room! He is entirely sick of it! Why was he the only one that gets yelled at when he falls into his sin when everyone else gets away with falling for theirs?!

Storming into his room, he didn't realize the tears streaming down his cheeks while he just wanted to scream. He didn't know what to do once inside his room, just standing there while he simmered in his own anger. You were waiting on his sofa for him to continue movie night when he stormed in, expecting a happy mammon with snacks, not a mammon with burns all down his face.

It didn't take long before you came over to him, being careful around him as you didn't know what exactly happened for him to be pushed into this state. "Mammon? Are you alri-" You couldn't even finish your sentence when he grabbed you and held you close to his body, letting out silence sobs into your neck while his face ached and burned, his tears feeling funny against your skin. ".... 's not fair...." It was then when you got a basic idea of what had just went down.

You both moved this to the bed, him hiding his face against your chest while he basically coiled his arms around your waist, legs entangled with eachother while your fingers played with his hair. You didn't push him to explain what had went down with his family and you could tell he appreciated it, having someone to just lay with him instead of pushing him to talk was something he needed right now.

After maybe an hour or so just laying with eachother, he could feel your hand carefully cupping his cheek, whincing slightly as your thumb gently ran over the sensitive skin. "Mammon.... oh, your poor cheeks" He could see the worry in your face as your eyes locked onto the sensitive skin of his cheeks, glued to the red, angry marks that burnt away at his skin.

He didn't respond, instead, taking your wrist in his hand and pulling it away from his face, interlocking your fingers before kissing your knuckles. "Don't worry about it, 's nothing the great mammon can't get over", his comment making you chuckle slightly, smiling himself as your voice sounded like music to him.

When tears are too holy for thou, its nice to have someone who will just hold you, letting you know they care through actions instead of words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Haha, fingers go brrrrr

Im really not good at adding speach into fics, bro you do you do it.

This fic is based off of my headcannon that angels have holy water tears and fallen angels keep that gift when they fall, their tears burning their skin and eyes whenever they cry.

Close to midnight, its and im still stalling my college work lmao. Please mind the spelling and grammer

[itneverendshere]

shy!sweetheart!reader being secretly a metalhead (enjoying bands like falling in reverse and bad omens). rafe finding out like 🤨

this was ridiculously cute to write😌 and i felt like it feet pogue!bartender!reader's universe 100% so i did it.....if it wasn't want you wanted IM SORRY but it's canon in my head and my fingers worked really fast to write this down lmao. thank you for the request!!🩵🫂

you're in the walls that i made - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

It had been a long day, and all you wanted to do was get home, toss on your favorite oversized hoodie, and dive into a YouTube rabbit hole of random videos on your phone.

Rafe, of course, was your ride—like usual. He’d somehow appointed himself as your unofficial chauffeur after shifts, and you weren’t exactly complaining. You were saving up for a car, and you were almost there, only a few more weeks and you’d have your baby.

But it was nice to have a reliable ride, even if it came with his very questionable music taste.

"Alright, let's go," Rafe said, pulling up in his shiny black truck as you slid into the passenger seat.

The smell of leather and cologne hit you immediately, as did the unmistakable thumping bass of whatever rap song he had blasting. The lyrics were, as usual, about women, money, and something about getting high on a yacht. You made a face without even realizing it—like you did every time.

"What's that look for?" Rafe smirked, glancing over at you as he pulled out of the parking lot.

You shrugged, hoping he’d let it slide. "Nothing. Just... nothing."

Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to let anything slide. "Nah, you do that every time I play my music.”

You bit your lip, wondering if he thought you were a snob now. “What? No I don’t.”

He shot you a side-eye, his smirk widening as he pressed a little harder on the gas. "You got somethin' better on your playlist?"

It wasn’t like you were embarrassed. You just didn’t think Rafe, with his expensive taste and rich boy vibes, would get it. But before you could answer, the radio cut in between songs with an ad, and you almost jumped in your seat.

“On September 6th, for one night only, Bad Omens will be performing live at the Greyhall venue on the mainland! Get your tickets now before they sell out!”

Your heart raced. Bad Omens. They were one of your favorite bands, and they were going to be right there—just a ferry ride away. You stared at the radio, gripping the sides of the seat like you were about to take off.

"Wait, what?" You said under your breath, but loud enough that Rafe noticed.

He furrowed his brow, glancing between you and the road. "You okay? What's up?"

You bit your lip, feeling the excitement rising inside you and knowing it was pointless. You couldn’t afford concert tickets, let alone the ferry and everything else that came with it. But still, you couldn’t help the tiny squeak of frustration that escaped.

"It’s nothing. Just…one of my favorite bands is playing."

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. "Favorite bands?" His voice lilted with surprise. "You never told me you had a favorite band. Wait—what band?"

You fidgeted in your seat, the seatbelt suddenly feeling too tight. "Bad Omens."

He blinked. "Who?"

Of course. You sighed. "They're a metalcore band. Like heavy, but not just noise. They actually sing. And scream. It’s complicated."

Rafe's expression was priceless—like you just told him you were secretly a wizard or something.

"Metalcore?" He repeated, testing the word,"Wait, hold up. You’re telling me you like that screamo stuff?"

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You? The girl who got him by the balls since he laid his eyes on you? The quiet, sweet, always-put-together girl he drove home after work, into metalcore? It was like you just told him you had a secret double life.

You shrugged, feeling yourself blush a little. "It’s not just screamo. There's a lot more to it. It's deep."

“Screamo stuff,” he repeated, trying to wrap his head around it. His eyes moved from the road back to you, still processing. You were full of surprises, and every time he learned something new about you, it knocked him off his feet. He wasn’t used to it. Most girls he’d been with were pretty predictable—into the same stuff, liked the same fancy dinners, designer bags, the whole kook lifestyle. And then there was you.

You still sounded a little defensive, your fingers messing with the hem of your shirt. “I swear, there’s actual singing and meaning behind the lyrics.”

Rafe leaned back in his seat, still smirking, but he wasn’t laughing at you. He was actually impressed. You really didn’t care what anyone thought, did you? He couldn’t even pretend to understand the music, but it wasn’t just that—it was everything about you that threw him off in the best way.

"So that’s why you’re always making faces at my music? ‘Cause it’s not—what, hardcore enough for you?"

You couldn’t help but giggle. "I mean yeah, kinda." You glanced over at him, like you were waiting for him to crack a joke or say something stupid, but all he could do was stare at you like you’d just become ten times more interesting. “What, I don’t look like someone who’d enjoy heavy music?”

He laughed, shaking his head.  “I would've never guessed. You’re always so quiet. Sweet. I thought you’d be into, I don’t know, something soft and cute. You look like you’d be into Taylor Swift, not dudes screaming about whatever it is they scream about.”

You let out a small laugh, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sound. He loved that laugh. “Well, I do like Taylor Swift. But, you know, metal is just...it hits different.”

Rafe’s face went from shock to something else, like he was putting pieces together in his head. "Wait, that explains so much. Every time I put on something with a chill beat, you look like you’re dying inside."

"I just have different taste," you admitted.

"Damn, never thought I’d see the day," he muttered, more to himself. “So, this band of yours—Bad Omens—where they playing?"

"Greyhall in September,” you said quietly. "But it’s fine. I can’t afford to go."

He frowned. "The hell you can’t. Just get the tickets."

You blinked at him. "I can’t, Rafe. They’re probably expensive, and I’ve got rent and bills. Y’know, real life stuff?"

He furrowed his brow, like the concept of not being able to afford something was completely foreign to him. “It’s just tickets. How much could they be?”

"Probably more than I make in a week. Plus the ferry, the drinks, food—it's not that simple."

He glanced at you, like he was doing the math in his head. The guy lived in a world where nothing was “that simple” because everything was already done for him. He didn’t have to think about rent or ferry costs or budgeting for groceries. That wasn’t Rafe’s reality, and for a second, you could see it in his eyes—he forgot that your world wasn’t his.

"Alright," he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal, "I’ll get them."

"What?"

"I’ll get the tickets," he repeated, more casual this time, like it was the easiest solution in the world. "You wanna see them, right? So I’ll buy the tickets."

Your mouth fell open. "Rafe, no. You can’t just—"

He looked at you like you’d just said something offensive. "I can.”

"No, you’re not buying me concert tickets. That’s ridiculous."

He rolled his eyes, acting like it was no big deal. “I’ve spent more on dumber shit. Consider it an early birthday gift. Or whatever."

“Do you even know when my birthday is?”

He didn’t even miss a beat, "October 8th” he said, his voice so smooth and confident that it caught you off guard.

Your jaw dropped a little, and you stared at him. "Wait—how do you know that?"

He shrugged casually, but he was proud of himself. "What, you think I don’t pay attention to you?”

When it came to you, he was locked in. Every detail, every little thing you mentioned, he was soaking it up. He knew. Out of all the random things, that’s what he remembered. You never told him outright; maybe it came up once in a passing conversation, weeks ago, buried under a million other details about work or life or whatever. And yet, here he was, dropping the exact date like it was nothing. You tried to play it cool, but inside, your brain was short-circuiting. Rafe Cameron knows my birthday. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, that smirk still glued to his face. He was being way too natural about the whole thing.

“Okay,” You snapped out of it, “You’re not buying me tickets, Rafe,” you warned him, crossing your arms and shaking your head. “Seriously, I can’t let you do that.”

He barely glanced at you, too busy making a smooth turn, “You act like I just offered to buy you a house. It’s a couple of tickets, not that big of a deal.”

“To you!” You huffed, leaning back in the seat. “It’s a big deal to me. I’m not just gonna let you drop money like that. For what? For a concert that you’re not even going to?”

Rafe let out a low chuckle, which only fueled your frustration. He thought this was funny.

“It’s just tickets,” he repeated, like that was going to wear you down. “Look, if it bothers you that much, you can pay me back. And I can go with you”

You felt your heart do this weird little somersault, like it didn’t know whether to panic or be excited.

What the hell was he talking about.

Rafe Cameron, Mr. Country Club, wanted to go to a metalcore concert with you?

Your head was spinning. He doesn't even know the band, you thought, trying to figure out if he was serious or just messing with you. But judging by the way he was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he wasn’t joking.

“You’re gonna come with me to a Bad Omens concert?” Your voice came out more skeptical than you intended, but could he blame you. The thought of Rafe at a concert full of screaming fans and heavy breakdowns was honestly hilarious.

He shrugged, eyes still on the road, totally unfazed. “Yeah, why not? Could be fun.”

Fun? FUN? You were genuinely struggling to picture him, in his usual attire, khaki shorts and a Ralph Lauren polo, at a venue packed with sweaty metalheads. You almost wanted to laugh, but then again, he was doing this for you. He was willing to put up with a night of music he definitely didn’t like, just so you could see one of your favorite bands. That meant something.

You scoffed. “How would I pay you back anyway? With what? My tips from bartending at the country club? Gonna take me six months to pay off Bad Omens tickets.”

He glanced over, eyebrow raised, like he was sizing you up. “You’re seriously gonna pass up the chance to see one of your favorite bands because you’re too proud to let me help?”

You bit your lip, torn between how much you wanted to see them live and how uncomfortable it felt to accept help from someone like Rafe. He was used to throwing money around—his daddy’s money, no less—and you... well, you weren’t like that. You’d grown up on the other side of the island, working your ass off to afford anything. 

The idea of someone just buying something for you? It made you feel weird. Like a sell-out.

“It’s not about a couple bucks. It’s about you doing this because you feel like you have to or something.”

His jaw tightened just slightly, and he shook his head like you were missing the point completely. “I don’t feel like I have to do anything. I want to do this. There’s a difference.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, not letting him off the hook just yet. “Why? Why do you want to do this so bad?”

There it was. That look again. He hesitated, like he was deciding whether to be fully honest or not, then leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel again, trying to play it cool.

“Because,” he started, his voice casual but his eyes were giving him away. “This is what friends do. They look out for each other. I’m not letting you miss something you clearly want.”

Saying the word made his chest hurt just a little. Friends. Right. But he didn’t let it show. He wasn’t exactly the relationship type, and everyone knew it. You probably knew it, but when it came to you things were different. And maybe the idea of spending time with you at that concert—just the two of you, no work, no distractions—sounded like a dream. How could he say that without looking like an idiot? Or worse, like a an asshole trying to buy his way into your life.

“Rafe, be serious,” you sighed. “I don’t like feeling like I owe someone.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he said quickly, a little sharper this time. He seemed almost offended. “Why do you keep acting like this is some big favor? I’m not holding it over your head or anythin’. I just want you to go to the concert and have a good time. Is that so hard to accept?”

You did want to go. Badly. But accepting help like this wasn’t your style, especially not from Rafe, who lived in a completely different world. And yet you could feel how much he genuinely wanted you to say yes.

 “I’m being realistic.”

Rafe snorted. “Realistic? You’re being stubborn as hell.”

“I’m not—”

“Yeah, you are,” he cut you off, pulling into a stop at the light and turning his whole body toward you. His eyes were locked on yours now, serious but still with that hint of playful annoyance. “Look, I get it. Fine. You want to go to the concert. I’m offering to make it happen. End of story.”

He was used to getting what he wanted, and, right now, what he wanted was for you to take these tickets.

“Why do you care so much?” you asked, your voice coming out quieter than you intended.

He hesitated for half a second. Then that smirk of his came back, though it felt different. “Because I like seeing you excited about something. You’ve been dragging your feet every time I see you, and now, you hear some band’s coming to town, and you light up like it’s Christmas. You think I’m gonna let you miss that over a couple bucks?”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. He was always so sincere. And it threw you off completely. Rafe was a lot of things to a lot of people—cocky, reckless, arrogant—but he wasn’t usually thoughtful. Not to them. Not like this. You seemed to be the only one who saw the good in him.

But you still weren’t giving in. “Rafe... it’s just weird, okay? I don’t want it to be like you’re doing me a favor.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. “Fine. Then don’t think of it like that. Think of it like— I’m investing in something I wanna see. You freaking out at this concert, screaming your head off, losing your voice for two days—that’s entertainment.”

 “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re difficult,” he shot back, eyes narrowing playfully. “But I’m not backing down, so you might as well just say thank you and take the tickets.”

“Or what?” you challenged, but your voice was softening.

“Or I’ll buy the tickets, show up at your door, and force you to go.”

You blinked. “You wouldn’t.”

He grinned. “Try me. C’mon,” he pushed, sensing you were caving. “You work your ass off at that club, always taking care of everyone else. For once, just let someone take care of you.”

Your breath hitched at that. He wasn’t just being cocky or trying to win an argument anymore. He meant it. You looked out the window, chewing on your lip. This was new, this was all so new to you it felt a little pathetic with how hard your heart was racing. There was a moment of silence, like you were both just waiting for the other to blink first.

Finally, you sighed, throwing your hands up in defeat. “Fine! Fine. Buy the stupid tickets. But don’t think I’m not paying you back. I’ll find a way.”

He just laughed, clearly satisfied with his victory. “I’ll take that as a ‘thank you, Rafe. You’re the best friend ever.’”

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t help smiling a little. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Cameron.”

As the light turned green and he started driving again, you let out a long breath, not knowing why you were giving up so easily. There was this strange warmth in your chest, knowing he cared enough to go toe-to-toe with you over something as small as a concert.

“Hey, for the record,” Rafe said after a moment, glancing over at you. “I’d do it again. Just so you know.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What? Fight me over tickets?”

He grinned, looking back at the road. “Nah. Fight you over anything, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, but you were beaming like an idiot now. You felt lighter. “Just don’t think this means I’m letting you pick the music on the way there.”

“Deal,” he said, laughing as he leaned back in his seat, clearly proud of himself. “But don’t get too used to it. Next time, it’s back to rap and yachts.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

As he drove, you couldn’t help but peek over at him, catching the way his jawline tensed and relaxed, the way his fingers tapped the steering wheel like he was still buzzing from the conversation.

And yeah, maybe you’d heard the rumors surrounding him, believed them a little before.

Now, you weren’t so sure.

All the while Rafe felt like he’d just won the lottery. You had no idea how hard he was falling for you, piece by piece. Every small detail about you made him fall harder, and it scared the hell out of him how much he cared. But he couldn’t stop now.

Truth was, he didn’t want to.

[1d1195]

Honey VI

Read Honey here | ~5.3k words

From me: I know not everyone likes smut so you can read this part directly after part 4 if you'd like. All you need to know is that they had sex in part 5.

Warnings: ANGST, fluff, mentions of sex but not describing everything. I don't think you'll like the ending to this part hehehe

Summary: “Hey kitten,” he hummed, settling her on the mattress. She looked so perfect there. Beautiful.

“Hmm?” She tucked herself into his sheets. Her face smushed into his pillow. He smiled, rubbed his hand on her hip and slipped into bed beside her. Her eyes were closed.

“Happy belated birthday.”

She snorted and tucked her face into his chest. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.

Harry tossed the blanket on the back of the couch across her body. She was stretched out the length of his, her ear right on his chest, her hands cupped on the top of each of his shoulders. Her hips wedged between his legs. He wondered if she felt that his dick was already hardening pressing against the fabric of her underwear.

Pulling the thin piece of her panties from her center was one of the hottest things he had ever done before lining himself up with her. He worried he would never want her to take her underwear off just so he could gaze at the way it looked. (Although he was certain he could be convinced otherwise). His hands went to her back, and he kissed the top of her head. “You okay, love?” He asked. She nodded silently. “Y’sure?” Another wordless shake of her head. Harry ran his hand up and down her spine lightly tracing her skin like there was a pattern for him to follow. “Y’can sleep, kitten,” he whispered.

She had sex before, but it was never like that. Her body was exhausted, her face felt flushed and yeah, she was really sleepy. “Mmm?” She sighed. “Okay,” she mumbled.

“Night, love,” he kissed along her hairline.

*

They both seemed to wake up at the same time and without a clock or their phones nearby, there was no way to tell how late it was. Cece hadn’t made a peep, so she was still in the early stages of her deepest sleep. So only a few hours had passed, since her bedtime. It was still pitch black, so the power hadn’t returned either.

Harry kissed her hairline again, unaware that she was awake. In response, she kissed his chest, nosing at his skin.

“You’re so pretty.”

“You can’t see me.”

“Don’t need to.”

She smiled.

“Tell me ‘bout you,” he murmured.

“Tell you what?”

“Well, I know your favorite food is French fries and that y’like dogs more than cats. I know y’love your family even if they’re lazy and don’t show how much they love you. I know where y’went t’school and your best friend’s name is Eliza even if y’hardly see her or talk t’her.”

“There’s not much else to know,” she shrugged one shoulder.

“Why did y’start nannying? With your degree?”

She bit her lip. “I babysat most of my life,” but her voice had an edge to it. There was more and she didn’t want to tell him. Harry could sense it.

“Y’have a psychology degree with a concentration in child development. And y’have a minor in business. Something tells me that y’didn’t intend t’be a nanny. Even if you’re good at it.”

There was a long pause. Harry thought she fell asleep again. Her voice was soft. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“Scare me?”

She nodded. “It’s that baggage I mentioned?”

“I told you I would carry it,” he reminded her.

She didn’t think he didn’t mean it, but she didn’t think he knew what he was saying right before he slid his finger inside her. Her brain was already mush at that point and Harry could have told her anything as long as he made her come the way he did. Taking a deep breath, she was grateful for the dark. “I’ve wanted to be a mom my whole life,” she explained. That didn’t surprise him in the least. The way she held Cece and how kind, adoring, and doting it would be obvious to someone who was blind that she was going to be the most tremendous mother.

“I took care of dolls my entire childhood. Then there was my baby brother. I babysat from the time I was thirteen and all throughout college,” another deep breath. “I met my one and only ex-boyfriend on my first day of college classes. I was eighteen in an intro to business class. I figured if I wanted to open a daycare of my own, it would be good knowledge, right?” Harry’s finger danced along the side of her neck stroking a line up and down not saying anything, just listening. “He was young and didn’t want kids and I didn’t blame him. What eighteen-year-old does? I know I was a rarity—I had a baby brother and was around babies my whole life. I figured he would have grown out of it.”

“He didn’t grow out of it?” Harry asked.

“No... but he told me that he was definitely changing his mind. Every time I mentioned our future or our future children, he just...” she sighed. “He would say things like ‘of course, angel,’” her tone dropped an octave to imitate him. “But he talked about business and cruises. He talked about these extravagant parties and gatherings. Living overseas and expanding his business,” she shrugged. “It sounded nice, but I wanted kids.”

“You were still young,” Harry murmured. He wasn’t agreeing, but he was curious how her college-sweetheart just stopped being that. Surely that was something that would change with time.

“That’s why I stayed with him,” her voice was indifferent. “It wasn’t a bad thing at the time. I knew we both still had plenty of time,” her throat caught on the word time, and she cleared it. “He actually encouraged me to start nannying.”

Harry didn’t like her ex because she deserved everything she wanted. If she wanted to sell Harry’s company, he would do it for her. All he wanted was to see her smile. But if he was the reason that Harry found her... well... maybe he couldn’t hate him too much.

“I’ve always been pretty nurturing, protective, et cetera...” she shrugged. “My friends called me mom in college. I walked around with a mini pharmacy in my purse, and I never got drunk in college because I was busy taking care of my friends. So, my boyfriend figured I would do well, and he introduced me to a friend of a friend who wanted someone to watch their newborn.” She rolled her lips into her mouth before continuing. “I was twenty-two and I have loved babies my whole life. I stopped nannying him when he was three years old. That sweet little boy would be five now and I worry about him every day. Leaving him was the hardest thing I ever did.”

Harry frowned and kissed the top of her head, squeezing her gently. “Why?”

“His parents weren’t around. You said you felt like you weren’t there for Cece. Harry, you have no idea what some parents are like. I was going to doctor’s visits and buying Christmas presents for him on behalf of his parents. I took him to visit family that treated me like his big sister or an aunt—like I was their family and not his parents. It was awful. When I left, I felt like I gave my own child to a pair of strangers. It hurt so much. I cried for a week and seriously considered never babysitting ever again,” she sniffed and shook her head. “I stopped following them on social media. I would have kept asking because I was so scared. I had to stop, or I would... never let go and he wasn’t mine. He wasn’t,” she shook her head. “They made sure to tell me so. Every time I encouraged a change in eating habits or suggested they monitor his sleeping... they berated me for overstepping.”

“Probably because they were embarrassed, love,” he frowned and cupped the back of her head. Harry was seriously addicted to kissing her. It didn’t have to be her lips, though he loved that too. Kissing her hairline and touching her soft, delicate face was becoming his favorite thing.

“Yeah, but...” she shrugged. “It means a lot to me that you value my opinion. I don’t think you’re a bad dad at all, but you don’t mind asking questions. It’s... it’s like, I would never open a business without asking for your help,” she explained. “Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense,” he nodded. “I would be lost without you,” his heart hurt on her behalf. “Why did y’leave?” He asked.

She swallowed. “They were pregnant,” Harry waited. “I was there six days a week from six in the morning until eight in the evening. I was exhausted and it wasn’t because I didn’t love what I was doing, I did. I loved it so much,” she whispered. “But they had made me the most important part of their family and they didn’t even know their little boy,” her voice cracked. “He told me he wished I was his mom,” her voice was hardly audible.

“Oh, kitten,” he pulled her in closer. “He loved you so much.”

“It wasn’t fair to me,” she sniffled. “I just left him.”

“Y’had to, love.”

“He told me he hated me.”

“He was three, sweetheart. Of course he did,” he hummed and kissed the top of her head. “Y’were his favorite person, his best friend.” She sobbed and Harry held her tighter, wishing he could take her pain away. “Y’did the right thing,” he assured her. “Even if it didn’t feel like it.”

She swallowed. “Everyone told me I was an idiot.”

Harry frowned. “Who said that?”

“My family, my boyfriend, my friends,” she listed. “It was such a good job. I could pay my rent and all my bills. I hung out with the cutest kid,” she swallowed.

“Did y’tell them all that other stuff?”

She nodded. “Yeah. They didn’t get it. My boyfriend said I was getting to have a baby—two even, without having to ruin my body or any—”

“God, please tell me y’broke up with him.”

She huffed a breath of sniveling laughter. “Not yet.”

Harry sighed. “So y’found another family?”

She nodded. “I had babysat for Mitch and Sarah before. I was so heartbroken, but I’m a sucker for a cute kid and a mom and dad that are in desperate need of a date night,” she smiled. “Have you seen their kid?”

He chuckled. “He’s sweet, huh?”

“I watched him weekly. Just a date night. It was only a few hours, but they were in awe because I would get bored and clean or whatever they needed. I just did it. I didn’t think about it because I was just...used to it. So, they said they had a couple that needed a nanny,” she swallowed. “I was genuinely scared. I was afraid I would be taken advantage of and I was worried... worried I was going to fall in love with them again,” she whispered. “I did, but it was better this time. Hannah and Pete were parents who wanted to be parents. They loved me, I’m sure you saw, but I was just there to keep their babies safe.”

Harry remembered the glowing recommendations. “Tara and Xavier right?” He asked. She nodded.

“It was a blessing Tara was three years old when I met her and not Xavier. I might not have done it.”

“What about your boyfriend?”

She swallowed. “I was home more, and I noticed that...he wasn’t.”

“What was his name? Y’never said.”

“Cody,” she mumbled.

There was more quiet that ensued while she gathered her thoughts. “I was twenty-four and we had been together for almost seven years...” she took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to be married necessarily nor have kids right that second... but...”

“But he didn’t really change?” He finished.

“No, he did,” her voice was hollow. “Just... not for me.”

Oh no. “Kitten,” he hummed. “What—”

“She was pregnant,” she said softly. “Three months along by the time I found out.”

Harry meant what he said about Cece and a sibling. She was still his baby, and he wanted to make sure she got the attention she deserved because he loved her more than anything in the world. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to give her a sibling. One with Miss Honey? Harry could only be so lucky. “I hate Cody,” he grumbled.

“I’m not really a fan myself,” she whispered. Harry kissed her forehead and wished he could take her heart out and massage it like it was a sore muscle and fix it for her. “Hannah insisted I move in,” she swallowed. “I felt so stupid.”

“That was not your fault, love. Y’shouldn’t feel stupid. He’s an idiot.”

“I love my family,” she whispered. “I love them more than anything on this earth,” she swallowed. “But sometimes, I don’t think anyone loves me the way I love them,” she mumbled. “I feel really selfish saying that and I just thought that if I had a family of my own, the one I imagined with Cody and all the babies I wanted to have, then maybe I would feel loved. Like I was someone’s first choice because...” she trailed off and Harry felt a tear fall on his chest right from her cheek. She didn’t speak and Harry waited and waited.

“Christ, kitten,” he muttered. “If y’want a family. Y’deserve one.”

She didn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t want to cry more; honestly, Harry didn’t want her to cry either. He wasn’t sure he could console her without promising to marry her right then and there. How someone dated her for seven years and never proposed was beyond him. It hadn’t even been seven hours since he’d been inside her and he was considering it.

“I’d have to quit nannying,” she added her voice was quiet. “I’m also only freshly twenty-seven. There’s still ample time. But... I have a lot of trust issues, obviously.”

“Kitten,” he tutted. “Don’t you think—”

“I don’t want to scare you,” she started which instantly made his heart beat a little faster. His body felt a little hotter. His throat a little tighter around the words he was going to say. “But I’m... my biological clock is a slave to time and if Cece turns five and starts kindergarten, then I’m probably going to have to—”

“Love, stop,” he interrupted. He wanted to say that he would give her everything. But he had her body wrapped around his less than three hours ago. Coming around his fingers, his tongue, his dick.

“Harry, I...” she swallowed. “I love Cece. An embarrassing amount,” she had a smile in her voice. “It’s impossible to find someone understanding of the nanny thing. Now I’ll always worry that the person I’m with is off making his own family with someone else,” she admitted.

“So you’re jus’ going t’accept that and... not have a family of your own?”

“No, I’ve done some research on sperm donation. It’s my best option. And that’s fine. I’ve always wanted to be a mom. I’m not sure I’d be a good wife.”

There was truly no way Harry could fathom that. There was no way she wasn’t the best at anything she did. Fuck, she was a better secretary than anyone he could possibly hire. “How are you holding up with all that baggage?”

“Light as a feather,” he mumbled grumpily. He kissed her temple. He was already planning, plotting. Hoping.

“It... it was nice talking about it,” she whispered. “What’s in your dick that made me blab all that?”

He chuckled. “Truth serum.”

“That’s disgusting,” she gagged. “Don’t tell other girls that, they won’t like it. You’re lucky I’m so cool.”

Harry wanted to ask her if she really thought there were other girls. There weren’t. But if there had been, they paled in comparison to her. There was no one else. There could be no one else anymore. He had been waiting for someone like her, unable to believe he could have someone like her any longer. He had a baby to care for and a company to run. Women didn’t love him for him anymore.

Harry didn’t love anyone besides his baby, his company, and his family.

But he hadn’t accounted for Miss Honey and her sweetness, her kindness.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry realized how tired he was again. Poor thing had to be emotionally exhausted as well. He gently moved her to the inside of the couch “Sit up for me, kitten,” he asked quietly. She rubbed her eye that extra cute way that she did like when he went to her bedroom door in the middle of the night for help with Cece.

He slipped his boxers back on and turned off the little battery-operated candles. There were scrabble pieces all over the floor, but he would deal with them in the morning. She was half asleep, eyes fluttering and trying to stay open. He grabbed their clothes from the floor and threw them into her lap with the blanket that was still wrapped around her.

Harry scooped her into his embrace, cradling her like he was carrying a bride. It made his heart skip a beat. Without discussing it, he carried her to his bedroom. He didn’t want to be apart from her. It felt like he was carrying half his heart in his arms. Her fall blanket had been long since swapped out with a Christmas one and it was draped haphazardly across her keeping her warm as the only thing she wore was the scrap of fabric she was passing off as underwear and that pretty pink bra. “Hey kitten,” he hummed, settling her on the mattress. She looked so perfect there. Beautiful.

“Hmm?” She tucked herself into his sheets almost instantly. Her face smushed into his pillow. He smiled, rubbed his hand on her hip and slipped into bed beside her. Her eyes were closed.

“Happy belated birthday.”

She snorted and tucked her face into his chest. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered falling asleep nearly the moment she finished speaking.

*

Sleeping with her boss might be the dumbest thing she had ever done.

About ten of her romance novels consisted of this very plot line and she was victim of it per her own doing. Harry’s heavy arm was draped around her waist leaving her trapped beneath it and his soft bedding.

Fortunately, before she had time to spiral, Cece made her presence known. It gave her a reprieve from thinking about how stupid she was. It was something tangible to focus on that wasn’t the ache between her legs from having Harry—

She shook her head. Without another sound in the house, not even the quiet hum of the heating system, it heightened the sound of Cece’s small cry.

She pulled herself out from under Harry, frowning at how cold it was outside his blanket-like body. The first article of clothing she plucked from the floor—which happened to be one of Harry’s T-shirts—and slipped it over her body. Quietly, she went to Cece’s room. “Hello sweet girl,” her voice was soft, and Cece stopped crying instantly. “What are you doing?” She cooed. Cece continued to fuss without crying, so she scooped her up and kissed the side of her head. “Is it the rain and thunder?” She asked. “It’s okay. It’s just a little weather,” she assured her. “Are you cold?” she whispered. “I know,” she sighed. “Let’s go see if Daddy can keep us warm,” she murmured, kissing her temple.

Before she took one step to turn around, a hand circled the front of her stomach, pressing low, making her eyes flutter because Harry had touched and pressed so many parts of her body and he seemed to pull noises and warmth from her without even trying.

Harry’s lips found the curve of her shoulder where it met her neck, and peppered kisses along the made-up path he created from her shoulder to her ear. “You’re so good with her,” he murmured. “It’s so hot,” he whispered. She shivered even though she was about ten thousand degrees warmer than she was a moment before. “She’s cold?” he mumbled into her neck.

She nodded, unable to speak with his mouth on her pulse. He steered her out of the room by her hips, his fingers pressing against spots that he had pressed only hours before. Back toward the living room where he had made her come more times in one sitting than she had in weeks. Her cheeks felt warm as she followed his silent direction—like she was returning to the scene of a crime.

A really hot, sexy crime.

Harry left for his room again, but it was only moments before he was back at her side. He pulled her toward the couch making her stomach flip with the knowledge of what they did. He stretched his legs across the chaise part of the sofa and pulled her down, so her bum wedged between his leg and the sofa arm. Her legs stretched perpendicularly to his, across the couch.

Harry pulled the comforter he had dragged from his room across the three of them and snagged Cece’s crescent pillow from the floor, half under the couch from where it had landed while he was holding her legs open earlier. Harry kept that thought to a minimum as it was late, and she was sleepily holding his daughter. Gently, he tucked the pillow under her arms so most of Cece’s weight would be supported. “S’this dangerous?” He asked curiously.

“A few months ago, yeah... But I’m a pretty light sleeper. She’ll move before it’s an issue.”

Harry kissed the top of her head which had shifted down to the front of his shoulder. “You’re warm?”

“Very,” she promised.

“She’s warm?” He asked.

She wrapped her arms tighter around her and kissed her forehead, making Harry’s heart ache. “Mmm... are you warm?”

“Very,” he smiled. Even if he wasn’t, it was sweet she cared to ask. She was the one holding the baby. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you,” he murmured.

She tilted her head up and her beautiful wide eyes gazed at him and her lips curved upward so cutely he felt downright hot. No need for a blanket when he could see her smile like that. Harry cupped the side of her head. His thumb brushed along her cheek.

The quiet beating of his heart was under her ear and made her fall asleep.

*

Cece woke them up along with every light on in the house signaling the power was back. Harry’s shoulder felt deadened from her head against it for so many hours. He blinked against the light and glanced at the Scrabble tiles strung haphazardly on the floor. “Good morning, Miss Cecelia,” she cooed and kissed her forehead. “We’re nice and toasty, hmm?”

Harry smiled. His heart so completely full. As full as his arms felt.

“Let’s go change your bum, yeah?” She twisted slightly. “Hold her so I don’t injure you?” She smiled awkwardly. Harry really did a number on her hair while he made out with her last night, but she was still so beautiful it hurt. Her face still had a post-orgasmic glow about it and honestly it was kind of her to worry about Harry’s dick so close to her butt and not wanting to injure him, but she could probably feel it—a reminder that he was so turned on by her.

Harry kissed Cece’s cheek repeatedly. “Good morning, my sweet girl,” he cooed and nosed at her soft skin. She giggled happily and left an open-mouthed kiss on his face making him fall harder for the little baby.

Miss Honey hadn’t moved an inch while she watched the interaction, only inches from her face and she smiled sadly as she finally moved off his lap. Harry was so cold without her body around his it took every ounce of his effort to refrain from pulling her right back down.

She was still in his T-shirt and because her underwear was thin and hiding between her plump butt cheeks, it looked like she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Harry also had to refrain from groaning at the sight. He was glad the comforter was thrown over his lap because it hid the massive amount of indecency he was sporting at the sight of her. She plucked Cece from him and headed down the hall.

Harry picked up the Scrabble tiles trying to forget how good she tasted on the back of his couch so the blood in his body would drain to anywhere else but it’s current space. Eventually, she returned to the kitchen. Unfortunately, she was wearing pants and Harry thought it was unfair she didn’t even ask if he could get another look beforehand.

Cece was wrapped, as always, around her as she started her morning routine. Food, bottle, tea, coffee. Business as always. “Kitten, y’don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind,” she wasn’t facing him. But he could practically feel the heat of her cheeks, flushed with embarrassment. Her voice was shaky. Higher than normal.

“Y’okay?” He asked, his eyebrows pinching together as he watched her work without turning around. “Y’feel okay? Not sore or—”

“Harry,” she swallowed pausing her movements and Cece was suckling on her pacifier watching the pretty woman curiously.

“What, love?” He frowned. “Y’sure you’re alright? Y’sound—”

She put a hand on her face. “Harry, I feel...” she whispered and turned around.

Harry thought she was stunning when she perched over him and slid up and down his cock. But there was nothing like the sight of her, baby on her hip, freshly fucked and flushed, and sleepy looking as she made breakfast in his kitchen. “Y’feel what?” He asked, clearing his throat before he told her he loved her. How quickly he turned into a teenage boy ready to profess his love all because she felt so good around his cock.

“Good,” she smiled sadly. “Really, really good,” she promised. Harry smiled happily. Glad she was feeling okay. “But—”

Fuck. NO.

“I think we shouldn’t have—”

“Kitten, no,” he said quickly crossing the kitchen and putting one hand on her free hip. Cece was gazing at him while her little pacifier bounced up and down in her mouth. “Love, don’t say it—”

“Harry, you employ me.”

His natural instinct was to fire her right on the spot. Then promptly propose to her.

He shoved that instinct into the bottom of his stomach, but his chest ached knowing she was going to be twenty times stronger than him because she had to be. In her head, she was all alone. Even if that wasn’t true at all. He closed his eyes. “Sweetheart,” he said softly. His voice felt broken, and his heartbeat was thudding too hard.

“Harry, I... I really don’t regret that at all. But it was,” she took a deep breath. “It wasn’t the right move,” she looked at his chest. Her face warm with a fresh blush as she probably remembered how he made her come three times in a row. “It was perfect and I like being close with you. But there has to be a line,” she said. “I shouldn’t have crossed it, and I’m sorry. I don’t regret it. Given half the chance, I’d probably do it again,” she admitted.

“We could do it again if—”

“Harry,” she laughed softly, awkwardness coating the sound.

“Angel,” he started but she winced and turned her head away like he had slapped her.

“Please don’t call me that,” she whispered. “That’s the only thing Cody ever called me and—”

“Jesus, kitten, m’sorry. I was jus’—”

“It’s okay,” she looked up briefly, but her face turned another shade darker when their eyes connected. She looked so kissable. He wanted to. Wanted to kiss her and hold her and promise she could have whatever she wanted. Harry didn’t know if she was right. Maybe it wasn’t the best way to do things.

She was employed by him. A lot closer than any other of his employees. Granted he didn’t want to sleep with Niall or give him babies the way he wanted to do for her. “I love Cece,” she reminded him. “I don’t want to jeopardize this because of...” she swallowed. “Because of what we did. We can just forget about it. It was really, really wonderful. Please don’t question that,” her voice was soft. “You’re going to take your leave and I’m going to see my family for a week or two,” she explained. “It’ll be good to have that space and maybe... maybe reset what we’re feeling.”

“Reset,” he repeated.

She nodded. "Isn't there a part of you that wonders if what we did is only because I'm around so much?"

Harry wanted to scream. How could she say that? How could she possibly believe he only made her come three times because she was there? A small voice shouted from the back of his mind: Tell her why! Harry felt his stomach flip and his heart nearly stopped beating.

She didn’t know he loved her. She couldn’t know that his adoration for her had nothing to do with her proximity.

Her innate ability to know what he needed. Organizing papers without asking, folding his laundry, caring for his precious baby.

Just... being there. But not because of space, because it wasn't just because she was present, it was her presence.

No he shook his head. She was scared. She was pushing him away. Scared of all the things she told him the night before. It was her “baggage." The baggage she claimed Harry couldn’t carry because it was so heavy.

But what had he said that made her believe he couldn’t handle it?

Cece doesn’t need a sibling right now.

But she would never want to pressure him to do that—right? Not with what he had been through himself. But then she went and told him all about the way her ex-boyfriend treated her and how it was the only thing she wanted.

I’m just going to get a sperm donor. She said it so casually. There was an expiration date. If Cece turned five before something changed, then she was going to leave.

Harry wanted to give her a million babies. However many she wanted to have, he would give her. He would do it with her. He would quit his job and let her do whatever she wanted. Everything she wanted. A family that adored her and put her first because she deserved it. A family that would travel across the world for her just because they missed her, and she was their favorite thing in the world. A house filled with babies and her pretty maternal self, taking care of them all. Feeding them medicine and making them giggle when they discovered their toes.

He wanted their future children to love her more than him because she deserved that more than anything.

Hell, Cece probably already loved her more than him already.

“Are you going to fire me?” She whispered, pulling him from his thoughts. His hand was holding his shirt wrapped around her body at her hip. The fabric bunched a little tighter than it was before. He released it.

“No, of course not,” he rolled his eyes.

But he was going to make her fall in love with him.

The sooner the better.

--

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[redrose10]

#5 from the picture game

Warnings: Swearing, mention of suggestive stuff, maybe cheating

Thanks for the request!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I hate him! I hate him! I hate him.”, you shrieked throughout your small apartment after throwing your bag down on the floor. Your roommate, Sarah, concerned with all the commotion came walking out to see what was going on with you.

“Bad day?”, she questioned.

“Min Fucking Yoongi.”, you spat.

She sighed, “What did he do now?”

“Alright class, you’re going to work in small groups of two or three for this project. Pair up on your own and I’ll send around the sign up sheet for you to write down your names. Remember this project will count for 80% of your grade so it’s kind of a big deal and shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

You scanned around the room making eye contact with Namjoon. He nodded before getting up and making his way over to you. You felt relief that you would be working with not only one of the smartest guys in the school but also someone who was respectful and reliable. For some reason this school seems to have attracted every arrogant fuckboy within a 500 mile radius and you hated it.

Namjoon took a seat next to you but before he could speak someone else cleared their throat.

The leader of said fuckboys was standing right in front of you like you had summoned him by thinking too much about him. You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.

“Hey Yoongi! Want to join our group?”, Namjoon happily asked oblivious to the tension in the air.

“He can’t. He’s already working with Tia.”, you gritted through your teeth. You knew she was a regular of Yoongi’s. Yoongi looked over at the woman who was trying to look seductive but looked more like she was in pain than anything.

“Nah we’re kind of going through a thing right now.”

Namjoon chuckled, “I get it man. You can work with Y/N and I. It’s not problem.”

Yoongi took a seat and pretended to listen to Namjoon as he came up with a game plan while you sat there and stewed in your anger. You knew Yoongi wasn’t going to lift a finger while you and Namjoon did everything yet he’d still be given a good grade.

Before you knew it class was over and Namjoon said his goodbyes before quickly running off to his next one.

You were angrily packing up your bag when you heard Yoongi speak.

“Y/N are you not going to speak to me this entire project? We have to work together.”, he asked.

You scoffed, “No we don’t. You and I both know you’re going to flake and it’ll be all on Namjoon and I to do all the work so why don’t you just do us a favor and get lost already.”

Yoongi stood up and leaned slightly over your desk, “Maybe you should get laid for once. You need to get some of that bitchiness fucked out of you.”

And with that he was gone and out the door leaving you red faced and so angry you couldn’t think straight for the rest of the day even once you finally walked through your front door.

Sarah chuckled only infuriating you more. “Y/N I get it. Yeah that was a really shitty thing to say but you do always seem to be the one to start things with him. Maybe him and Tia really are going through something and you two were the only option to work with. I just don’t know why you have this extreme hatred for the guy.”, she said after seeing your upset face.

You rolled your eyes before heading to your room and flopping down on your bed.

Was Sarah right? Are you the instigator? And if you are then you’re sure that he deserved it 99% of the time anyways.

Ever since the first day you met him he has been a thorn in your side.

You met Yoongi in Kindergarten. He sat behind you and would constantly pull on your ponytail and when you turned around he’d just sit there with a big smile. You complained to your parents who told you he probably just had a crush on you but that you should ask him to stop if you didn’t want him to do that any more.

Then in the fifth grade he was playing basketball at recess. He tried passing the ball to someone else but instead it came flying at your face breaking your nose. He was at your side in an instant using his jacket to stop the bleeding. He apologized profusely saying it was an accident but you’re sure he did it on purpose.

Your freshman year of high school he overheard that you had a huge crush on a boy named Jin. He was a year older than you and so handsome and funny. You thought maybe he liked you too until he started distancing himself. You found out a couple months later that Yoongi had told him that you had some incurable contagious skin condition.

Somehow though over the next couple years you had grown fond of Yoongi, even developing feelings for him. He had matured and was pleasant to be around. You were ecstatic when he asked you to be his date to the senior prom. The night had been going well and you really thought you were going to share your first kiss with him. The dj announced it was time for the last dance when you realized Yoongi was taking a really long time in the bathroom. Walking the halls looking for him you found him pushed up against the lockers with Mia, the prom queen, sticking her tongue practically down his throat. You ran out of the dance that night ignoring the shouts of your name coming from Yoongi who was chasing after you.

While walking home with a broken heart you made yourself a promise that you would never let Min Yoongi hurt you ever again. So much so that you ignored any contact he tried to make with you even finally going to his parents when he didn’t get the hint.

In college you tried your best to avoid him. The first year was easy. You had different majors and different friend groups. Then Sarah started dating one of his best friends Hoseok leading to there being lots of time spent together. You watched as he often left the hangouts with some random woman he met. You’d always roll your eyes realizing he never changed. He always had something to say to you or about you too. His little comments here and there to purposely get under your skin only added to your irritation.

Maybe that’s why your first emotion around him now is always anger.

Thankfully your emotional day helped you swiftly fall into dreamland and stop thinking about him.

“Y/N, let’s go!!”,Sarah shouted from behind your door.

“Be right there.”

You took one final look at your outfit. Your dress was a little tighter than normal but you were hoping to get the attention of this guy you met on campus, Taehyung. You weren’t really into going to parties but you were in a pretty good mood since Yoongi had skipped class all week as expected of him and once Taehyung asked you if you were going to be at this party you were quick to agree.

The smell of alcohol and sweat and just dirty funk quickly hit your senses. You’d think they could’ve sprung for a couple $1 air fresheners but what could you expect from a bunch of college guys.

Once further into the home you were able to easily spot Taehyung. He walked over with two bottles of beer. One was still sealed which he cracked open for you. You appreciated his thoughtfulness.

You were really starting to like Tae, as he told you to call him. He was funny, gentle, dangerously handsome. You could see yourself having a future with him. He went off to get you another beer when you felt someone’s glare on you.

Yoongi was also at the party. You should’ve known. It was a perfect spot for him to prey on some woman who was too buzzed to care. He was leaning up against the wall, head slightly cocked while looking at you. He was wearing a black hoodie that fit him perfectly, rings adorned his long fingers, that stupid headband he’d been into wearing recently. You hated him but you hated it more that he still had an effect on you because you couldn’t stop thinking about how good he looked.

He smirked when he noticed you staring at him. Your body only heated up more when you noticed him looking you up and down.

“Y/N…I didn’t think parties were your thing.”, he said after walking over.

“Well I’m here with someone else. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Uh yeah I saw that you were here with Taehyung. You should really think twice about him.”

You rolled your eyes, “Then why don’t you do something to ruin it for me Yoongi? That seems to be what you’re best at.”

Thanks to the darkness of the party you didn’t see his confidence falter a little at your words.

“Look Y/N I don’t give a fuck what you do. I’m just saying maybe don’t get too hung up on him.”

He left and walked past you into the kitchen leaving you feeling uneasy but Tae showed up just in time with another beer to take your mind off of him.

Two hours later, eight beers, and countless songs danced to you were needing some air. It had been a long time since you were this buzzed. Sarah was long gone with her date so it looked like you were going to get your wish of going home with Taehyung.

He walked you outside to sit on a bench underneath a big oak tree on the property.

“You alright?”, he chuckled after you let out a long sigh.

“Yeah just tired.”

Taehyung remained silent as you took in the night sky. For some reason that you hated, Yoongi was heavily on your mind. You figured that by now he was probably on his second hookup of the night which only hurt you more making your stomach just a little more nauseous.

“Hey uh Y/N can I ask you something?”, Taehyung spoke from next to you.

Your body woke up with excitement.

“Of course.”, you nodded.

“Your friend Sarah…Is she…Is she seeing anyone?”

You stared at him in disbelief. He wasn’t interested in you at all. The whole reason he asked you to the party was to get the details on your friend.

Feeling like you were going to cry or throw up, maybe both you stood up to begin walking home.

“Let me get you home safe.”, Taehyung said reaching for your hand.

You tried to pull away but a third hand grabbed yours first instead.

“No thanks. I’ve got her.”, a familiar voice broke the silence.

Yoongi was already leading you to his car before you could even protest.

He helped you into your apartment and to your bed. He’d been there several times when Hoseok and Sarah were dating so he knew his way around.

You were broken hearted once again and nauseous and exhausted and just didn’t have the strength to fight him any more.

You told yourself you were definitely never drinking again especially after the last thing you remembered being you asking Yoongi to stay and lay with you for a while.

And thankfully you remembered asking him that because if you hadn’t you probably would’ve woken up half the city with your screaming when you woke up and saw him peacefully sleeping next to you. You tried your best to get out of bed without him noticing but it didn’t go as planned.

When he woke up he looked even more shocked than you did. He jumped out of bed only to land awkwardly on some books which caused him to slip and end up on the floor with a loud thud. You stifled a giggle as he hastily got himself up again.

“Fuck Y/N I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Nothing happened. I swear I didn’t try to pull anything funny. You were crying and you asked me to stay and I felt bad. I was only gonna stay until you fell asleep but I must’ve dozed off myself. It’s these classes are killing me and I’m working two jobs and I’m just exhausted.”

“Yoongi it’s okay. I remember asking you to stay. It was an accident.”, you said trying to calm him down.

He looked at you wearily, “Are you feeling okay? The Y/N that I know would’ve already threaten to chop my balls off and shove them down my throat.”

You chuckled, “Yeah well this Y/N, is pretty hungover so I’m gonna let it go this time.”

He relaxed a little and sat back down on your end which did annoy you a little but you let it slide because the prior nights events were slowly coming back to you and you had some questions.

“Hey Yoongi, did you know that Taehyung only asked me to the party so he could ask about Sarah?”

He slid his tongue over his teeth. A habit of his he did when he was nervous. He nodded, “Uh yeah. He mentioned something about it to Jimin and then it got back to me.”

“So is that why you tried to get me to stop talking to him?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

You scoffed? “Well you kind of have a history of hurting me more than helping me so I’m just wondering why all of a sudden you cared enough to try and stop me from getting hurt?”

Yoongi turned to stare at you. His face flushing, either from anger or embarrassment, you weren’t really sure.

He sat fidgeting with his rings for a moment before looking at you, “Y/N…that night…that night at the prom. I didn’t kiss that girl.”, he paused, “I had written you a song. It was stupid and cheesy actually…”, he chuckled, “I forgot it in my locker so I told you that I had to go to the bathroom so I could go get it. Mia came up to me. She knew I liked you and she always hated it. She said it was the last dance and you were looking for me. I tried to push past her but as soon as I did she pushed me against the locker and kissed me. She knew you were standing there. She wanted you to see. I chased after you but you wouldn’t stop. I stopped shouting your name but I followed you home to make sure you got there safely.”, he shook his head, “You never answered any of my texts or calls. I even did dumb shit like leaving notes in your locker. Then my parents told me that I needed to back off before I got in trouble so I let you go. I guess I was childish and built some resent towards you. I’ve liked you ever since kindergarten when I used to pull on your ponytail with that ridiculous Minnie Mouse clip you always used to wear. And you just completely cut me off without letting me explain. I was hurt and started acting out towards you.”, he sighed, “I’m sorry Y/N. For all the messed up stuff I’ve said to you. I didn’t mean any of it. I guess I…I guess I just wanted to push you away from me. The further you were the less I remembered about how I broke your heart and how I never even got the chance.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

“So all this time you liked me?”

He nodded.

“Is that why you told Jin I had a contagious disease? Because you knew we liked each other?”

He chuckled at that, “Yeah I did. I was a little bit jealous and come on Y/N, you knew you could do better than him. He was more beauty than brains. I mean I told him you had stage 4 Cootie-Cockilus and he believed me…”

Laughter erupted in the room.

“Okay maybe that one helped me more than I thought.”, you laughed.

The room fell back into an awkward yet comfortable silence.

“Y/N, can we start over…please.”, Yoongi suddenly asked.

Bitingng your lip in thought you finally nodded in agreement, “Yeah I’d like that.”

“Alright well let’s get some breakfast then. I know a great cafe just outside of campus.”, he said motioning for you to follow him.

You grabbed your bag and walked in front of him.

Just before your hand reached the door handle you felt a tiny little tug on the end of your ponytail.

Your heart skipped a beat making you stop.

The biggest gummy smile greeted you when you turned around to playfully eye culprit.

[cheynovak]

Preview

-> New Soldier Boy series

Set in the late 70s early 80s.

Soldier boy x F/reader Y/N aka his PA

This scene is set further on in the series

⚠️ Serie will contain: Spice, Smut, Cheating, Age gap, Drug and alcohol use, Dominance, Threesome, Herogasmn, basically basic soldier boy behaviour⚠️

Update! Check out the serie -> Complicated

Ben lay on his back, one arm draped lazily behind his head, the other resting on Y/N’s waist. She lay beside him, tracing absentminded shapes on his chest, her fingers gliding over the firm muscle. The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of their breathing and the occasional crackle of the city outside. It should have felt peaceful, but tonight something was different.

Y/N sighed softly, her hand stilling against his skin. “We can’t keep doing this,” she whispered, her voice heavy with the weight of her words.

Ben’s eyes flickered down to her, his jaw tightening. "Why not?" His voice was low, a little rough around the edges, as if the very idea irritated him.

She shifted slightly, pulling away just enough to look up at him. “Because,” she said softly, “what if I fall in love?”

For a moment, Ben said nothing. His face hardened, and his body tensed beneath her, the easygoing charm he usually carried vanishing in an instant. “Are you falling for me?” he asked sharply.

Y/N blinked, her heart skipping a beat. “No, but—”

“Then don’t,” he snapped, cutting her off. His tone was sharp, dismissive, like he could simply will the possibility away.

Y/N bit her lip, feeling frustration and something deeper rising within her. “And what if I fall for someone else? Someone who might actually want more than just... this?”

Ben’s expression darkened, his green eyes narrowing. “Again. Don’t.”

The room felt colder now, the intimacy they'd shared moments ago evaporating in the space between them. Y/N stared at him, disbelief and frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re so selfish, Ben.”

His brow furrowed, confusion and irritation mingling. “Selfish? I give you everything, don’t I?”

“Everything you want,” she corrected, pushing herself up to sit beside him. “But I can’t have what I want. You get to have me whenever you feel like it, but the second I want something real, you shut it down.”

Ben scowled, sitting up slightly, his chest brushing against her. "What's so bad about what we have? You get the perks, I get—"

She shook her head, cutting him off. “You get control. You get to keep me at arm's length while you live your life without consequences. But I can’t do that, Ben. I can’t just keep being your... your mistress forever.”

His jaw clenched, and he reached out, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly. “You’re mine, Y/N. That’s not changing.”

Y/N stared down at him, her heart aching. He was everything—charming, powerful, dangerous—and yet, he was so emotionally unreachable. “But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” she whispered. “You want to own me, but you won’t let me have you. Not really.”

Ben’s hand loosened, and for the first time, he looked at her with something that resembled vulnerability, though it was fleeting. “I don’t want you to leave,” he admitted, voice softer but still laced with possessiveness.

Y/N sighed, her heart torn between the man she cared for and the man who would never truly let her in. “I haven’t... yet,” she said, pulling her wrist from his grip and lying back down beside him. She rested her head against his chest once more, but this time, the warmth between them felt hollow.

Ben didn’t say anything. He just wrapped his arm around her, holding her close, as if that alone could keep her from slipping away. But in the quiet of the night, both of them knew the truth: something had already changed.

--

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[unabashegirl]

Different 8 | College HS

Harry's quiet, routine-driven life changes one weekend when he meets Y/N through a mutual friend at her party. She comes from a superficial, materialistic world with absent parents who believe money solves everything. Despite their differences, something clicks that night, and Y/N can't stop thinking about him.

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Harry watched her as she slid out of the car. She never really jumped out or stepped off because of her height difference. Her Jeep was too elevated off the ground. He found it adorable. She locked and closed the door before trotting to him and grabbing his hand.

Harry noticed how she pulled on the sleeves of her shirt and how she buttoned up. He could see that she was nervous, and it was a nice change. “Do I look okay?” she whispered as they entered the dorm. “I should have worn makeup,” she said under her breath.

“You look stunning. Stop worrying,” Harry reassured her, nudging her hand away from her hair. “They don’t bite. I promise,” he whispered as he pulled her toward the foyer of the dorm.

“Wait, Harry!” she stopped him, suddenly very concerned and anxious. She wanted to make a good first impression, and Harry had barely spoken about his parents. Therefore, Y/N didn’t have the slightest idea of how to approach them. “What do I say?”

“Just be you.” She inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm her heart rate. Y/N also felt a bit uncomfortable being in the dorm. She felt like it was something prohibited, even though it wasn’t.

“Mum,” Harry called out as they walked up to a small sitting area by the fireplace. The first thing Y/N noticed was how nicely they were both dressed. She could see the resemblance. Y/N could see where Harry had gotten his luscious head of hair, but he definitely had his mother’s eyes.

Harry’s dad got up as soon as he noticed them. He was just as tall as Harry. They looked like printed copies, except he had salt-and-pepper hair.

“This is Y/N,” Harry introduced her as she nervously leaned forward and stretched out a hand.

Harry’s dad cheekily winked at his son, then shifted his attention back to Y/N.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Styles,” she said as soon as he shook her hand.

“It’s nice to finally put a face to your name. We’ve heard lots about you,” he said. “Although, he has been very secretive about you.” Y/N giggled and glanced at Harry for a second. It was true—he had only mentioned very surface-level things about her.

“You are gorgeous,” Mrs. Styles said before anyone else could say something. “Hello,” she breathed, stretching her hand out for Y/N, which she gracefully took without any hesitation.

“Good evening, Mrs. Styles.” Harry stood back and watched the most important women in his life interact with one another.

“Please call me Anne,” she insisted, taking the stress and tension off Y/N. “Now, where is this wonderful café that you keep talking about?”

“It’s just a few blocks away. Is that alright?” Harry threw an arm over his mother’s shoulders as he guided her out of the dorm and toward another exit.

“It’s fine, as long as it has some decent food.” Harry stretched out his other hand for Y/N to take when he noticed that she was quietly drifting behind.

Y/N quietly figured out where he was taking them. It was a cute, cozy café that served all types of food, only a couple of blocks away from school.

“What would you like?” Harry asked her as they finally arrived at the cute coffee shop.

“Coffee, please,” she shyly said as the three stared at her. “Would you like some help?” she asked, slowly rising from her seat.

“No need to,” Harry smiled at her before going up to order.

The family ordered coffee for everyone and a few of everything. They had been traveling most of the day, which was why they were starving.

The conversation naturally started flowing, with Mr. Styles asking Y/N what her parents did for a living, where she lived, and what she was studying. Harry’s mother was too entertained eating a chocolate croissant to interrupt but eventually joined in.

They talked about America and how different it was from England. Mrs. Styles also made sure to openly invite Y/N to England. The conversation eventually drifted to the two women as they took charge, sharing different anecdotes and jokes. Harry and his father sat back, only chiming in here and there.

Harry didn’t mind remaining silent as it gave him the opportunity to watch her and the way she expressed herself. It was mesmerizing how she gesticulated and emphasized her points using her hands.

“I’m sure your parents come to visit all the time. How lucky to live so close to you. I wish I could see my Harry that often,” Mrs. Styles said, tearing up a little. They had just arrived, but she already missed him. Y/N tensed up at the mention of her parents and couldn’t help feeling jealous that Harry had loving parents always willing to travel to see him.

Harry looked up at his mom and slightly shook his head, hinting that parents were a touchy subject for Y/N. Mrs. Styles instantly caught on and quickly moved on.

“This has been lovely, but unfortunately, I have to get going. I have an early class tomorrow,” Y/N apologized, remembering that she still had to make herself some lunch and do laundry.

“Of course! Thank you for joining us, Y/N. I’m so happy to finally meet you,” Mrs. Styles said, pulling her into a hug. “Please come visit.”

“Thank you for having me. I hope to see you both soon, and I hope you enjoy your stay,” Y/N said as she hugged Mr. Styles too.

“I’ll be back in a few,” Harry said to them before following after her. “Hey,” he called out to her and stopped her. “Thank you for coming. You were so sweet.”

“I hope they like me,” she whispered, now nervous to know what impression they had of her.

Harry smiled and kissed her, sending a chill down her back.

“I’m sure they do,” he reassured her, pushing a strand of hair back after it had gone rogue. “Why are you pouting?” Harry tilted his head, waiting for an explanation. He ran his fingers across her untucked lip, holding back his desire to bite it.

Harry chuckled and kissed her softly, taking his time. His hands itched with the desire to touch her.

“I have to go,” she exhaled loudly as she gently pulled away.

“Drive safe,” he called out to her. “Text me when you get home.” She turned and smiled at him before continuing to walk. He waited until she had disappeared before heading back inside. “What do you think?” he asked, sitting down beside his mother.

“She’s really sweet. I like her,” Harry smiled back at his mother. “Is she officially your girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Harry lied, not wanting to worry them or let them think that things were complicated.

“Good,” Mr. Styles smiled as they left the café. Harry insisted on accompanying his parents to the hotel before going back to the dorm.

He texted her as soon as he got back to his room, ending the day with a golden brooch.

Thank you for today. I am so lucky to have you. Sweet dreams.

Monday came around like every other day. Harry rushed around his dorm room, trying to get everything ready for class since he had woken up relatively late.

He had lunch with Sarah, who confessed her initial annoyance towards Y/N. Things had changed for her since the weekend.

In the afternoon, Harry had an organic chemistry class on the other side of campus. A class that he had tried his best not to dislike, but it had been impossible lately, especially since the professor always seemed angry and dull.

He sat by the window, which allowed him to get a bit distracted and not fall asleep as easily. As expected, the professor walked in with his permanent frown. He looked like he hated breathing the same air as them. He immediately directed them to their books and handed out a worksheet for people to develop in pairs.

Harry worked on it quickly, not wanting to have to take it home. However, he was interrupted by honking. His attention drifted to the source of it. He did a double-take, not believing his eyes.

“Do you see her?” Harry nudged Ganesh, with whom he was paired. Ganesh chuckled and shook his head at Harry.

“You are one lucky son of a bitch, Harry Styles,” Ganesh responded as they both looked over at her.

She had parked across the street under a tree. Y/N waved and motioned for him to come out.

“What are you still doing here?” Ganesh asked. “Go live a little,” he insisted.

Harry smiled to himself as he considered every possible outcome of not attending class. He quickly threw everything into his backpack and waited until the professor turned to look at his laptop to sneak out.

“What are you doing here?” he laughed, his arms wide open. “Wait, how do you know my schedule?”

“Too many questions! Get in!”

[i-starcreamed]

Hi I heard you make transformers one oneshot umm I hope you won't mind, this actually a D-16 oneshot " what if his s/o get shoted instead of Orion" or " D - 16 meeting s/o for the first time"

D-16 / MEGATRON X READER

I combined both requests :3

cybertronian!reader SPOILERS FOR TF ONE Puree angst, character death, sadness :(

You were also a miner, like Orion and D-16. You met in a similar way they did.

You grunted, your limbs aching from pushing around the minecart around all day. It was filled with raw energon rock at this point, so it was a lot heavier. Last night, you hadn’t recharged well, and now you felt like you were running on your last drop of consciousness... Your optics widened when you unexpectedly bumped into something in front of you, sending your minecart toppling over and spilling its contents.

“Oh, I’m so sorry—“ You hissed, watching all the progress of the day come crashing down onto the floor. You pursed your mouth in frustration; this really sucked.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Let me help you out, here.” A calm voice came from in front of you, prompting you to avert your optics toward the bot you had bumped into. You paused--hmmm, he was a handsome bot. You eyed his armor for a moment before realizing you were staring.

“Sorry! Uh, I’d appreciate that. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You muttered, kneeling down to pick up your rocks, him beside you. He let out a small spurt of a gruff chuckle.

“No worries. Hey, I haven’t seen you around here. I’m D-16.” He introduced himself, you still remember the way he smiled at you. You nervously smiled back

“I’m Y/N. I was actually uh...promoted just recently. I’ve never mined energon before. It’s harder than I thought.”

“Oh, well, it gets easier. You get better at it too.” He said, tossing the last bit of rock back into your cart and helping you turn it upright.

“So where were you headed off to?” He asked, walking beside you now.

You took a deep breath. “To the trains? I was told to report to Elita-1 afterward.”

“Psh, really? That’s a coincidence, so am I.” He said lightly, grinning at you. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

It started as a friendship—you, Orion and D-16. You were a little trio. Despite this, Orion always noticed the particular… attention you paid specifically to D. When the three of you joked around, you would always look toward him to watch his reaction—or rather, his smile. You became bashful when he helped you with something, he, in turn, softened up around you. It didn’t take long for Orion to see right through you—meanwhile, D remained completely oblivious!! History says you were just friends

Eventually, you two started dating! You made a sweet couple, with Orion constantly third-wheeling. You can imagine everything you went through after kind of illegally participating in the race, getting thrown to Level 50 as a punishment, and uncovering the location of the Primes.

You watched as your lover changed, and it pained you. You saw his anger slowly shift and shift, first towards his best friend, then at everyone else. You watched as he became feverishly focused on killing Sentinel.

“D, don’t!”

Your yell went silent as you ran in front of sentinel, the blast from D’s cannon hitting you instead of him. The impact blasted through your chest, ripping through armor, your casing, and your wiring—until it struck your spark. This was the turning point when D-16 became.. Megatron. His optics widened, he stopped seeing red for a split second.

He watch as your body fell, the whole world seemed to come to a halt.

“Y/N!” He yelled and dived after your body, momentarily forgetting about his anger. Before you could fall into the depths of Iacon, he caught your arm. He didn’t waste a second as he desperately tried to pull you up. You had no strength left to help yourself--your body hung limp.

“Why! Why did you do that!?” He yelled at you, his voice shaking. As you slipped between consciousness, you realized you’d never heard your lover so emotional. Not like this.

“You can’t go, you can’t, you can’t you can’t—“

“D…”

Your arm started slipping from his digits. “I’m so sorry…you have to.. stop this. Please,” you whispered out, the light in your optics flickering.

Megatron stared at you, partly in disbelief at you and himself. “I’m sorry. I’m going to fix this, I-I promise,” He hissed, his servo desperately holding on. You knew you didn’t have much time left.

“D, please don’t this. I love you. I always will. No matter what I’ll always remember you as my D-16.” You whispered.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, roaring in anguish as your body slipped from his grip. He watched as you descended into the depths of your planet. You were going to become a part of Cybertron again, just as they all started out as. He’s so sorry.

He’s sorry he’s not the D-16 you knew.

Despite this loss, he still became Megatron. Afterall, he had nothing to lose now.

[deans-queen]

You Belong With Me (Dean’s Version)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x You

Summary: POV - Dean sees you walking down the street with your new boyfriend and doesn’t like what he sees 🥺 ( this was a request that I was tagged in by @jackles010378 )

Warnings: language, spicy moments, jealousy , angst, possessiveness, emotional vulnerability, mentions of toxic relationship.

Pre Authors Note: BTW I needed to use this gif because it just does something to me like 🥵😩😭 I’m so down bad for this man it’s ridiculous — anyways happy reading!! 🫶🏻

Dean’s POV

I leaned against the Impala, arms crossed, sunglasses low on my nose as I watched you walk down the street, hand in hand with him. Some preppy guy, clean-shaven, all smiles, like he didn’t have a care in the world. My gut twisted the second I saw you laughing at something he said.

Damn, that laugh. That smile. It used to be mine.

You looked happy, but I knew better. There was something off, something I couldn’t put my finger on, and it gnawed at me. He wasn’t right for you, not by a long shot. Maybe it was the way he touched you—too casual, too cocky—or the fact that he didn’t even notice when your smile faltered.

I took a long drag from my beer, eyes still locked on you. When you passed by, our gazes met. Yours lingered on me for just a second too long before you quickly looked away. Yeah, you felt it too. That pull. That spark that had never really gone away, no matter how much you tried to hide it.

A week later, I saw you again, sitting on a park bench, alone this time. The sky was overcast, like it was about to rain, but you didn’t seem to care. I noticed the way your shoulders shook, the soft sobs you tried to stifle. My chest tightened, and I couldn’t stand it.

I slid onto the bench next to you, silent for a moment before speaking. “Hey.”

You looked up, your tear-streaked face breaking me. “Dean…”

“Where’s he?” I asked, not even bothering to hide the bitterness in my voice.

You shook your head, wiping your cheeks. “We broke up.”

My heart surged with something I didn’t want to name, but my fists clenched as you kept talking.

“He was an asshole. Treated me like… like I didn’t even matter half the time.” Your voice cracked, and I could see how much it hurt to admit that. “I should’ve known.”

“I knew,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

Your head snapped up, eyes widening. “What?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I could tell. The way he looked at you, the way he acted… He didn’t deserve you.”

You blinked, processing my words, and then something shifted. There was this tension hanging between us, thick and electric, the kind you couldn’t ignore. I reached out, cupping your cheek gently, my thumb brushing away a tear.

“I would never treat you like that,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “You know that, right?”

Your breath hitched, eyes locking onto mine, and for a moment, the whole world fell away. It was just us—just you and me—and the way your lips parted, your gaze flicking down to my mouth, told me everything I needed to know.

I leaned in slowly, giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you met me halfway, your lips soft, warm, and perfect against mine. The second we kissed, everything else vanished. All the frustration, the jealousy, the anger—I poured it all into that kiss, into the way I pulled you closer, needing to feel you against me.

You whimpered into my mouth, fingers threading through my hair, and God, that sound—made me lose it. My hand slid to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, and when you pressed your body into mine, I could barely keep it together.

I pulled back slightly, resting my forehead against yours, breath heavy. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your lips curved into a shaky smile, but there was still that uncertainty in your eyes. “Dean… I don’t want to just be a rebound.”

I shook my head. “You think this is a rebound? Babe, I’ve been wanting you for years. This… this is way past that.”

You bit your lip, that little hint of doubt fading as I kissed you again, harder this time. You moaned softly, and I couldn’t help myself.

“You deserve better,” I growled against your lips, my hands roaming your sides. “You deserve someone who’ll treat you like the goddamn queen you are.”

Your breath was ragged, fingers clutching at my jacket as I nipped at your lower lip. “And you think that’s you?”

“I know it’s me.” My voice was dark, low, the kind that made your whole body shudder. “You belong with me, sweetheart. No one else is gonna give you what you need.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes heavy-lidded as you stared at me. “Show me.”

And hell, did I ever.

A few days had passed since that kiss, but it was all I could think about. You had to know you were driving me crazy—every time we crossed paths, there was that look in your eyes, like you wanted more but weren’t sure if you should ask for it.

I was about to give you more than you ever expected.

We met again that night, under the same damn streetlight where I first saw you with him. Only this time, it was just us, no distractions.

“You look like you’ve got something to say,” you teased, leaning back against the hood of the Impala, your eyes gleaming under the dim light.

I took a step closer, then another, until I was right in front of you, crowding your space. “I do.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t move, didn’t back down. “Yeah? What’s that?”

I ran a finger down your arm, watching the way your skin prickled beneath my touch. “That I’m done pretending. I want you, Y/N. I’ve wanted you for a long damn time.”

Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, I grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against me. The kiss that followed wasn’t soft like the first one—it was hard, desperate, and filled with everything I’d been holding back for too damn long.

You gasped into my mouth as my hands roamed over your body, gripping your hips, your waist, everything I could reach. You melted against me, your fingers curling into my shirt as I deepened the kiss, my teeth grazing your lower lip before I tugged it, just hard enough to make you whimper.

“Dean,” you whispered, breathless, and that was all it took for me to lose control. I lifted you onto the hood of the Impala, pushing between your thighs as you wrapped your legs around me, pulling me closer.

“Damn, sweetheart,” I growled against your neck, trailing rough kisses along your skin. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You tilted your head back, giving me more access as I pressed open-mouthed kisses along your throat. “Then show me, Dean. I’m yours.”

And I did. Every single inch of you. Every kiss, every touch, every moan—it all belonged to me now.

Author’s Note

Hope you enjoyed this story! Thank you @jackles010378 for this suggestion, I def loved writing it! Feel free to let me know what you think! I always love reading feedback!

Like & follow for more !! Xoxo

Want to read more? Check out my other stories!

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[thirtysomethingloser92]

2. Trusting You To Hold My Heart.

Mini-series based off Cherry Lips. Summary: One night with world famous Remy Lebeau turns into something neither one of you expected. Warnings: Smut, Daddy Kinks, Bondage, Spanking, Choking, Threesomes (Amongst so much more), angst, fluff, romance.

A name of a hotel.

That was it. That was the message that woke you up at 6:15 a.m., your phone vibrating softly on the nightstand beside your bed. Still groggy, you blinked a few times, trying to adjust your eyes to the early morning light filtering through the curtains. You squinted at the screen, the name staring back at you: The Langston Hotel.

For a moment, the message didn’t fully register. Your brain was still foggy, your body still heavy with sleep. But then, slowly, the weight of it started to sink in.

He’s here. Or at least, he would be soon.

You sat up, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Your heart began to race, a mixture of excitement and something else—something more hesitant, more uncertain—bubbling up inside you. Your thumb hovered over the message for a moment, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts all at once.

That’s when a second message came through.

Pack a bag.

You stared at the words, your breath catching slightly in your throat.

See you soon.

Your stomach flipped.

Remy. He was really coming. After weeks of late-night conversations, of playful banter and those deeper moments where you’d both let your guards down, he was flying in just to see you. It still felt surreal, like you were living someone else’s life. How did this even happen? How did you, the person who loved your quiet apartment with the overgrown garden bed and the peeling wallpaper, end up here—waiting for him?

He’s coming here, you thought again, the reality settling in.

But with that realization came a flood of emotions. You stood up from the bed, pacing the room, your mind spinning.

Excitement, yes. You couldn’t wait to see him. To be near him, to hear his voice in person rather than through a phone or a screen. There was something about him that made everything else fade away when he was around. He had a way of making you feel seen in ways no one else ever had. And the idea of spending time together—of having him all to yourself, even if only for a day—sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

But there was also hesitation. Anxiety.

Because as much as you were looking forward to seeing him, there was still that gnawing voice in the back of your mind reminding you of how different your worlds were. He was Remy LeBeau. The Remy LeBeau. The one whose face was plastered on magazine covers, whose name was whispered about in every corner of the world. He lived a life of limousines, red carpets, and flashing cameras. And you? You were just... you.

You liked your anonymity, your quiet life. You liked walking down the street without anyone paying attention. You liked tending to your little garden out front and making dumb without it being scrutinized on Twitter.

But this wasn’t normal. This was something else. Something bigger than you ever imagined for yourself. And as much as you were drawn to him, as much as you liked the idea of being with him, there was a part of you that was scared—scared of what this could mean, of how much your life might change if you let him in.

You walked over to the window, pulling the curtain aside to look out at the street below. It was still early, only a few people out and about, the world still waking up. You could see the small garden bed you’d planted out front, the flowers you tended to as a way to keep yourself grounded. You loved this place—your sanctuary. It was safe here, quiet.

And yet, all you could think about was him. The way he made you laugh when you were having a bad day. The way he’d stayed up with you on the phone for hours, even when he was exhausted, just because he didn’t want to say goodbye. The way he talked about you like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

You sighed, pressing your forehead against the cool glass of the window. You knew you were overthinking it. You always did this—let your mind spiral out of control, imagining a million different scenarios, most of which would never happen. But there was something about this... about him... that felt like it was worth the risk.

Your phone buzzed again, pulling you from your thoughts. Another message.

Flight lands in three hours. Can’t wait to see you.

You swallowed hard, the words making your heart thud in your chest. Three hours. That’s all the time you had left to prepare—not just physically, but emotionally.

You glanced around your bedroom, at the half-unpacked laundry in the corner, the books scattered across your nightstand, the cup of half-drunk tea from last night still sitting on the windowsill. Your life was messy and real, but so yours. And now, in just a few hours, Remy would be stepping into it.

You moved over to your closet, pulling out an overnight bag, hesitating for a second before tossing it onto the bed. You started grabbing clothes—nothing too fancy, just something comfortable. He wasn’t the kind of guy who cared about appearances, at least not with you. He always made you feel like you didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to be anything other than exactly who you were.

But still... there was that excitement bubbling up inside you. The thrill of seeing him again. The uncertainty of what might happen when you did.

What was this to him? What was it to you? It was hard to define, this thing between you two. It wasn’t just casual, but it wasn’t something you were ready to label either. Every time you thought about it, you felt your heart race, a mix of fear and hope twisting inside you.

As you packed the necessities—clothes, toiletries, a book you’d been reading—you glanced at your phone again, checking the time. You had a few hours. Enough time to get ready, to prepare yourself for whatever was about to happen.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the bag on your bed, your mind racing. What if this changed everything? What if seeing him in person wasn’t the same as talking on the phone? What if the reality of who he was and who you were collided in a way that didn’t fit?

But then, you reminded yourself of all the times you’d doubted yourself and been wrong. Of all the times you’d convinced yourself that you weren’t enough, only to have someone prove you otherwise. Remy wasn’t just anyone. He was someone who chose to fly halfway across the world to see you. Maybe that was enough.

You zipped up the bag and set it by the door, taking a deep breath.

Whatever happened next, you would figure it out. Because, for once, you were letting yourself take the leap. You were letting yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

And with that thought, you picked up your phone and sent a quick reply.

See you soon. At exactly 9:00 a.m., you were sitting in your car, parked just outside your apartment complex. The engine hummed quietly beneath you, its steady rhythm doing nothing to calm the whirlwind of emotions churning inside. Your hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, knuckles white as your fingers dug into the leather. You stared blankly at the empty street ahead, your thoughts far from the world outside.

You let out a long, shaky breath, but it didn’t bring the relief you’d hoped for. The exhale felt hollow, heavy, dragging your insecurities up to the surface, where they clawed at you with a persistence that left you feeling raw and exposed.

What am I even doing?

The question echoed in your head, relentless, demanding an answer you weren’t sure you had. You and Remy had agreed to keep things loose, undefined. You’d even told each other you’d “see where it goes,” but deep down, you couldn’t see how it could ever go anywhere beyond this—beyond stolen moments, fleeting weekends, and the brief reprieves from your vastly different lives. The arrangement had been clear from the start: no expectations, no promises, just a way for both of you to scratch an itch you hadn’t been able to satisfy with anyone else.

Yet here you were, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing holding you together, wondering why it didn’t feel that simple anymore.

You shifted in your seat, trying to ease the tension in your body, but the anxiety gnawing at your chest wouldn’t let go. You knew why you felt this way. It wasn’t just about today. It was about everything—about Remy, about the way your heart clenched every time you saw him on the cover of a magazine or in some tabloid photo, always with another woman on his arm. Women who were perfect in the way you could never be. Women who made you hyper-aware of every flaw you’d ever tried to hide.

Those women.

They were tall, leggy, their hair always perfectly styled, their skin flawless. They wore designer clothes like they were born for it, gliding effortlessly through the same world Remy inhabited—a world you’d never quite fit into. Every time you saw him with them, it was like a punch to the gut, a cruel reminder that you didn’t belong in his world. You couldn’t help but pick at your own insecurities every time you saw their photos, comparing yourself to them in ways that left you feeling small, insignificant.

You don’t fit.

You tried to remind yourself that this arrangement was about satisfying a need. That’s all it was. A way for both of you to indulge in something that felt good, something that let you escape from the realities of your lives for a little while. It wasn’t supposed to be more than that. You weren’t supposed to care like this. You weren’t supposed to feel this ache in your chest every time you thought about him.

But you did.

You leaned back against the seat, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to steady your breathing. You had to pull yourself together before you saw him. You couldn’t let him see the cracks, couldn’t let him know how tangled up you were becoming in something that wasn’t supposed to be complicated. Not to him, at least.

Remy had never made you feel inadequate. He’d never once compared you to the women from his world. He didn’t treat you like you were any less than them—if anything, he made you feel wanted in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time. But that didn’t change the fact that you were different. It didn’t change the fact that you could never truly be a part of his world. And it didn’t change the fact that this… whatever this was, had an expiration date.

The thought weighed heavily on you, but you pushed it aside, determined not to let it ruin today. You and Remy had made an agreement, and you’d stick to it. No expectations. No promises. Just… this. A mutual exchange. A way for both of you to explore your fantasies without judgment.

Even though your growing feelings for him complicated things, you knew—you had to know—that this was all it would ever be. Anything more was impossible. You couldn’t imagine a future where you fit into his life, and you doubted he could either, no matter how intoxicating the moments you shared together were.

With another deep breath, you sat up straighter, forcing the tension out of your shoulders. This was just another day. Another moment to escape reality for a little while. Nothing more.

Because that’s all it ever would be.

You knew better than to let yourself hope for anything else. <><><><><><><><><>

You parked the car in the underground garage, the low ceiling and dim lighting giving the space a quiet, almost eerie feel. The echo of your tires on the concrete was the only sound until the engine’s hum faded into an oppressive silence. For a moment, you just sat there, fingers still gripping the steering wheel, your heart thudding against your ribs as if it were trying to escape.

This is it.

With a deep breath, you reached over to the passenger seat, grabbing your overnight bag. The leather strap felt cool and solid beneath your fingers, grounding you as you stepped out of the car. The chill of the underground garage hit you immediately, the air damp and still, clinging to your skin. As you slung the bag over your shoulder, you glanced up at the looming structure of The Langston Hotel above.

The building was sleek and imposing, all polished glass and steel, reflecting the overcast sky in a way that made it seem almost ethereal. It was the kind of place you’d only seen in movies—the kind of hotel where the rich and powerful stayed, where lives were lived in excess behind closed doors. The kind of place that made you feel like you didn’t quite belong.

You looked down at your jeans and oversized jumper, the fabric soft and comforting but suddenly feeling woefully inadequate. Your reflection in the car window confirmed it—there you were, standing in the shadow of this luxurious monument to wealth and status, looking exactly as out of place as you felt. The person staring back at you wasn’t the kind of woman who walked confidently into a hotel like The Langston without a second thought. She wasn’t the woman who appeared in magazines, dressed in couture, flawless and unbothered.

She was… you. And right now, that didn’t feel like enough.

But Remy didn’t care about that. He didn’t care about the clothes, the appearances, the world of status and wealth he was constantly surrounded by. When he looked at you, it wasn't through the lens of celebrity and glamour. He always saw you. The woman who had captured his attention in a way none of those flawless women ever had.

You swallowed hard, pushing the doubt aside as best as you could. You had to hold onto that. You had to believe it, even if it didn’t always feel real.

You made your way toward the hotel entrance, your footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the garage. The soft thud of your boots against the concrete was the only thing anchoring you in the moment, each step closer to him, closer to the escape you both craved.

As soon as you passed through the glass doors, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The oppressive quiet of the garage gave way to an overwhelming sense of luxury. The lobby of the hotel was nothing short of breathtaking—designed to impress, to dazzle. The marble floors stretched out in every direction, gleaming beneath the muted light of crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. The chandeliers themselves were works of art, catching the light in sharp, glittering fragments that danced across the room.

A grand reception desk stood at the far end of the lobby, manned by perfectly poised attendants, their smiles polished and professional. They greeted each guest with the kind of warmth that came with years of practice, their eyes flicking over you without a hint of judgment, though you couldn’t help but feel like you were being sized up all the same.

The scent of fresh-cut flowers filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of polished wood and leather. Massive vases, filled with intricate arrangements of orchids, roses, and lilies, stood like sentinels in the center of the room, their vibrant colors almost too perfect, too curated. Everything about this place was designed to make you feel small in the face of its grandeur.

You shook your head, trying to push the thought aside, but it buzzed persistently in the back of your mind. With a sigh, you pulled out your phone, your fingers trembling just the slightest bit as you typed a quick message to Remy.

Hey, I’m here. What’s the room number?

The message sent, and you stood there for a moment, staring at the screen, waiting. It didn’t take long for his response to pop up.

Penthouse. Elevator to the top floor.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read his reply, your eyes lingering on the word penthouse. Of course, Remy would be staying in the penthouse. Why were you even surprised? It was just another reminder of the vast difference between your worlds. You smiled despite yourself, shaking your head at how effortlessly he moved through this life of luxury, while you were standing here, just trying to keep your nerves in check.

You slipped your phone back into your bag and made your way toward the elevator, your footsteps echoing softly in the quiet garage. The soft music playing in the background as you entered the lobby did little to soothe the tension building in your chest. You felt like you were walking through a dream—everything around you was too pristine, too perfect. Every detail screamed wealth and status, and it only made you feel more out of place.

But you were here. And so was he. That’s all that mattered.

You stepped into the elevator, the mirrored walls reflecting a version of yourself that looked… hesitant. You pressed the button for the top floor, your finger lingering just a second longer than necessary before you let it go. The doors slid shut with a soft whoosh, and the elevator began its smooth ascent, the soft hum of the machinery the only sound in the enclosed space.

As the floors ticked by, you caught your reflection again. You looked nervous—more nervous than you had expected to be. Even more so now that you were so close to seeing him. The distance had kept things safe, hadn’t it? All those late-night phone calls, the texts that made you smile, the flirty back-and-forth that had grown into something more over the weeks—it had all felt so easy when there were miles between you. It was simple to let your guard down when you weren’t standing in front of him, when you didn’t have to worry about how you looked or how you’d react in person.

But now? Now you were moments away from seeing him face-to-face, from stepping into this life that felt so far removed from your own. Your thoughts raced as the elevator continued its ascent.

What if this feels different in person? What if the connection you had felt over the phone didn’t translate when you were standing in the same room? What if the chemistry you’d shared was just a product of the distance, of the safety that came with not having to look into his eyes and feel the weight of everything that was left unspoken between you?

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. He’s here for you, you reminded yourself. He had invited you here because he wanted to see you, because whatever this was between the two of you, it meant something. Stop overthinking this. But that was easier said than done, especially when the doubts and insecurities you’d been trying to keep at bay came rushing to the surface every time you thought about the life he lived—the life you weren’t sure you could ever fit into.

The elevator chimed softly, signaling that you had reached the top floor. You stepped out into a lavish hallway, the kind that looked like it had only ever seen the most pristine shoes. The plush carpeting muffled your footsteps as you made your way down the hallway, past doors that likely led to equally opulent suites. Your heart pounded harder with each step, the weight of the moment settling onto your shoulders.

And there it was. His door.

You stopped in front of it, your hand hovering uncertainly over the doorbell. This was it, wasn’t it? The moment you’d been building toward for days, weeks. The moment you’d been thinking about endlessly every time you checked your phone for a message from him, every time your heart raced when his name lit up your screen.

You hesitated, the weight of everything that had led to this moment hanging heavy in the air. You could turn around right now. You could walk back to the elevator, go down to your car, drive home, and pretend this never happened. You could avoid the risk, the uncertainty, the vulnerability that came with stepping into his world.

But you didn’t want that.

You wanted to see him. You wanted to know what this—what you—could be. You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself for whatever was to come, and pressed the doorbell.

There was a brief pause, a moment where everything seemed to stand still. And then, you heard movement from the other side of the door. The sound of footsteps, the soft click of the latch, and finally, the door swung open.

And there he was—Remy, standing in front of you, his familiar, lazy smile spreading across his face as his eyes met yours. He looked even better in person, if that was possible—his dark hair slightly tousled, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to give a glimpse of his chest. His presence was magnetic, overwhelming in a way that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice warm and intimate, like you were the only person in the world who mattered in that moment.

For a second, you just stood there, taking him in. The way his eyes softened when they settled on you, the way he reached out and gently took your hand, pulling you into the room with a confidence that made the rest of the world fall away. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly, it was just the two of you in the quiet, dimly lit space, the soft hum of the city below barely audible from this height. The penthouse was, as expected, stunning—almost unreal in its beauty and sophistication. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The hazy midday light filtered in through the glass, casting long, golden shadows across the room. Beyond the windows, the city stretched out endlessly, with its buildings and streets sprawled like a living, breathing entity far below.

The space itself was expansive, open, and filled with an effortless elegance that made you feel like you were stepping into the pages of a high-end design magazine. The furnishings were modern, sleek, and luxurious, each piece carefully chosen to exude both comfort and style. A large, L-shaped leather sofa in a muted gray sat in the center of the living area, perfectly positioned to face both the view and the oversized flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Plush throw pillows in deep jewel tones were artfully arranged along the couch, adding a touch of warmth to the cool, minimalist decor.

To your right, a glass-and-marble coffee table held a small, understated arrangement of white orchids, their delicate petals catching the light from the massive windows. The table was flanked by two armchairs in soft velvet, their deep emerald hue adding a pop of color against the neutral tones of the space. A low-hanging pendant light above the table cast a soft, ambient glow, making the space feel intimate despite its grandeur.

Near the windows, a sleek, modern dining table made of dark wood sat with enough space to seat at least eight, though it looked untouched, more like a piece of art than something anyone would actually use. Beyond that, you could see a fully stocked bar, its polished surface gleaming under the soft, mood lighting. Bottles of expensive liquor lined the shelves behind it, their labels a testament to the kind of luxury this place embodied.

To your left, an open kitchen flowed seamlessly into the rest of the space, all stainless steel and marble, with state-of-the-art appliances that looked more like they belonged in the home of a professional chef than in a hotel. The countertops were pristine, not a single item out of place, as if the kitchen had never been used. A large island sat in the center, its surface bare except for a bowl of perfectly arranged fruit that looked more decorative than anything else.

And then there was the art. Large, abstract paintings adorned the walls, their bold strokes of color standing in stark contrast to the soft, neutral tones of the room. They were the kind of pieces that could easily be worth more than your entire apartment, but here, they were just another detail in a space that oozed wealth and sophistication.

The entire penthouse felt like the epitome of luxury, from the marble floors that gleamed beneath your feet to the subtle scent of fresh flowers and expensive wood that lingered in the air. It was the kind of place that felt almost unreal, like it belonged to someone who lived a life of constant indulgence and privilege.

But none of that registered. Not really.

Because all you could focus on was him.

Remy stood in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, his presence grounding you in the midst of all this overwhelming beauty. His eyes locked on yours, a quiet intensity in them that made the rest of the world—the penthouse, the view, the luxury—fade into the background.

In this stunning, extravagant space, he was the only thing that mattered. For a moment, the room was filled with silence, but it wasn’t the kind that made you want to fill it with nervous words. It was the kind of silence that spoke louder than anything you could say—the kind that was thick with anticipation, with the weight of something unspoken hanging in the air between you. Remy stood just a few feet away, his eyes locked on yours, and for a second, it felt like everything had come to a halt. Time, space, the world outside—none of it mattered in that instant. It was just the two of you, standing there, both knowing that this was a moment you’d been waiting for longer than either of you wanted to admit.

His gaze softened, the intensity in his eyes melting into something warmer, something deeper. You could feel the weight of it—the way his eyes traced the lines of your face, as if he were trying to memorize the moment, to commit every detail to memory. There was something in his expression that made your heart stutter, a quiet awe, like he couldn’t quite believe you were really here, standing in front of him. Like he’d been waiting for this moment just as much as you had.

And then, without saying a word, he stepped forward. The movement was so fluid, so sure, that you barely had time to process it before he was right there, closing the distance between you. His hand slid around your waist, his touch firm but gentle, as if he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

You felt the warmth of his body immediately, the solidness of him against you as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. It was a feeling you hadn’t realized you’d been craving until now, the weight of him grounding you, making everything else disappear. For a second, you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You just stood there, frozen in the moment, your face pressed against his chest, your ear catching the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.

The world outside the penthouse might as well have ceased to exist. The city, the noise, the chaos—it all faded into the background, leaving only the two of you, entangled in this small, quiet space. In his arms, the tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying for weeks seemed to melt away. The distance, the uncertainty, the doubt—they all evaporated in the warmth of his embrace, like fog lifting under the sun.

It felt right. More right than anything had in a long time. Like you’d found something you hadn’t even known you were searching for.

After what felt like a small eternity but was probably only a few seconds, Remy pulled back just enough to look down at you. His hand gently traced the side of your face, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, almost reverent, and when your eyes met his again, you could see something new in them. The usual mischief, the playful glint that had always made him seem untouchable, was still there—but now, it was mixed with something deeper. Something raw. Something vulnerable.

He smiled, that easy, lopsided grin that had always made your heart skip a beat, and for a moment, the weight of the moment shifted, lightened. “So,” he said, his voice teasing but soft, “did you get lost on the way up here, or were you just building suspense?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. “Lost?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Please. I practically own the penthouse life.” You gestured vaguely around the opulent room, your sarcasm dripping. “I mean, this is obviously my natural habitat.”

Remy’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, yeah? You’ve got a whole fleet of these places, huh? I should’ve known I was dealing with a secret real estate mogul.”

You laughed, the sound coming out a little shakier than you’d intended, but it felt good. Normal. “Obviously. I mean, I thought I’d let you borrow this one for the weekend, you know, just to see how the other half lives.”

He chuckled, his arm still loosely around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “Well, thank you for your generosity. I’ll be sure to leave it spotless when I’m done. Maybe even fluff the pillows.”

You rolled your eyes, your fingers lightly tracing over the fabric of his shirt. “Please. You don’t know the first thing about fluffing pillows. Remy grinned, “Well maybe you can show me then?”

You swallowed, your gaze flicking to his lips for the briefest of moments before meeting his eyes again. “Maybe,” you said, your voice softer now but still teasing. “If you’re lucky.”

His smile softened, the playful glint in his eyes giving way to something more tender. “I’m already lucky,” he said quietly, his hand sliding up your back, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

And just like that, the teasing banter faded into the background, replaced by the quiet, unspoken pull between you, the moment stretching out like an eternity. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

Then, without waiting anymore, he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. It wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment, like he was savoring you .

And in that kiss, everything else—the city, the penthouse, the doubts—faded away. All that was left was the warmth of his lips against yours, the feel of his hands holding you close, and the quiet certainty that whatever this was, it was real. <><><><>

The morning passed in a slow, lazy haze, the kind of morning where time seemed to stretch and soften around the edges. You were laying between Remy’s legs on the oversized couch, your head resting comfortably against his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around you. The suite was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside and the rhythmic sound of his breathing. His fingers trailed absentmindedly up and down your arms, leaving a trail of warmth wherever they touched. It was the kind of touch that was soothing, familiar—the kind that made you feel like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

You closed your eyes for a moment, just letting yourself sink into the feeling of him, the solid weight of his body beneath yours, the way his chest rose and fell steadily, keeping time with your own breaths. The world outside the hotel—your doubts, your fears, the chaos of everything that had brought you here—felt distant now, like a bad dream you were slowly waking from. Here, in this quiet bubble of space, it was just the two of you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt... peaceful.

It was strange, being so close to him after all the months of talking, of wondering what it would feel like to be in the same room, to share the same space. And now that you were here, it felt surprisingly natural, like you had been doing this all along. His presence was grounding, his warmth wrapping around you like a safety net, pulling you back whenever your thoughts threatened to drift too far into uncertainty.

“Y’know,” Remy’s voice broke through the quiet, the familiar lilt of his accent sending a warm shiver through you. “I gotta admit, chérie, this is a pretty sweet setup we got going on here.” His fingers traced lazy patterns along your arm, his tone playful, but there was an undercurrent of something softer in his voice.

You couldn’t help but smile, your lips curving upward as you shifted slightly to glance up at him. “Yeah, I bet you think so. You’re not doing any of the hard work here.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into that familiar, lopsided smirk that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. “Hard work? You call layin’ on me hard work? If this is tough for you, sweetheart, we got bigger problems.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't help the small laugh that escaped your lips. “Hey, it’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

His hands stilled for a moment on your arm, and you felt him chuckle softly behind you, the sound rumbling through his chest like distant thunder. “Glad it’s you then,” he muttered, the amusement clear in his voice. The banter that had filled the room moments ago seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet intensity that wrapped itself around you both. His fingers resumed their gentle tracing along your arm, the light sweep of his touch sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, into the quiet intimacy of the moment.

It was hard to believe that you were really here, that this was actually happening. After all the late-night phone calls, the teasing texts, the doubts that had plagued you during the weeks apart—it all felt so surreal, like you were still waiting to wake up from a dream. But here, in his arms, the reality of it all was undeniable. The way his hands held you, the way his breath mingled with yours, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek—it was real. And it was better than you had ever let yourself imagine it could be.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten. The only sound was the soft hum of the city far below, the distant murmur of traffic a world away from this quiet, intimate space. But then, out of nowhere, the comfortable silence was broken by the soft growl of your stomach, loud enough to make you cringe. You felt Remy’s chest shake with quiet laughter, his arms tightening just a fraction around you.

“Well, looks like relaxation time’s over,” he teased, his voice thick with amusement. “Either that, or your stomach’s tryin’ to tell me somethin’.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I swear that wasn’t me,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“Uh-huh,” he said, his tone dripping with playful skepticism. “Sure it wasn’t. I didn’t hear my stomach growlin’, chérie.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you tried to swat at his arm, though the gesture was half-hearted at best. “Shut up,” you muttered, your cheeks warming even more.

He easily caught your wrist, his fingers wrapping gently around it, his touch warm and reassuring. He tilted his head slightly, his grin softening into something fond. “C’mon,” he said, his voice dipping into that low, smooth tone that always made your heart flutter. “You wanna grab lunch or somethin’? I’m sure there’s a place ‘round here that’s got somethin’ decent.”

You hesitated for a beat, the playful banter slipping away as something more serious crept into your mind. You shifted slightly, lifting your gaze to meet his, your expression thoughtful. “Is there… I mean, is there anywhere around here where you wouldn’t get, you know… recognized?”

Remy’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and his smirk grew wider, a slow, mischievous grin that made your stomach flip. He leaned down slightly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured, “Room service it is, then.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

He pulled back just enough to wink at you, clearly pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m a man of simple tastes.”

“Simple tastes?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow in mock skepticism as you glanced around the lavish penthouse. “You’re staying in the penthouse, Remy.”

He chuckled, his hands slipping back around your waist, pulling you a little closer until your bodies were pressed together again. “Hey, I can appreciate the finer things in life,” he said, his voice playful. “Doesn’t mean I wanna go out there and deal with people. Not when I got everything I need right here.”

His words were casual, teasing even, but there was something in the way he said it, in the way his eyes softened as they held yours, that made your heart skip a beat. He wasn’t talking about the penthouse. He wasn’t talking about the lavish surroundings or the privacy. He was talking about you.

Your smile softened, leaning into him more, your head naturally resting against his chest as you let out a contented sigh. “Room service sounds good to me,” you murmured into his shirt, your voice soft but full of warmth.

“Good,” he replied, his voice low and warm, that familiar southern drawl wrapping around the words. “’Cause I ain’t plannin’ on sharin’ you with the rest of the world just yet.”

The way he said it—the quiet conviction in his voice, the way his arms tightened around you—sent a warmth spreading through your chest, a fluttering happiness that you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was strange, how natural it felt being here with him, how right it all seemed, like you’d found something you hadn’t even realized you were missing.

Remy shifted slightly beneath you, one arm still wrapped around your waist as he reached for the phone on the side table. He brought it to his ear, his eyes never leaving yours as he placed the order with the kind of smooth confidence that came easily to him. He rattled off a list of dishes that sounded far too fancy for you to have ever thought to order, but you smiled at the way he did it—so effortlessly, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

When he hung up the phone, he set it aside and settled back into the couch, his arms wrapping around you once more. “Food’ll be here in a bit,” he said, his tone casual, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart stutter.

You nodded, resting your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “Good,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I’m not ready to leave this spot yet.”

A slow smile spread across his face as his fingers resumed their soft, lazy tracing along your arm, sending small sparks of warmth through your skin. “Neither am I,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone that made your pulse quicken.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt completely at ease, like everything in the world was exactly as it should be. You didn’t need anything else. You didn’t need to go anywhere or do anything. Here, wrapped up in Remy’s arms, the world outside could wait. For now, this moment was all that mattered. A slow smile spread across Remy’s face as his fingers resumed their soft, lazy tracing along your arm, sending small sparks of warmth through your skin. “Mmm, neither am I, *ma chère*,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that made your pulse quicken. His Cajun accent, thick like sweet molasses, wrapped around the words, making them feel even more personal, more intimate.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt completely at ease, like everything in the world was exactly as it should be. You didn’t need anything else. You didn’t need to go anywhere or do anything. Here, wrapped up in Remy’s arms, the world outside could wait. For now, this moment was all that mattered.

The knock on the door broke the quiet, intimate moment, and Remy groaned softly, untangling himself from you. “Ain’t that just perfect timing,” he drawled, his tone playful as he reluctantly pulled away. The warmth of his body left you as he stood, but you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him move with that easy confidence that always seemed to follow him.

He returned with a silver tray piled high with covered dishes, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Room service, as requested,” he said, lifting the silver lids with a flourish, his Cajun accent adding a teasing lilt to the words.

You laughed, shaking your head at both his showmanship and the impressive spread. “Did we order for the whole building?” you asked, your eyes wide at the sheer amount of food. There were artisanal sliders, a decadent pasta dish draped in creamy sauce, a side of truffle fries, a charcuterie board, and even a dessert tray that looked like it had been plucked straight from the streets of Paris.

Remy shrugged, popping a fry into his mouth and grinning. “Well, chère, I didn’t know what ya liked, so I jus’ figured I’d get a lil’ bit of everythin’. Ain’t no harm in dat, right?”

You popped a truffle fry into your mouth, the taste hitting you with a satisfying crunch. “Can’t argue with that logic,” you said, settling back into the couch.

The conversation flowed easily as you both began to dig into the food, every bite punctuated by playful teasing and lighthearted banter. Remy reached for the charcuterie board, grabbing a piece of prosciutto and holding it out to you. “Here, try this one,” he drawled, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You raised an eyebrow, taking the meat from his fingers. “What, is this some kind of test? If I don’t like it, do I fail?”

He grinned, his voice deep and teasing. “Now, chère, I ain’t that cruel. But, I might take it a lil’ personal if ya don’t like what I picked out.”

You rolled your eyes but popped the prosciutto into your mouth anyway, only to make a face the second the flavor hit your tongue. “Ugh, no. Not for me,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with a napkin.

Remy’s laughter was rich and warm as it filled the room. “Well, more for me,” he said, popping another piece into his mouth with a smug grin. His Cajun accent thickened as he added, “Don’t know what you missin’, ma belle.”

Grinning defiantly, you grabbed a slider, taking a big bite. “Fine, but I’m eating all of these,” you declared, voice full of mock authority.

“Oh, really now?” Remy’s eyebrow quirked, a wicked glint dancing in his eyes. “You gon’ claim all them sliders, huh?”

Before you could answer, he leaned forward and flicked a piece of prosciutto at you, hitting your shoulder dead-on. You blinked at him, stunned for a moment as the meat slid down your arm, before narrowing your eyes in disbelief.

“Did you just—?”

He was already laughing, his accent thicker with amusement. “What? You said ya didn’t want it!”

“Oh, it’s on now, LeBeau.”

Grabbing a fry, you flicked it at him with a quick motion, hitting him square in the chest. He looked down at the fry, momentarily stunned, before his grin grew even wider.

“Oh, chère, you gon’ regret that.”

Before you could react, Remy grabbed a handful of fries and flung them at you. The room erupted into chaos as food started flying, your laughter mixing with his as you ducked and dodged pieces of cheese, fries, and even a spoonful of pasta.

“Remy, stop!” you cried between laughs, trying to shield yourself as he reached for more ammunition.

“Not a chance!” he shot back, his grin wicked as he flung another spoonful of pasta in your direction.

You squealed as the creamy sauce hit your arm. “Oh my God, you’re impossible!”

“You started it, chère!” he said, laughing as he dodged another fry you flung at him.

“This was your idea!” you retorted, grabbing a handful of salad and launching it at him.

He ducked, but you still managed to hit him with a piece of lettuce. His eyes darkened with mock menace, and he wiped the lettuce off his shoulder with slow deliberation. “Oh, you in for it now, ma petite,” he said, his voice low and dripping with playful danger. His Cajun drawl sent a shiver down your spine, even in the midst of the food fight.

Before you could escape, Remy lunged forward, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you into his arms. You squealed, laughing uncontrollably as he lifted you off the couch and spun you around. In a final act of revenge, he grabbed a handful of pasta and smeared it across your face, the creamy sauce cold and sticky as it clung to your skin.

“Remy!” you half-cried, half-laughed, wiping the sauce from your cheek. “Why are you like this?”

His grin was wide and mischievous, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Only for you, chérie,” he teased, his accent thick and smooth, making everything he said feel like a caress.

Your laughter began to fade as the reality of the mess around you set in. The room was a disaster—truffle fries littered the floor, pasta sauce was splattered across the marble countertop, and bits of salad clung to the edge of the couch. You looked around, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Well,” Remy said, breaking the silence as he plucked a piece of prosciutto from his chest and held it up like a trophy. “Looks like we done made ourselves quite the mess, huh?”

You snorted, trying to wipe away the worst of the sauce from your arm. “You think?”

He chuckled, stepping closer to you, his eyes softening as his hands found their way around your waist again, completely ignoring the food still clinging to both of you. “Coulda been worse,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low drawl. “We coulda gone out to eat. Now that woulda been somethin’.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth of his body against yours as he pulled you closer. “I’m pretty sure they would’ve kicked us out after the first flying fry.”

He laughed, the sound rich and deep, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. “You think they’d let me back if I offered to clean up?”

You sighed dramatically, leaning into him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your hands. “I don’t think anyone could be paid enough to clean up this mess.”

Remy’s grin widened, his hands tightening around your waist as he pulled you even closer. “Good thing we already home, ma belle. We ain’t gotta leave.”

Your breath hitched as the playful banter gave way to something heavier, something warmer. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along your back, his touch light but intentional, and you could feel the heat of his body seeping into yours.

“Guess we’ll clean up later,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His lips curved into a slow, teasing smile, his Cajun accent making your heart race with every word. “Plus tard, chérie,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a rush of heat through you.

The playful tension that had woven itself through the room transformed, shifting into something deeper, something electric. Remy’s fingers continued their slow, deliberate tracing along your spine, sending faint shivers through your body as his touch lingered. His lips, still so close to yours, hovered just out of reach, teasing, tempting, as if daring you to close the distance.

His breath was warm against your skin, the spicy, rich drawl of his Cajun accent making your pulse race. “You know,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, vibrating through the small space between you, “I’ve been waitin’ for dis moment for a long, long time, ma belle.”

His words sent a jolt of heat through you, your body responding instinctively to the deep, intimate tone of his voice. His hands, which had been resting lightly on your waist, slid up, tracing the curve of your sides with a slow, sensual intent. You could feel the strength in his hands, the restraint, the way he was holding himself back, as if savoring every second.

Your breath hitched as you tilted your head up, your lips brushing just barely against his. It was a soft, tentative touch, but it sparked something between you—a growing hunger that neither of you could ignore any longer. You felt his grip tighten around you, pulling you closer, pressing your body flush against his.

“Remy,” you whispered, your voice breathless, filled with anticipation.

He groaned softly, the sound low and rough in his chest, vibrating through you. “Chérie...” His voice was thick, his accent curling around the word like a caress.

There was a vulnerability in his question, one that made your heart swell even as the heat between you continued to build. You reached up, your fingers tangling in his dark, tousled hair, pulling him down until your lips finally met his in a slow, deliberate kiss.

The moment your lips touched, everything else faded away. The mess, the laughter, the chaos of the food fight—it all disappeared as the kiss deepened, as the connection between you grew more intense. His hands slid down to your hips, his grip firm but tender, and you could feel the heat of his body radiating through his clothes.

The kiss grew more urgent, more demanding, as if neither of you could get enough of the other. His lips were soft but insistent, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth, seeking entry. When you parted your lips for him, the kiss turned molten, his tongue tangling with yours in a slow, intoxicating dance.

Remy’s hands moved again, one sliding up your back, his fingers splaying wide as he pressed you even closer to him, his body hard and unyielding against yours. The other hand dipped lower, grazing the small of your back, pulling a soft gasp from your lips as his fingers teased the edge of your shirt.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, filled with need. His accent was thicker now, each word dripping with desire as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I ain’t never wanted anyone like I want you,”

His confession sent a thrill straight through you, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, a deep ache building as his hands continued their slow exploration of your body. Your fingers slid down his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, your breath coming faster as your hands worked to pull his shirt up and over his head.

When his shirt finally hit the floor, you took a moment to drink him in—the way his chest heaved with every breath, the way his muscles rippled under his skin as he reached for you. His eyes, dark and hooded with desire, locked onto yours, and the look in them made your knees weak.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, your voice soft but full of certainty.

Remy grinned, that familiar, cocky smile curling at the corners of his lips, but there was a tenderness in his eyes that took your breath away. “Chérie, if I’m beautiful, you must be a damn angel.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, harder this time, more desperate, as if he couldn’t wait another second. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your back, your hips—pulling you closer, touching you like he was memorizing every inch of you.

Suddenly, the world seemed to tilt as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you toward the bedroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your lips never leaving his as he moved with that easy, confident grace, his body strong and sure beneath you.

He kicked the door open with his foot, the sound barely registering as he laid you down gently on the bed. His body hovered over yours, his gaze sweeping over you with a mix of awe and hunger that made your heart race even faster.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the most delicious way. His lips found yours again, his kiss softer this time, more controlled, but no less passionate. His hands worked with practiced ease, tugging at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, revealing your bare skin to him.

The cool air in the room made you shiver, but the heat between you was undeniable. Remy’s lips left a trail of fire as they moved from your mouth to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed his way down. His hands followed, tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, his touch reverent, as though he was worshipping every part of you.

His words, his touch, the way he was looking at you—it was all too much, and yet not enough. You needed him, needed to feel every part of him, and the ache inside you grew unbearable.

“Please, Remy,” you breathed, your hands sliding down his back, pulling him closer. “I need you.”

The air between you was thick with anticipation, every breath shared, every touch electric. As Remy pressed his lips softly against yours, his hands never stopped moving over your body—slow, deliberate, as though he was savoring every single moment. But there was something more in his touch now, something darker, a tension that made your heart race even faster.

His mouth left yours, trailing down your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. You could feel the heat of his breath, the way it set fire to every nerve in your body. His hands traveled lower, teasing the edge of your waistband, but he hesitated, his lips ghosting over your ear as his voice—low and intimate, dripping with that irresistible Cajun drawl—broke the silence.

“Chère,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire, “I been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’... somethin’ I wanna try with you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your pulse quickening as you swallowed hard. “What is it?” you asked, your voice breathless, barely above a whisper.

Remy pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze dark and full of intent. His lips quirked into that familiar, mischievous grin, but there was something deeper behind it now—something that made your stomach flip with both excitement and anticipation.

“I got somethin’ special, ma belle,” he said quietly, almost teasingly, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. “But I only wanna use it if you trust me.”

You blinked at him, trying to steady your breathing as the weight of his words settled between you. “What do you me The sight of the handcuffs and blindfold on the nightstand sent a wave of anticipation rushing through you. The sleek, polished metal of the cuffs gleamed under the soft light, and the black satin of the blindfold seemed to beckon you into something deeper, something more intense. You could feel your heart pounding harder in your chest, each beat a reminder of the unknown that lay ahead.

You weren’t naive to what Remy was suggesting. You understood the implications—the idea of surrendering control, of letting go completely and trusting him to guide you through the experience. It wasn’t just about physical restraint; it was about giving him the power to heighten every sensation, to push you to the edge of your comfort zone in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. The thought of being bound, of not being able to predict his next move, sent a delicious thrill through your body.

Remy’s eyes, dark and intense, never left yours as he held up the cuffs, the soft clink of the metal seeming to echo in the quiet room. His gaze was steady, filled with both desire and something deeper—an unspoken promise that he wouldn’t take you anywhere you weren’t ready to go. His voice, low and husky, dripped with that familiar Cajun accent that always made your pulse quicken. But there was something more in it now, a layer of vulnerability, as though he was offering you not just a new level of intimacy, but a new level of trust.

“I been thinkin’ about this for a while,” he said, his thumb running over the smooth surface of the cuffs, his tone laced with both mischief and sincerity. “I wanna see you—feel you—when you ain’t in control. I wanna take care of you, chérie.”

The way he said it, the way his voice wrapped around those words, sent another jolt of heat through you, pooling low in your belly. You could feel the weight of what he was asking—he wanted you to trust him completely, to let him take you somewhere new, somewhere raw and vulnerable. The idea of being bound, of having your hands restrained, was intoxicating enough. But when your gaze flickered to the black satin blindfold, your breath hitched again.

The blindfold. He didn’t just want to take control of your body—he wanted to take your sight, too. He wanted to heighten every sensation, to make you feel every touch, every kiss, every breath in a way that bordered on overwhelming. With the blindfold on, you wouldn’t be able to see him. You wouldn’t be able to anticipate his next move. You’d be left in the dark, relying solely on the feel of his hands, his lips, his breath as he explored every inch of you. The thought was almost unbearable in its intensity.

Your mind raced with the possibilities. What would it feel like to be so vulnerable, so open to him? To let him lead you, tease you, take you wherever he wanted? The idea wasn’t just thrilling—it was freeing. You realized that part of you wanted to give up control, to let him take charge completely, to trust him to push you to places you hadn’t gone before. It wasn’t just about the physical act of being restrained; it was about surrendering to him, knowing that he would take care of you, that he would know exactly how far to go.

Your pulse quickened as you met his gaze again, your heart pounding in your chest. There was no doubt in your mind that you trusted him. Completely. And the thought of what he could do with that trust—the ways he could heighten your pleasure, the ways he could take you apart and put you back together—was more intoxicating than anything you’d ever felt before.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry with anticipation. “Remy,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly but full of certainty. “I trust you.”

The look in his eyes when you said those words was everything. His expression softened, a mixture of desire, affection, and something deeper—something that told you he understood the weight of what you were offering him. His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, and he leaned down to kiss you, his lips soft but insistent as they pressed against yours.

“Bon,” he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with anticipation and promise. “You ain’t gon’ forget this, chérie.”

And with that, the handcuffs and blindfold were no longer just objects on the nightstand. They were symbols of the trust you were placing in him, of the deeper connection you were about to explore. The thought of giving yourself over to him—of letting him take you somewhere new, somewhere intense and overwhelming—made the anticipation almost unbearable.

You knew that whatever happened next, it would be more than just an experience. It would be a moment of pure, unfiltered intimacy, a moment where you would truly let go and let him take control. And the thought of that—of trusting him so completely—was more thrilling than anything you had ever imagined.

With that, he kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours, his hands moving quickly now, unlatching your bra and sliding it down your arms to be discarded on the floor. His hands roamed over your bare skin, sending waves of heat through you, and you could feel the growing tension between you—the need, the desire, the anticipation of what was about to happen.

Remy sat back slightly, his eyes raking over your body, his gaze hungry. “Lay back,” he murmured, his voice a low, commanding drawl that made your pulse race even faster. “Le’me take care of you.”

You did as he asked, your body trembling with excitement and a little bit of nervousness as you lay back against the pillows. Remy leaned over you, his hands moving to your wrists, his touch gentle but firm as he guided them above your head. The cool metal of the cuffs clicked into place around your wrists, the sensation foreign but thrilling.

He paused for a moment, his eyes searching yours, making sure you were still okay. You nodded, your breath coming in shallow gasps, and his smile widened before he leaned down to kiss you again, his lips soft but insistent.

The next thing you felt was the soft slide of satin as he wrapped the blindfold around your eyes, plunging you into darkness. The absence of sight made everything else sharper—the feel of his hands on your skin, the sound of his voice, the way the bed shifted as he moved.

“Can you see, chère?” he asked, his voice soft but full of that dangerous edge that made your body hum with anticipation.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with excitement.

“Good,” he replied, his Cajun accent thick and teasing. “Now, jus’ relax. Let me show you somethin’ real nice.”

You could feel his breath against your skin, and the anticipation was almost unbearable. Every nerve in your body was on fire, your entire being focused on the sensation of his touch, the way he was driving you to the edge with nothing more than his lips and his hands. The darkness beneath the blindfold was absolute, amplifying every other sense to an almost unbearable degree. Remy's words, a low rumble laced with that Cajun drawl, vibrated through you, sending shivers down your spine.  Anticipation thrummed through your veins, making your skin tingle. You were a live wire, every nerve ending crackling with the promise of his touch.

His breath, hot and heavy on your neck, was a prelude to the gentle pressure of his lips.  Each kiss was slow, deliberate, lingering on your skin as if he wanted to savor the taste, the texture, the very essence of you.  His hands, large and warm, roamed your body with a featherlight touch that belied the intensity burning in his gaze.  You could feel the heat of him even where he wasn't touching, a palpable presence radiating against your side.

He kissed a path down your neck, each touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you.  His lips lingered on the curve of your shoulder, then trailed lower, tracing the line of your collarbone with agonizing slowness. You arched into him involuntarily, a silent plea for more.  The inability to see, to predict his next move, only intensified the experience. Every touch was a surprise, a delicious shock to your system.

When his lips finally found your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipple, a gasp escaped your lips. Your body, no longer under your control, arched off the bed, seeking more of his exquisite torture.  A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound both dark and playful, sending a fresh wave of heat through your core.

"You like that, ma belle?" he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something else, something that sent a thrill of fear and excitement through you.

You couldn't answer, not with words. Your mind was awash with sensation, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.  All you could manage was a frantic nod, your body trembling with need.

Remy’s touch became bolder, his fingers tracing the waistband of your underwear. He took his time, his fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of your hips as he slowly peeled the fabric down your legs. The cool air hit your bare flesh, making you shiver, but the feeling was quickly chased away by the warmth of his hands. He caressed your thighs, his touch possessive yet tender, before parting your legs and settling between them.

The weight of him, the heat of him radiating against your sensitized skin, was intoxicating. You were completely at his mercy, your senses overloaded, your body thrumming with anticipation.  Every tiny movement, every rustle of the sheets, every sigh that escaped his lips, sent a wave of longing through you.

His touch, no longer teasing, became more deliberate, his strong hands mapping the curves of your body with a reverence that sent shivers down your spine.  You felt the warmth of his breath against your inner thigh, followed by the gentle scrape of his teeth as he grazed the sensitive skin there. A gasp escaped your lips, your hips instinctively canting upwards, seeking more of his touch.

He hummed low in his throat, a sound of approval that vibrated against you, before his lips continued their exploration.  Each kiss was a spark against your sensitized skin, igniting a fire that spread through your core. He took his time, lavishing attention on every inch of you, making you acutely aware of your vulnerability, of the power he held over your senses.

And yet, there was no fear, only a thrilling surrender.  The trust you felt for Remy transcended the boundaries of the physical.  It was in the gentle strength of his hands, the whispered words of encouragement against your skin, the way he seemed to sense your every need before you even did. 

As his mouth moved lower, his tongue tracing the delicate skin of your inner thigh, you felt a knot of anticipation tighten in your belly.  Your hands, unable to reach out, clenched in the sheets, your body thrumming with a need that bordered on unbearable.  You were on the precipice of something unknown, something exhilarating and terrifying all at once, and you could only trust Remy to guide you through it. "Doucement, cherie," Remy crooned, his voice a low rumble against your heated skin.  "Patience."

But patience was a virtue you no longer possessed.  His touch, though agonizingly slow, had stoked a fire within you, a desperate yearning that pulsed in time with the blood rushing through your veins.  You wanted to beg, to plead for him to end this exquisite torture, but the words caught in your throat, replaced by breathless moans that only seemed to fuel his amusement.

He continued his slow, deliberate torment, his fingers working magic against your most sensitive flesh.  You felt the pressure build with every stroke, every circle of his thumb, until you were sure you would shatter from the intensity of it.  Your hips bucked against his hand, seeking a friction he expertly denied, drawing out the pleasure until you were whimpering with need.

But just as he tipped you towards the edge, just as your body tensed, ready to shatter, his touch vanished.  A gasp of protest escaped your lips, your eyes flying open despite the blindfold, only to meet darkness. 

"Remy?" you breathed, confusion warring with the desperate need still thrumming through your veins.

"Shhh," he murmured, his voice closer now, laced with a husky warmth that sent shivers down your spine.  You felt his weight shift above you, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cool air that suddenly kissed your damp skin.

And then, his mouth was there, hot and demanding, replacing his fingers with a primal hunger that stole your breath away.  A choked cry escaped your lips, your body arching instinctively against his mouth.  The feeling of his tongue, swirling against your most sensitive flesh, sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core.  It was too much, too intense, so different from the teasing strokes of his hand.

"Remy," you gasped, your voice a broken plea.  You were drowning in sensation, teetering on the brink of release, but it was different now, wilder, uncontrolled.

"Hold it, cherie," he commanded, his voice a low rumble against your clit.  "Not yet."

Frustration warred with the overwhelming pleasure that pulsed through you.  You wanted to disobey, to let go and succumb to the exquisite torture of his mouth, but there was something in his tone, a primal command that held you captive, that made you ache with the need to obey. 

He continued his assault, his tongue and lips working in tandem, driving you further and further towards the edge, but never quite letting you go.  Each time you neared the precipice, he would pull back, replacing the searing heat of his mouth with a cool emptiness that left you gasping, desperate for his return. "That's it, cherie," he growled, his voice rough with desire, "Let go."

The permission, the command in his tone, was all it took to shatter the last vestiges of your control.  You were no longer capable of holding back, not with his mouth working such exquisite magic against your oversensitized flesh. The world contracted until it was just the two of you: hands, no longer content to simply hold you in place, roamed your body, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, pulling you closer, urging you to shatter around him.

You were lost in a sea of sensation, your body no longer your own.  It moved instinctively, bucking against his mouth, seeking a friction that only intensified the pleasure spiraling through you.  His name became a litany, a prayer whispered against his lips, a testament to the power he held over you in that moment.

And then, just when you thought you could take no more, when you were certain the pleasure would consume you whole, he shifted.  His mouth moved, trailing a path of fire up your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.  You cried out, a sound of protest and longing, but he silenced you with a kiss, his lips lingering on yours as the last tremors of your climax subsided.

Even as your body returned to you, piece by trembling piece, the echo of your pleasure lingered, a sweet ache that pulsed in time with the blood rushing through your veins.  You lay there, boneless and pliant, your senses still reeling from the force of what had just transpired. 

Above you, Remy chuckled, a low, satisfied sound that sent a fresh wave of heat through your core.  He tasted of you, your senses overwhelmed by the scent of your shared desire.  It was intoxicating, addictive, a reminder of the primal dance you’d just shared. He didn't let you recover, didn't let you find your footing in the maelstrom of sensation.  His mouth trailed fire down your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as he muttered against your skin, words you couldn't quite grasp, a mix of French endearments and breathless praise that sent shivers down your spine.

"Tu es magnifique," he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin behind your ear, "So beautiful, mon amour."

His hand cupped your ass, urging you to shift, and then he was leaning back, the pressure of his weight shifting on the bed.  You whimpered, the sound lost against his lips as he found yours again, kissing you with a hunger that stole your breath away.

"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded, his voice husky with desire.

You obeyed instinctively, your body moving with a will of its own.  He guided your legs, his hands strong and sure, until they were wrapped tight around his hips.  You felt him shift again, felt the press of his erection against your entrance, and a fresh wave of anticipation coursed through you.

"Finally, when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “You ready, chère?”

You could only nod, your body trembling with need, your mind a haze of pleasure and anticipation.

And then, he was inside you, filling you completely.  His length stretched you, the sensation both unfamiliar and exhilarating, and you cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure that was swallowed by his kiss.

"Oui, comme ça," he groaned, his hips snapping upward as he buried himself deep inside you.  "You feel so good, cherie. So fucking good."

He began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that drove you wild.  The cuffs held your hands in place above your head, the blindfold keeping you in darkness, and all you could do was feel—feel the way he moved inside you, the way his breath came in short, ragged gasps, the way your bodies fit together with a perfection that bordered on the obscene.

Every thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, building higher and higher until you thought you might come undone. Each movement was deliberate, powerful, driving you closer to the edge. Your body responded instinctively, arching against him, seeking more of the intense sensation. His name became a litany on your lips, a prayer whispered between gasps and moans, a testament to the power he held over you in that moment.

“Come for me,” Remy whispered, his voice a low, husky growl that vibrated through you. The words were a command, a plea, and a promise all rolled into one. “I’m right there with ya’.”

His breath was hot against your ear, the Cajun drawl in his voice adding an extra layer of intimacy to the moment. The knowledge that he was just as affected, just as lost in this shared experience, sent a fresh wave of heat through your core. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin, anchoring you to him as he drove deeper, harder, chasing the same release that was threatening to consume you.

Every muscle in your body tensed, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring ready to snap. You could feel the tension building, the pressure mounting, until it was almost unbearable. Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. His name escaped your lips again, this time a desperate plea, a cry for release.

“Remy…”

He groaned in response, the sound low and guttural, a primal echo of your own need. His hips snapped forward, the force of his thrusts pushing you over the edge. The dam finally broke, and the waves of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in sensation. Your body convulsed, your muscles clenching around him as the orgasm ripped through you, leaving you shaking and gasping for breath.

Remy followed right behind you, his body shuddering as he reached his own climax. He buried himself deep inside you, his hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you in place as he rode out the waves of his release. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, mirroring your own as he slowly came back down from the high.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The room was filled with the soft sounds of your shared breaths, slowly returning to a normal rhythm, and the gentle rustle of the sheets beneath you. The air was charged with a mix of emotions—a deep sense of satisfaction, vulnerability, and an overwhelming connection that transcended the physical.

Remy’s grip on your hips softened, his hands sliding up your sides in a slow, tender caress. He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a gentle, lingering kiss that spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings. The kiss was not one of raw passion this time, but of tenderness and gratitude, a silent thank you for the trust you had placed in him.

As he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re incredible, chérie,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and affection.

You smiled softly, your eyes still hidden behind the blindfold, but you could feel the warmth of his gaze, the intensity of his emotions mirroring your own. “You’re not so bad yourself I guess,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, still laced with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Remy chuckled softly, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through you. He reached up, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw before moving to the blindfold. Slowly, he lifted it away, allowing the soft light of the room to filter back in. You blinked, your eyes adjusting to the light, and when you finally focused on him, the look in his eyes took your breath away.

There was a mix of desire, affection, and something deeper—a vulnerability that he had only ever shown to you. In that moment, you knew that this experience had changed something fundamental between you both, strengthening the bond that had been growing since the beginning.

Remy’s hands moved to the cuffs, his touch gentle as he carefully unlocked them. As your hands were freed, you instinctively reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him back down to you. The kiss was slow and deep, a dance of tongues and breaths that spoke of a connection that went beyond the physical.

He shifted slightly, his body still pressed against yours, but now with a tenderness that was almost reverent. His hands roamed over your skin, not with the urgency of desire, but with the gentle exploration of someone rediscovering a familiar landscape. Every touch was a reminder of the trust and intimacy that you had shared.

As the minutes passed, neither of you moved to separate. Instead, you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, your bodies still intertwined, your hearts beating in sync. The world outside could wait; for now, this moment was all that mattered. You both knew that whatever came next, whatever challenges or joys lay ahead, you would face them together, bound by the unbreakable connection that had been forged in this intimate, profound experience.

In that quiet, peaceful moment, you both found a sense of completion and understanding that transcended the physical. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered intimacy, a moment where you both let go and surrendered to the depth of emotion that consumed you. And as you lay there, wrapped up in each other’s arms, the world outside could wait. For now, this moment was all that mattered. <><><>

The room was bathed in the warm, fading light of the setting sun. The golden rays filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow on the bed where you and Remy lay tangled in the sheets. His arm was draped over your waist, fingers tracing absent patterns on your skin. The world outside felt far away, distant, almost like it didn’t exist.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as the quiet between you stretched. It was a comfortable silence, but underneath it, something lingered—something unspoken. You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the feel of his warmth, the way his hand moved lazily on your skin, but it was there, gnawing at you.

Your phone sat on the nightstand, the screen dark, but you could still feel the weight of the articles you’d read earlier. The rumors, the gossip—all the things that made it hard to fully let go. You didn’t want to bring it up, didn’t want to spoil the moment, but the jealousy simmered beneath the surface, a quiet hum you couldn’t quite shake.

Beside you, Remy shifted, his body relaxing deeper into the mattress. He wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, but you could feel that he was tuned into you, aware of every little shift in your mood. His fingers paused their idle movements for a beat, and you wondered if he could sense the tension in your body, the way you were holding yourself just a little too still.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured, his voice low, the familiar Cajun drawl soft in the fading light.

You swallowed, your eyes flicking to the window, watching the sun dip lower on the horizon. “Just thinking,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your voice lacked the ease you wanted it to have.

Remy didn’t press you. He didn’t ask what you were thinking about. Instead, he let the silence settle again, his fingers resuming their slow tracing along your side. But you could feel it—he knew. He always seemed to know when something was weighing on you, even when you tried to hide it.

A few long moments passed, the golden light growing softer, casting shadows across the room. And then, out of nowhere, Remy’s hand stilled again. His thumb brushed over your skin, and you felt him shift slightly beside you, his gaze dropping to meet yours.

“You know somethin’, chérie?” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of something more. “When I’m with you… it’s like the rest of the world don’t exist.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, a warmth spreading through your chest, but they didn’t fully ease the quiet tightness that had been building inside you all day. Still, you smiled softly, meeting his gaze, trying to let yourself sink into the sincerity of what he was saying.

“Yeah?” you murmured, your fingers brushing lightly over his chest, tracing the outline of the tattoo near his collarbone.

He nodded, his thumb continuing its slow, steady movement on your side. “Yeah. All that noise out there—” he shrugged slightly, his eyes soft but serious. “It don’t touch this. Don’t touch us.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let those words wash away the lingering doubts, the nagging thoughts about the rumors and the articles. And in this moment, with the fading light casting Remy in a soft, golden glow, it was easy to forget everything else. He made it easy.

But the truth still lingered. The world wouldn’t stop spinning just because you were here, wrapped up in this quiet moment together. And eventually, he’d have to leave.

You shifted slightly, your head resting more comfortably against his chest as you spoke, your voice soft but hesitant. “When do you have to fly back?”

There was a pause, just long enough for you to feel the weight of the answer before he even said it.

“1 a.m.,” he replied quietly, his voice tinged with regret.

You closed your eyes, letting that sink in. 1 a.m. It wasn’t that far away. The thought of him leaving—of the quiet, peaceful bubble you’d built tonight being popped—made your chest tighten again. But you didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to ruin the moment, didn’t want to remind him of the world outside this room.

Remy’s hand moved to your hair, his fingers threading through the strands in a soothing gesture. “Still got some time,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost like he was trying to reassure himself as much as you.

You nodded against his chest, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. You still had time, and right now, that was all that mattered. You would deal with the rest later—the articles, the rumors, the jealousy. But for now, you were here with him, and that was enough.

The sun had now almost fully disappeared, leaving the room painted in soft twilight. The last traces of daylight clung faintly to the horizon, but the world outside had already surrendered to the steady hum of the evening. You lay wrapped in Remy’s arms, your body nestled comfortably against his. His warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing were grounding, and for a while, it felt like time had slowed, like the rest of the world had paused just for the two of you.

Neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. His fingers lazily traced patterns on your arm, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink deeper into the quiet intimacy, feeling the weight of every second you had left together.

But beneath the surface, a familiar ache was beginning to stir—the knowledge that time, as always, was slipping away. He would have to leave soon, and you weren’t ready for the moment when this bubble would burst, when the world outside would intrude again, pulling him back into the whirlwind of his life, leaving you behind in the stillness.

You shifted slightly, resting your head more comfortably against his chest, your fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on his shirt. “That’s what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace in the room. “A few hours?”

You tried to keep your tone light, playful even, but the sadness lingered there, just beneath the surface. Your chest felt tight at the thought of him leaving again—another flight, another city, another stretch of days, maybe even weeks, without him.

Remy’s hand stilled on your arm, his attention sharpening on you. You felt his gaze lower, the weight of it gently pressing against you. “What were you thinking?” he asked softly, his voice low and warm, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You hesitated for a second, biting your lip as you fought the urge to give voice to the emotions swirling inside you. You didn’t want to talk about goodbyes, didn’t want to admit how much the idea of him leaving again was getting to you. So instead, you opted for the easier route—the one that made you both laugh, the one that kept things light.

Sitting up, you turned toward him, your legs still tangled with his beneath the sheets. You met his gaze, a mischievous spark lighting up your eyes. “Well, those handcuffs were fun,” you said, your voice teasing, your lips curving into a wide grin as you let the memory of earlier replay in your mind.

Remy blinked, and then that familiar, lopsided smile of his slowly spread across his face, his eyes dancing with amusement. He leaned back, propping himself up on one elbow, his gaze never leaving yours as his expression shifted from surprise to a playful smirk. “Oh, chérie,” he drawled, his voice low and full of the kind of slow-burning heat that made a shiver run down your spine. “You really wanna go there again?”

You shrugged, but the grin on your face only grew wider, your heart beating a little faster in anticipation. “Why not? We’ve got a few hours, right?” You leaned in slightly, the playful challenge clear in your voice.

Remy’s eyes darkened a little with something more than amusement, his smirk softening into something more intense, more focused. He reached up, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek before trailing down to your chin, tipping your face up so that you were looking directly into his eyes.

“Careful, ma belle,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, the teasing edge still there, but now laced with something deeper. “You’re temptin’ me to miss my flight.”

You laughed softly, though the sound was breathless, and your heart flipped at the idea of him staying just a little longer. “Maybe that’s the plan,” you whispered, your lips hovering dangerously close to his.

For a moment, the air between you seemed to thrum with a tension that was both familiar and thrilling. His fingers lingered against your skin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a way that made your breath hitch. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the intensity that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface whenever the two of you were alone like this.

But then, just as quickly, he pulled back slightly, his hand slipping down to rest on your thigh, his grin returning, though this time it was softer, more thoughtful. “As much as I’d love to stay,” he said, his voice still low, “you know I can’t miss that flight.”

Your smile faltered for just a second, the reality of the situation sinking in again. You tried to hide the disappointment, but Remy saw it—he always did. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

“I know,” you whispered, closing your eyes for a moment, letting yourself savor the feel of his closeness. “I just… I hate watching you leave.”

Remy’s hand tightened slightly on your thigh, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your skin. “I hate it too, chérie,” he admitted, his voice softer now, the playful edge gone. “But I promise, I’ll always come back. You know that, right?”

You nodded, leaning into him, resting your head against his chest again. “I know,” you whispered, though the ache in your chest didn’t fully go away. You knew he meant it—knew that he would always come back—but that didn’t make it any easier when he was gone.

For now, though, you pushed those thoughts aside, choosing instead to focus on the time you still had together. You shifted in his arms, your hand resting on his chest as you looked up at him again, your smile returning, though this time it was softer, more tender.

“Well then,” you said, your voice playful once more, “we better make the most of the time we’ve got.”

Remy’s grin returned, that familiar spark of mischief lighting up his eyes again as he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and sweet, filled with the promise of the hours you still had together.

“Guess we better,” he murmured against your lips, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer.

And as the night continued to creep in, you let yourself get lost in the feeling of him, in the warmth of his touch, in the quiet comfort of knowing that—for now—the world outside could wait just a little longer."

[pepi1989]

You’re single handedly saving the Ben Shelton fanfic world 😭 can you write a long (if possible, I love reading long fleshed out stories) story about a hot, summer vacation as a break from the tennis tour? Like on a yacht or in Greece, or maybe even in Florida.

I really like tennisplayer!reader so it’d be nice if both reader and Ben are taking a break together from tour and just lazing about together and being loving and cozy, maybe a bit flirty/suggestive too but nothing smutty. Thank you!

I'm in charge of keeping the Ben Shelton fanfic ship floating lol, please keep requesting things guys i love writing these <3

Sunkissed - Ben Shelton

The summer sun hung lazily in the sky, casting a golden glow over everything it touched. You and Ben had finally stepped off the endless grind of the tennis tour, a much-needed break from the constant travel and matches. Now, instead of the whir of tennis balls and the thwack of rackets, there was only the sound of gentle waves lapping against the side of the yacht.

Ben leaned against the railing, the breeze tousling his curls as he turned to you with a smile that had you weak in the knees. “I still can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “No tennis rackets, no early training, just us.”

The yacht rocked softly beneath your feet as the horizon stretched out, endless and blue. You let out a content sigh, already feeling your body ease into the relaxation you hadn’t felt in months. Ben wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his warmth like the sun itself.

“We earned this,” he said, his voice low and sweet. “A whole summer of nothing but… this.”

“This,” you repeated with a grin, tipping your head back to soak in the sunshine. “And maybe a few more kisses?”

He chuckled, tilting your face toward his, lips brushing softly against yours. “I think that can be arranged.”

The day unfolded lazily, just like that. A delicious kind of nothingness, your bodies intertwined on sunbeds, laughter floating into the air as the boat drifted along the coast. It was Greece, of course. The white-washed buildings gleamed in the distance, and the scent of salty air mixed with the sweetness of fruit that you both snacked on between light conversation.

“Do you think anyone misses us yet?” Ben asked, lying beside you, hand lazily tracing patterns on your arm.

“Definitely,” you teased, leaning into his touch. “But they’ll survive. We deserve to just be.”

You lay in comfortable silence, his fingers brushing your skin every so often, and you felt like you could melt right into him, into the sun, into the moment. Nothing else mattered. Not the next tournament, not the next match. Just him and this stolen time.

After a while, Ben shifted beside you, sitting up and holding out a hand. “Wanna take a dip? The water’s perfect.”

You took his hand with a playful grin. “Race you to the water?”

Ben’s competitive spark lit up instantly, his smile widening. “You sure about that? I don’t want you to get embarrassed.”

“Oh, you’re on, Shelton.”

Laughing, you both scrambled to the edge of the yacht, diving into the crystal-clear water at the same time. The cool sea wrapped around you, a perfect contrast to the heat above. When you resurfaced, Ben was floating on his back, eyes closed with that peaceful expression you loved so much.

You splashed him lightly, and he cracked one eye open. “Hey! What was that for?”

“Felt like you were getting a little too relaxed,” you teased, swimming closer until you were practically nose to nose. “Can’t let you get too comfortable now.”

He chuckled, pulling you toward him until your legs tangled under the water. “You’re the one who said no tennis, no competition. Are you trying to break your own rule?”

You smirked, wrapping your arms around his neck, your forehead resting against his. “Maybe.”

Ben’s eyes softened as he gazed at you, the moment shifting from playful to something deeper, warmer. “You know,” he murmured, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and I really don’t know how I got so lucky with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as the sincerity in his voice sank in. “Oh, I don’t know,” you replied, brushing your fingers through his wet curls. “Maybe because you’re a decent guy? Some might even say charming.”

He smiled, that boyish grin that always made your stomach flutter. “Only some?”

“Well, maybe more than some,” you admitted, cheeks flushing under his gaze.

Ben pulled you closer, his lips brushing yours softly again. “I love you,” he whispered, voice barely louder than the sound of the waves lapping against the boat.

Your breath hitched, and you felt your chest fill with warmth. “I love you, too.”

The kiss that followed was slow, gentle, but filled with a thousand unspoken promises. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were grinning like lovesick teenagers, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how perfect everything felt.

“Let’s stay here forever,” you said, half-joking, half-serious.

Ben pressed his forehead to yours again. “I’d love nothing more.”

Back on the yacht, as the afternoon sun started to dip lower, casting everything in shades of gold and pink, you and Ben sprawled out on the deck, wrapped in towels, hair still damp from the swim. He fed you slices of watermelon between light conversation, both of you too blissed out to worry about anything beyond this moment.

“You ever think about what’s next?” you asked quietly, eyes on the horizon.

Ben’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining. “Sometimes. But not right now. Right now, I’m thinking about how lucky I am to be here with you. To have someone who gets it, who gets me.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling that familiar tug in your chest again. “We make a pretty good team, huh?”

“The best,” he agreed, bringing your hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

The evening unfolded in the same relaxed rhythm. As the sky darkened, you moved to the yacht’s upper deck, where the stars began to blink into view, one by one. Ben wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as the two of you looked up at the night sky.

“I could get used to this,” you said, voice soft.

“Me too,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Let’s never leave.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “I think we might need to eventually. But for now, this is perfect.”

Ben tightened his hold on you, his voice low and filled with affection. “For now, it’s just us. No worries, no matches. Just you and me.”

You smiled, closing your eyes and savoring the moment. This was everything. And for as long as it lasted, you were determined to make every second count.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Loved You Then, Love You Now (Jason Todd)

Summary: he's always loved you.

Warnings: fluff

WC: 660ish

Read on AO3!

--

The streets of Gotham were quieter than usual. You and Jason strolled side by side, hands stuffed into your jacket pockets to fend off the evening chill. It had been years since you two were kids, running around the old neighborhood, getting into trouble, and chasing after your dreams. But even now, nothing had really changed between you—well, almost nothing.

"You remember when we used to come here?" you asked, looking up at the park where you and Jason had spent countless afternoons, swinging from the rusted playground equipment and daring each other to climb trees.

Jason smirked, glancing over at the worn metal slide. "Yeah, I used to push you off that slide all the time."

You bumped your shoulder against his playfully. "You were such a brat."

Jason chuckled, the sound deep but soft. "Still am, depending on who you ask."

The two of you walked in silence for a bit, memories floating in the air between you. It was nice, just being with him like this. No Red Hood, no danger—just Jason, the boy you’d grown up with, your best friend.

But lately, things felt... different. You’d catch him looking at you longer than usual, and sometimes, his hand would brush yours like he was about to hold it but thought better of it. The tension between you both had grown unspoken, something unsaid lingering in the air.

Finally, you decided to break the quiet. "Jay," you began, your voice soft, "I've been thinking."

"Uh oh," Jason teased, but there was a seriousness in his eyes as he looked at you. "What's on your mind?"

You stopped walking and turned to face him fully, the weight of the words you were about to say pressing down on you. "Do you ever think about... what we could have been?"

Jason’s expression shifted, a mix of surprise and something unreadable flashing in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," you hesitated, biting your lip, "we’ve been through everything together—school, growing up, even losing you for a bit—" You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I’ve always felt like there’s something more between us, and maybe we’ve just been too scared to admit it."

Jason looked away for a moment, his jaw clenching like he was fighting something back. Then, he turned his piercing blue gaze back to you, his voice lower and gentler than you'd ever heard. "I’ve loved you since we were kids."

Your heart skipped a beat. "What?"

Jason took a step closer, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek. "I’ve loved you since we were kids," he repeated, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. "I just never thought I deserved you. Not with everything that’s happened. But I can’t hide it anymore."

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back, too overwhelmed by the confession to speak. He loved you. He always had.

You let out a soft laugh, almost disbelieving. "Why didn’t you say anything sooner?"

Jason smiled, that crooked, charming grin that never failed to make your heart flutter. "I was waiting for the right moment. But I guess there's no ‘right moment’ in Gotham, huh?"

You shook your head, grinning through the tears threatening to spill. "No, there isn’t."

And then, before either of you could say anything else, Jason leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was sweet, soft, and so full of the love that had been building for years. It felt like coming home.

When you finally pulled away, Jason rested his forehead against yours, a rare, genuine smile on his face. "Always thought I’d have to fight some villain for you," he joked softly. "Turns out, the real battle was just telling you how I feel."

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. "Well, I’m glad you finally won, Jay."

Jason held you tighter, whispering into your ear, "I’m never letting you go."

-

tags!

EVERYTHING PERM: @nekoannie-chan @kjs-s @notyourtypicalrose @mistressofallthingsgeeky

DCEU PERM TAGS: @other-fandom-reblogs

[abarbaricyalp]

Bed, Beignets, Birthdays, and Other B Things Sam Wilson Likes

Happy birthday, Cap! 🎉 // AO3 Link 🛏🥐🎂

Sam’s arm fell to the other side of the bed and landed on a warm chest instead of cool sheets. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before turning over and sneaking a glance at the man next to him. Scared, just for a moment, that this might slip away if he actually looked.

Bucky was already awake, but he was still sleep rumpled, impression lines crossing his face and chest, hair a mess. Sam wondered if he could convince him to cut it now. Surely he was more susceptible to the idea when it was all tangled in the morning. Then again, Sam figured if the whole ‘your secret identity will be harder to figure out if you cut off your trademark mane’ hadn’t worked, he didn’t think a few knots would either.

“You stayed,” he yawned and stretched his arms into Bucky’s space.

Bucky’s fingers fell across one of Sam’s hands, traced over the lines of his metacarpals lightly. “It’s your birthday,” he said simply. “Thought I should at least buy you breakfast. Give you a day off.”

Sam smiled at the idea. Not hunting down rogue bases and ghost stories was fine by him. It seemed like a lovely day outside. The seasons were actually turning here and there was a crispness he could feel even without opening the window. It made him press closer to Bucky’s chest, hiding his head under Bucky’s jaw. Bucky’s arms went around him, his left arm slow in caution and also because he was laying on it.

“Maybe I like chasing you down,” Sam suggested.

“You like pastries more,” Bucky pointed out. And that was true. Food in general, but breakfast desserts were a favorite. And they were in Paris of all places. Sam really could not envision a better day.

“You got any other plans for the day?” Sam asked. “Or are you gonna disappear as soon as I turn my back on you outside?”

“I don’t plan on letting you outside,” Bucky admitted. “My plans involved getting you in the shower and then back in this bed. Everything else can be ordered in.”

Sam hummed. That did sound like a really good plan. “Can I open the window?”

“We’re on a fourth floor, so I don’t think that many people will be able to hear you. Go for it.”

Sam lifted his head enough to watch Bucky’s face until it broke into a grin. “Oh, that kind of day in bed, huh?” he asked.

Bucky’s fingers moved up Sam’s back. “That kind of day in bed,” he agreed and turned onto his back, pulling Sam over him as he went. His fingers went back to tracing Sam’s spine and Sam tried not to shiver with it. He didn’t succeed.

“If you were gonna ask for something today, what would it be?” Bucky asked.

Sam raised an eyebrow and took his own turn to brush his fingers over Bucky’s chest–the line of hair traveling down his pecs, a birthmark against his ribs, a scar under his collarbone, which Sam weirdly had a matching one to. They’d both gotten them when they were kids, lifetimes before they knew each other or had any shared life experience. Except, Sam supposed, falling out of a tree and hitting every branch on the way down.

“Use pet names today,” he decided. “Don’t call me Wilson.”

“What about–”

“Sam and all your terrible variations are fine,” Sam added.

Bucky grinned up at him. “Alright, doll,” he agreed. “That one’s easy enough to give you.” He sat up so they were shoulder to shoulder, chest to chest, hip to hip. It made Sam light-headed and he tilted forward to catch Bucky’s mouth on his and also steady himself.

Bucky kissed like he thought it was the last thing he was going to do. Sam refused to consider the legitimacy of that fear. Bucky was intense and excited. Sometimes it felt like running into a brick wall and sometimes he opened up like an endless expanse of soft lips and searching hands. Sometimes the brick wall came down between them, and then tilted forward for extra kisses, with a hand on Sam’s chest, pushing him back.

“Wait, wait,” Bucky panted and then took another three kisses. “Shower first,” he encouraged. “I have a plan for today.”

“What about food?” Sam asked.

Bucky grinned at him and it made Sam’s stomach turn over in the most desirable way. “Well, I’m gonna eat,” he said oh-so innocently. “But I don’t know how long it’s gonna take, so I figured we could order in later.”

Sam was nodding before Bucky even finished talking. “Yeah, alright,” he agreed, pulling Bucky into another kiss.

He was expecting it when Bucky stood and lifted him in the same motion, but it still made him go light headed all over again. He kind of loved it when Bucky did that. It made him feel young and spontaneous and it was so damn hot.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Bucky breathed against Sam’s chest, where he seemed to be trying to kiss his way to Sam’s heart.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed dazedly. “And here’s to many more.”

“Well you’ve still got to get through this one,” Bucky teased.

Sam shivered and curled his arms around the back of Bucky’s neck. He kind of thought this wouldn’t be such a bad way to go. But he was fully planning on doing this again next year.

Read the rest on AO3

[icewindandboringhorror]

A very interesting cloud formation!